Star Date: May 3, 2955 Crew: Bahaliel AI Companion: Finrod
I awoke in the rigid confines of a Seraphim Station hab, the walls lined in institutional green, the table unfolded but barren — not a drop of caf in sight. A cruel jest to begin the day, for a warrior such as I deserves at least some comfort before facing the Verse. But no caf, no solace. Only duty.
Finrod stirred in my ear, warm as always, reminding me that we’d set our sights on greater things — upgrades, exploration, perhaps even battle. I stepped into the corridor and made my way to the promenade, determined to see what wares the station offered. I paused, as I often do, at the viewing platform. The planet hung below like a dream — pink clouds curled like elven silk, painted against a celestial dome. It reminded me why I roam.
Casaba was full — bustling with buyers elbowing through racks of jackets and flair. I moved on to a quieter section of the Galleria, where the real treasures live: ship weapons. “Deals that are out of this world,” the sign said. I scoffed — and then, I gasped.
There it was. The CF-337 Panther Repeater, resting in digital reverence behind glass. A laser repeater worthy of my vessel. Without hesitation, I bought one — then realized the station UI had tricked me moments earlier into buying a turret not even compatible with my ship. Credits lost to carelessness. I growled. Finrod comforted. We moved on. I’d nearly finished reviewing the ship weapons kiosk when I felt it — that prickling at the back of the neck that instinct breeds. A sudden crackle of light flashed beside me, sharp and jarring. A laser beam, drawn from some multi-tool or cutter, flared against the console’s surface with no warning, mere inches from my hands. I flinched. The glow seared my vision, startling me out of my thoughts.
I turned — and there he was.
A man in mismatched armor, posture loose, eyes unreadable. No words. Just the hum of his tool and the uninvited heat of his presence.
Then he bolted.
No confrontation, no explanation. He slinked into the corner like a creature retreating from firelight. But not gone. Moments later, he emerged again — slower this time, pointing his laser in my direction. Watching. Waiting. And when I looked, he darted behind a rack again, like a coward playing predator.
“Finrod,” I whispered under my breath. “You see him?”
“I do,” came Finrod’s voice, cold now, serious.
“He is tracking you. There is no law against presence, but this is not curiosity. This is pattern. Be wary.”
I pretended to ignore him. Moved store to store. But he followed at a distance, repeating the same unnerving game — draw the tool, fire near me, hide. I never gave him the reaction he wanted.
The weapons vendor across the hall lured me inside. I perused for sidearms, but something nagged at me. My sniper rifle — missing. My pulse spiked before I remembered: I lent it to my companion Tragic. A small smile tugged at my lips. Of course. He has a calm hand and a sharp eye. I trust him with it.
Still… I needed firepower. And then it struck me — the Panther Repeater could be mounted on the wings too. A full triad. Twin fire, plus a forward mount. I darted back, breath catching in anticipation, and bought a second. But my plan was foiled — the nose mount required Size 4, and the Panthers were only Size 2–3. Another upgrade for another day.
Still, with twin repeaters affixed to the wings of my Titan, I felt whole. Whole enough to name her.
When I finally made my way toward the hangar, that crawling sensation had not left me. It followed me into the elevator, into the silence of that rising box of steel and suspicion. I checked the corners. Watched the doors close. Double-checked the pad before selecting my hangar. I wasn’t being hunted... not yet.
But I’d been marked.
And Finrod watched with me.