This story is by Chris Cunnane and was part of our 2025 Fall Writing Contest. You can find all the writing contest stories here.
Snapping out of hyperspace was always difficult on the crew, and the space battleship Manta Ray’s sudden deceleration was no different. Arriving at their pre-programmed reconnaissance destination, Captain Norval was gently assisting the groggier cockpit individuals when the first collision klaxon began blaring. Ten seconds later, powerful vibrations reverberated and ripped through the ship causing Norval to stumble. Only grabbing onto the navigator’s chair – with the navigator still in it – prevented him from falling all the way onto the bridge’s deck. The navigator herself was clinging to her integrated display monitor just to maintain her position in the seat.
“Damage report!” demanded Norval of Mephistopheles, or “Meph”, the ship’s AI, as he regained his balance.
“Hull indicates entry damage puncturing the quarterdeck hull on 4th floor. There is no penetrative exit damage.” The puncturing object is therefore still on board — and it’s velocity wasn’t high enough to pierce through the other side of the ship. Thank God.”, thought Norval. Relief at this small concession did nothing to curtail the maelstrom of overloaded adrenaline electrifying Norval’s endocrine system as additional worries sprang into his mind: Is the device inside his ship rigged to explode? Is it corrosive? Radioactive? Infectious? Something else? A battle mode mindset borne of the captain’s training and experience elbowed its way to the front of the captain’s mind.
“All portal and access doors providing access to the compromised area of the ship have been sealed to prevent additional damage,” Meph finished.
Norval said, “Meph, turn on defensive shields and concentrate additional protection over the hole in our ship.”
“Done, Captain.”
“Meph, identify the object that struck our ship.”
“Scan completed. Identity unknown. Object consists of 93% titanium, .5% glass and approximately 6.5% other materials.” Interesting, Norval thought. The object was composed of the exact composition as….wait, but that does not make any sense….
“Meph, estimate the location of object’s primary launch site and impact speed; I want to know where it came from in case another’s on its way.”
“Estimated location of object’s launch from approximately 30K meters, bearing 155 degrees with an approximate speed of 10 kilometers per second.” Norvall turned an exterior camera eastward, zoomed in, and spotted a battle-class frigate matching the Manta Ray. Its nose had a demon painted on the side, positioned identically to the breaching manta ray image on Norvel’s ship. It was the Baal, dispatched to this same quadrant over three years prior on another reconnaissance mission, never seen nor heard from again. Until now.
Norval’s adrenaline climbed higher than he thought possible as he viewed the battleship Baal, thoughts stampeding into all corners of his mind. The darkened frigate stood motionless, side guns deactivated and pointing downwards, the blackness in its bridge area matching the surrounding space. Running lights shone neither from the outside of the ship nor from interior lights on the bridge yet no damage was visible. When Norvel privately inspected his Manta Ray in drydock a few months ago, it appeared completely dark and empty. The Baal, by contrast, was similarly dark and empty but glaring back to the Manta Ray, subtly and maliciously. Suspended and unresponsive light miles from the same base from which the Manta Ray had also launched, the sister ship looked dead, lifeless and scary. Abandoned, yes, but quiescently haunted, too.
Looking beyond Baal, Norval noticed an armada of ships sent previously to this sector on recon missions. A brief review indicated ten ships Norval recognized from his time as captain of the Manta Ray, all of which disappeared with no word from them since arriving. All looked haunted in that same abandoned way as Baal, eerily suspended in space’s nothingness. Like they were waiting or watching for someone. Or something. Impossibly, Norval’s anxiety spiked further.
“Corporal Flaxin, raise the Baal on comms if you can.”
“Already working on it, Sir. I have raised them four times with no response. No interference is noted within our control board, so our hailing request is being received. Just no response from the ship on any frequency.”
“Keep trying and keep me posted immediately if contact established.”
“Communications Ensign Kremelberg, find and retrieve the object that penetrated our ship and report back immediately,” commanded Norval. Kremelberg hurriedly left the bridge.
