The Delivery

The crew of the Stingray Eclipse had pulled off a dozen smuggling runs, black ops rescues, and one infamous bar brawl that turned into an interplanetary incident. But today, they were delivery drivers—with a twist.

Their cargo: a titanium crate no bigger than a coffin. No markings. No questions.

Their destination: Outpost Meridian, a science station perched on the edge of the Abyssal Veil—a stretch of hostile space where comms died, sensors lied, and ships vanished without a trace.

“Who the hell builds a lab out there?” muttered Jag, the pilot, as he adjusted their course.

“People who pay in platinum bonds and want things left alone,” said Vex, their captain and tactician, seated beside him in the cockpit.

“Could be a nuke,” added Rook from the weapons console. “Or a genetically engineered plague. Or—”

“A crate full of government regrets,” Sera interrupted. “Encrypted manifest. I can’t crack it, which means someone paid a lot to keep it that way.”

In the cargo bay, Archimedes—the genetically enhanced, foul-mouthed parrot they’d rescued three jobs ago—eyed the crate suspiciously.

“Boom box,” he said. “Tick-tick.”

Jag glanced back. “You hear ticking?”

“Metaphorical,” the bird chirped. “I’m fluent in dread.”

The Stingray crossed into the Abyssal Veil at 0300 ship time. The stars outside faded, swallowed by a dense mist of dark matter and charged ion storms. Jag’s hands tightened on the controls.

“We’re getting ghost echoes,” said Sera, scanning the nav systems. “Ships that aren’t there. Or maybe were there.”

“Jamming?” Vex asked.

“Worse,” Sera replied. “Residual psychic static. This place fries more than electronics.”

Rook checked his rifle. “Let’s just drop the box and get out.”

They reached Meridian twelve hours later. The outpost looked like a rusted claw gripping an asteroid, its surface pitted and patched, its lights flickering like dying stars.

“Docking clearance granted,” said a hollow voice over the comms.

“From who?” Vex asked.

“No signature,” Sera said, frowning. “But the port’s opening.”

They docked anyway.Inside, the station was quiet. Too quiet.

The corridors were coated in frost. Lights flickered overhead. No crew in sight. Only the distant hum of machinery and the occasional clatter of something unseen scuttling away.

They followed the glowing arrow signs—hastily projected from a wall-mounted emitter—toward Lab Theta.

“I’ve got a bad feeling,” muttered Rook.

“You always do,” Jag replied.

“No,” Archimedes said from Sera’s shoulder. “He’s right. This place smells like broken promises.”

They reached the lab. The door hissed open.

Inside was a single figure: a woman in a lab coat, eyes bloodshot, hair wild, clutching a datapad like a lifeline. She looked up, blinking.

“You brought it,” she whispered.

“Delivery from Kepler Consortium,” Vex said, hand on her sidearm. “Sign here.”

“No need,” the woman said, ignoring the pad. “Just place it there.”

Sera hesitated. “What is it?”

“Hope,” the woman said. “Or a weapon. Depending on who opens it.”

That did not make anyone feel better.

Still, Vex nodded to Rook and Jag, who wheeled the crate into position. The woman placed her palm on a hidden reader and the locks hissed open.

The lid rose—and inside lay a child.

Human, or close to it. No more than ten years old, eyes closed, skin glowing faintly blue.

“Stasis field,” Sera breathed.

“Hybrid,” the woman said. “Bio-engineered. Designed to survive the Veil.”

Vex’s jaw tightened. “You’re experimenting with kids now?”

“No. We’re saving them,” she replied. “This child’s the first who can navigate the Veil without madness. The first step to colonizing what lies beyond.”

“What’s the Veil hiding that’s worth this?” Jag asked.

The woman stared past them, through the frosted window into blackness. “Things that don’t want to be found. Things that whisper when you sleep.”

Suddenly, the lights cut out.

A klaxon howled.

“Breaches on decks three and four!” Sera shouted, pulling her tablet. “Multiple lifeforms. Not human.”

“Defense grid’s down,” Rook growled, weapon ready. “Whatever they are, they followed us in.”

“Or followed the kid,” Vex said grimly. “We’re getting out. Now.”

But the woman stood firm. “No. If you leave now, they’ll chase you all the way to Sol. This outpost is the last line. We die here, or we buy you time to disappear.”

“No offense,” Jag said, “but we’re not big on noble sacrifices.”

“We’ll take the kid,” Vex said, stepping toward the crate.

The woman drew a small pistol and aimed it at the controls. “If you try, I destroy the stasis field.”

A beat of silence.

Then Archimedes said, “So dramatic. Why don’t we all just talk to the monsters?”

The door burst open.

Tall, spindly figures moved like liquid shadows, eyes like dying suns. They didn’t speak. They just advanced.

“Time’s up,” Vex snapped. “Sera—override the crate lock. Jag, prep the ship. Rook, cover us!”

“Copy,” came the chorus.

Bullets, bolts, and beams lit the corridor. The figures fell—and then rose again, reforming from smoke and screams.Sera cracked the lock.

The child stirred. Eyes opened—pale, glowing.

The walls shivered.

Everything stopped.

The shadows froze mid-step.

Then, like smoke caught in wind, they peeled away—fleeing back into the Veil.

The woman collapsed to her knees. “He commanded them.”

“Not a weapon,” Sera whispered. “A deterrent.”

Vex looked at the boy. “Can he talk?”

The boy blinked once. Then nodded. “Yes.”

“That’s enough for me,” she said. “We’re leaving.”

Back aboard the Stingray Eclipse, the crew sat in silence as the station fell behind, swallowed once more by mist.

The child slept peacefully in the medbay, Archimedes perched at his bedside like a brightly feathered sentinel.

Jag exhaled. “We still don’t know what we delivered.”

“No,” Vex said. “But we know what’s out there. And now someone who can stand against it.”

Rook cleaned his rifle. “We just delivered the galaxy’s weirdest peacekeeper.”

“Hope it comes with a refund,” Sera muttered.

Archimedes cackled.

“No refunds. Only sequels.”

And the Stingray Eclipse jumped to light.