Inside the Baraka space station, the Tartarusios lay dormant, still docked in the same place. Inside the ship, scientists and soldiers were everywhere. The ship's technology was a complete mystery to them — from its bizarre shape all the way to its core computer. The language it operated on was unrecognizable by any known translator. Everyone on board was baffled.
Somehow, in the midst of all that, deep inside the main hangar where the Orbitons were stored, three cockpits slowly opened.
Inside them were the pilots — Tom, Preston, and Marek — who had managed to avoid the guards when they came to take the crew to the Labyrinth.
The three men jumped out of the cockpits, landing quietly.
Preston was the quiet, reckless type who lived for the hum of engines and the endless pull of the void. In his late twenties, he carried himself with a calm that only came from surviving one too many close calls. His brown hair was perpetually messy — windswept even in the still air of a ship's corridor — and his eyes, sharp and amber-hued, held that restless glint only pilots had. The kind of look that said he'd seen entire worlds from a cockpit window and still wanted more.
He wasn't bulky, and he didn't need to be. Preston was lean, all instinct and precision, built like a blade designed for speed rather than strength. His flight suit fit him like a second skin, scuffed and worn in places that told stories of narrow escapes, tight turns, and dives through storms most wouldn't dare.
On the other hand, Marek was a different breed. Mid-twenties, with slightly unruly black hair and calm, alert eyes, he wasn't the commanding type. He didn't bark orders or try to lead. He just did his job — and did it exceptionally well.
His build was lean but deceptively strong, the kind that came from long hours in cramped cockpits and half-lit hangars. Not from training drills, but from life. His hands were steady, his focus unbreakable. Marek had that quiet kind of confidence — the sort that came from trusting your gut over systems.
He didn't talk much, and when he did, his words were simple — direct, practical. People often mistook his silence for coldness, but those who knew him saw what it really was: grounded loyalty, the kind that didn't need glory to feel purpose.
After stepping out of their cockpits, the three pilots made their way carefully through the ship.
While still inside the Orbitons, a holographic message suddenly appeared in front of them. A digital window shimmered into view.
It was Zoma. Somehow, she had managed to connect her consciousness to the Tartarusios' main computer.
Surprise crossed their faces. They had thought Zoma was gone — taken with the captain's team.
She began to speak.
"Hello there. I don't think introductions are necessary, since you probably know who I am. So I'll cut this short.
By now, you probably have an idea of what's going on outside. I have a proposition for you. I can't fly the ship off the station — not yet. In order to launch, we need a manual start.
I need you boys to make your way to the control room and initiate the manual launch. After that, I can take over navigation and get us to the others."
Tom stepped forward, his eyes narrowing at the flickering projection.
"Where are the others!? We need to know that first."
Zoma looked directly at him.
"They're at a place where nothing comes out.A prison… no — a Labyrinth.
They were sent there after the Emperor's pride was struck."
Tom looked confused. "What do you mean?"
Zoma's voice turned sharp.
"Listen — we don't have much time.If we want to save them, we have to act now.There are also other crew members still aboard the ship, not just you three.They're hiding in the first sector's emergency deck. I suggest you find them and regroup before heading to the control room."
At that moment, the three men understood the gravity of the situation.
Tom nodded firmly. "Alright, then. It's time for another rescue mission."
But the corridors of the Tartarusios were crawling with Barakan soldiers. Getting past them undetected was impossible — unless they got creative.
Preston's eyes lit up. He looked at the others.
"Hey, guys. I think I have an idea. Let's take three of them out, hide the bodies inside the cockpits, and use their uniforms as disguises. Then we head to the emergency deck, gather the others, and move together toward the control room."
Tom nodded. "Good thinking, Preston. Let's go."
Near the hangar exit, four soldiers stood guard, backs turned to the Orbitons. Around them, piles of ammunition boxes were scattered, offering limited cover.
Behind them, the three brave pilots readied their weapons — handguns issued to every pilot for close-range defense.
Each silently chose a target.
The moment came — the guns fired.
Three soldiers dropped instantly. The fourth spun around in confusion — only to be taken down by another shot.
Quickly, the pilots rushed to the fallen bodies. They were heavy, but that didn't matter. One by one, they dragged them into the Orbiton cockpits and suited up in the stolen Barakan military uniforms.
The disguises were bulky, but convincing.
Now armed and hidden in plain sight, they stepped out of the hangar and made their way toward the first sector.
The first sector housed the kitchen, the only non-combat unit aboard the ship. Staffed mostly by women — brave ones — who had chosen to take on the dangers of space to support the crew in any way they could.
Navigating the halls unnoticed, they reached the emergency deck.
To enter, they needed the access code — a sequence of numbers. Tom approached the digital panel, entered the password.
The door opened with a hiss — and in that instant, a hand grabbed him.
Tom was thrown to the ground, and another hand snatched the gun from Preston's hand, aiming it at Marek.
For a brief moment, eyes locked.
Then a voice broke the silence.
"Wait! It's me — Youri! Don't shoot!"
A pause. Then Youri lowered the weapon, his face shifting from tension to shock.
"Holy shit... it's actually you guys." He let out a half-laugh. "Damn — I almost blew your head off."
He reached down to help Tom to his feet.
Tom looked up at him, stunned. "Damn, man. You're here too?"
Youri nodded.
Inside the emergency deck, the others — mostly kitchen staff and hidden personnel — broke into smiles and cheers as they saw the three pilots.
Finally — a familiar face.
Hope had arrived.