With the immediacy of his ship’s structure confirmed as secure, Norval shifted attention to the status of his crew. “Meph, confirm all crew have been accounted for.” All crew members had electronic locators embedded into their skin prior to departure from Earth.
Meph answered, “All crew confirmed accounted for, sir.” Meaning no crew member was injured or killed during or after the penetrative impact.
With the Immediate security of crew concluded, Norval pivoted to the nature of the object which punctured his ship. Norval continued feeling edgy without clear answers. He pushed all alternative battle ship power to his shields, maximally bolstering the ship’s protection. Even though the punctured wound on his ship’s side was receiving additional shield protection, whether justified or not, the commander still felt vulnerable.
Kremelberg returned to the Manta Ray’s bridge with the object on a portable cargo cart borrowed from the loading dock. The item, placed there by the cart’s integrated hydraulic loading arm (normally used to stack and load heavy ammunition) spoke to the weight and density of the object. The item’s outside shell was polished metal, scarred with scrapes along its long axis from piercing through the ship’s side. Blackened patterns indicative of being a projectile shot from a weapon were absent, which Norval found curious. Why attack us by punching a hole in our side without using conventional weapons? Was this just space junk and I’m overreacting? Norval’s lack of understanding continued justifying his uneasiness.
Things were moving fast and although Norvel suspected what the object was that struck and damaged his ship, he still didn’t know what it meant. Until he did. Shit.
Norvel’s voice on the ship-wide intercom carried edgy impatience despite immense internal efforts to suppress it: “Battle stations, “ were the only two words uttered. The bridge along with the rest of the ship jumped into action.
Kremelberg quipped up: “It’s a communicator, Sir, with only one message listed in its queue. Interestingly, it is an older model, though we should easily be able to display its message “, said Kremelberg. She cracked open the protective casing, retrieving the communicator before sliding the device into a congruent slot at her station. “Meph, load the message and display on screen 1.”
The head and shoulders of a thin, frail, unwashed woman appeared onscreen, dressed in a thin cotton top suggestive of prison garb, visibly scared and nervous. Her colorless eyes kept fearfully scanning beyond the recording device, hyper-alert to some unseen threat. She spoke softly, with a slight accent Norval recognized immediately as his home dialect. Flabbergasted upon reviewing her hauntingly familiar visage and mannerisms, he knew this woman: it was his sister. Assigned to the Baal as a geologist whose main responsibility was identifying and confirming deuterium, her name was Jordan. Deuterium was the fuel which ran the universe; everything from spaceships to research stations to home pods relied on deuterium’s energy.
Jordan had released the heavy-duty case encompassing the frail communication device into space, aimed directly at the Manta Ray, cleverly relying on the inherent propelling capability from the gravity of a local planet to transport the message to her brother. Jordan reasoned communication using typical channels would be intercepted too easily. So, she stole a spacesuit and launched the object towards his ship from a cargo bay once the Baal, by her calculations, was close enough to her brother’s ship to send the communicator. Space took it from there to deliver the warning; she had calculated the speed of impact, hoping the message would not pierce all the way through the recipient spacecraft. The object was a warning that the Manta Ray was set up for ambush and to accelerate back home upon receipt of her warning. The identities of those trying to intercept Jordan’s message remained unknown, as she ended the recording early to avoid detection.
Once the captain and bridge crew reviewed Jordan’s warning, the Baal suddenly exploded into attack mode, lights and guns blazing as direct hits rumbled and strained the Manta Ray’s defensive capabilities.
“Return fire on Baal using cannons one, two and three and fire torpedo at its bridge!” Norval exclaimed as his crew rushed to defend the ship and return fire.
What awful, buried truth justified the expense of a literal armada and crews being abandoned in deep space? And why was Norval and his crew set up to be next?
Manta Ray’s radar flashed when two additional enemy warships, presumed abandoned, began bearing down on Norval and his crew, one at 10K meters and the other at 19K meters but moving quickly, guns rotating menacingly. The Manta Ray was in the battle for her life….
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