Beneath the Twisted Skies

[TTD]

He went south again, docked at the trading station to finish his storage upgrade. At least that what he hoped they'd think.
While the engineers were busy upgrading his ship, he went to the observation lounge which gave him a near perfect view of what he'd picked up on radar.
That’s a beautifully judged move for Tom — subtle, plausible, and entirely in character. He’s not running. He’s not hiding. He’s simply busy with a legitimate upgrade
, and if anyone happens to be watching his transponder, that’s all they’ll see.

The engineers barely glanced at him as he handed over the authorisation. Storage expansion was routine work — nothing suspicious, nothing that would raise a Split eyebrow.
Tom nodded, thanked them, and slipped out before anyone could ask why he was in such a hurry.
The observation lounge was quiet at this hour. A few traders nursing drinks, a pair of Boron murmuring over a data pad, the low hum of the station’s life support.
Tom moved to the far window, the one that curved outward just enough to give a panoramic sweep of the southern approach.
From here, the sector looked almost peaceful.
Almost.

He could see the faint trails where the escorts had scattered. The afterglow of their engines still hung in the dust lanes. And beyond that,
half‑hidden by the glare of the local star, the unmistakable silhouette of the Raptor he’d tracked earlier.
It wasn’t moving now. It was waiting.
Tom felt the hairs on his arms rise. The vantage point made everything clearer — the spacing of the escorts,
the way the police had peeled away, the deliberate slowness of the Raptor’s drift.
From the cockpit, it had been a pattern.

From here, it was a presence.
He leaned closer to the glass, careful not to draw attention. The engineers would take at least an hour.
Plenty of time to watch. Plenty of time to think.
And far too much time for that nagging doubt to settle deeper into his bones.

[TTD]

The Raptor broke from the escort cloud with a slow, predatory grace, angling toward the Military Base as if the entire sector belonged to it. The escorts tightened into a disciplined wedge, then fanned out around the docking ports in a pattern that wasn’t standard police procedure. This was something else — something rehearsed.
Tom watched from the lounge window, the glass cool beneath his fingertips.
The Raptor didn’t request clearance. It didn’t need to.
The base adjusted its traffic lanes around it, as though the station itself was holding its breath.
The escorts took up positions that weren’t defensive so much as exclusionary.
Not guarding the Raptor — guarding the space around it.
Keeping everyone else at a distance. Even the station’s own security craft drifted back, giving the formation a wide berth.
Tom exhaled slowly.

“Someone or something is doing special work down there…” he murmured,
barely above a whisper. “Something even the engineers here aren’t supposed to know about.”
He didn’t know why he said it aloud. Maybe to hear how it sounded.
Maybe to test whether the thought felt ridiculous once spoken.
It didn’t.
If anything, the words made the truth sharper.

Whatever was happening at that base wasn’t routine.
And the Split weren’t trying to hide it — they were simply making sure no one got close enough to ask the wrong questions.
Tom stayed at the window long after the Raptor vanished into the docking cradle, the escorts holding their silent vigil.
The sector looked normal again.
But the normality felt staged.
And that nagging doubt — the one he’d been trying to ignore — settled deeper, like a weight behind his ribs.

[TTD]

The bar was warm, dim, and comfortably anonymous. Tom chose a seat near the corner, the kind of place where no one paid attention unless you wanted them to.
His drink was mild, barely more than flavoured water, but it gave him something to hold while he scrolled through the station’s service listings.
Engine upgrades.
More expensive than he’d hoped.
Of course they were.
He sighed and flicked to the storage expansion invoice.
“Let’s hope the storage upgrades will help me get what I want quicker,” he thought, half‑resigned.

"Us as well."

The words didn’t so much enter his mind as arrive there — layered, plural, unmistakably not his own. A chorus without volume. A presence without direction.
Tom froze.
Not visibly. Not dramatically. Just a tiny stillness, the kind that only someone who knew him well would notice.
He lifted his drink, took a slow sip, and let his eyes drift across the bar.
Traders.
Dockhands.
A pair of Split officers arguing over a data pad.
A Teladi counting credit chips with reptilian precision.
No one looking at him.
No one speaking to him.
No one close enough to whisper, let alone project a voice into his thoughts.
He swallowed, the taste of the drink suddenly thin.

[TTD]

The voice hadn’t been external.
It hadn’t echoed.
It hadn’t come from any direction at all.


It had simply been.
Tom set his data pad down, careful not to fumble it. His pulse ticked once, hard, then steadied.
He scanned the room again, slower this time, as if the source might reveal itself if he just looked long enough.
Nothing.
But the silence that followed wasn’t empty.
It felt… expectant.
As though whatever had spoken was waiting to see what he would do next.

[TTD]

The corridor outside the bar felt cooler, the hum of the station’s life‑support a steady backdrop as Tom walked toward the docking office.
He kept his data pad in hand, more for something to focus on than anything else. The numbers on the upgrade invoice blurred slightly; fatigue was catching up with him.
“Maybe I need a good night’s sleep,” he muttered under his breath. “If there was such a thing as night in space.”
The docking clerk barely looked up as Tom authorised the extra permits. Routine transaction. Nothing unusual.
Nothing that would draw attention. Exactly what he needed.
He made his way to the residential wing, the lighting dimmed to mimic a circadian cycle that never quite fooled anyone.
The room he hired was small but clean — a bed, a console, a viewport with a sliver of the sector visible beyond the station’s hull.
He set his data pad on the bedside table and exhaled slowly.

The Raptor.
The escorts.
The refinery relays.
The voice.

Too much for one day.
Too much for a mind that hadn’t slept properly in… how long?
He keyed the door lock, let the room seal behind him, and sat on the edge of the bed. The quiet felt heavier than it should have, as though the station itself was holding its breath.
Sleep would help.
It had to.

But as he lay back and closed his eyes, he couldn’t shake the faint, lingering sense that he wasn’t entirely alone in his own thoughts.
Not tonight.