Promethean Reach Orbit, Sol System

  March 18th, 2347

  The low chime of a string quartet drifted through the orbital salon’s filtered air, artificial gravity settling the sound like smoke in the corners. Cassian Hunt stood near the viewing port, posture relaxed but boots polished to regulation mirror-shine. He wore his formal civilian blacks, a tailored coat with brass-threaded cuffs and a high collar that hinted, if one knew the signs, at a Solar Command commission.

  Behind him, a young Altairan violinist bent into the rising cadence of Corelli’s Adagio, fingers trembling slightly in microgravity. Hunt closed his eyes, letting the music spill over him in slow waves, until a sharp cough beside him cut the immersion.

  "Captain Hunt, if I may," came a dry voice at his shoulder. He turned to see a slender man in a grey command cloak, shoulders square, expression unreadable. The man wore the insignia of a fleet messenger.

  "Yes?"

  "Orders from Promethean Command, sir. Effective 0400 SolTime tomorrow, you are to assume command of H.M.S. Dauntless currently berthed at Dock Twelve." He held out a thin-skin datapad, glowing softly.

  Hunt's heart jumped, not visibly, of course. He reached for the pad, read it quickly, and smiled despite himself.CREEPYCREEPYCREEPY

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  "Dauntless." The name tasted good. He'd served aboard her once, years ago, back when he was still green and wild with ambition.

  “She’s a Solar Sailer?” Hunt asked, even though he knew.

  “Yes, sir. Two-kilometer spread, sun-class nanofoil sails. Dual-rigged with photon steering vanes and a mid-tier pulse battery. She’ll dance if you coax her right.”

  "And the crew?"

  "Skeleton complement for now. You’ll fill out as you progress to the outer lanes, Mars, then onto Ceres for convoy escort."

  Cassian’s eyes drifted back to the viewport. The Earth hung below like a memory, swirling with blues and storm-light. Beyond her, the Sun’s distant radiance caught the edge of the orbital sail arrays tethered in drydock, like cathedral spires built of silver and light.

  He barely heard the music anymore.

  Later That Night

  Officers’ Quarters, Dauntless

  The docking gantry hissed closed behind him, and Cassian Hunt stepped aboard his first true command. The corridor lights flickered under low power, shadows chasing across bulkheads scuffed by years of service. She was no new vessel, but the bones were solid, he could feel that already.

  “Captain on deck,” someone called with a formality that bordered on irony. A tall woman stepped forward. She wore the uniform of a helmsman, dark gloves tucked neatly into her belt.

  “Lieutenant Riva Solace, sir. Acting command during refit.”

  “Thank you, Lieutenant. I’ve read your file. A pleasure.” He offered his hand, and she took it, firm grip, eyes steady.

  "We've been idle for five weeks, sir. She’s hungry to sail.”

  “I am too,” Cassian replied. “And you are?”

  Another figure emerged, Adrian Lorne, all precision and clean lines. “Acting First Officer, sir. Welcome aboard.” His tone was polite, but cool.

  So this was his second. Hunt studied him a moment longer than necessary. There was weight behind Lorne’s gaze, fleet polish, certainly, but also something guarded.

  “Let's make her ready,” Hunt said finally. “We cast off at first flux. I want full sail drills by 0600.”

  “Aye, Captain.”

  As the officers dispersed into shadowed halls and flickering command terminals, Cassian Hunt stood alone on the command deck, hands clasped behind his back. The Dauntless murmured around him, systems waking, lights blooming like stars across her aging consoles.

  She was his now. His to guide by solar wind across the quiet, brutal dark.

  And somewhere out there, glory or ruin waited, riding the light.