First Reply SOS: Hydian Way

[Sky Wulicailt]

Somewhere along the Hydian Way...

The telltale pulse of a distress signal echoed to any nearby vessels. The source? A stranded YT-2400 freighter, badly damaged. The outer hull was streaked with scorch marks, split metal, exposed wiring, and other components that should never lick the vacuum.

Power appeared to be active but negligible. Life support readings were active but fading.

If anyone were aboard, they would surely need help, and fast. Indeed, someone was aboard. One life found scattered among the dead.

"Warning... Power levels critical. Life support failing." The message repeated every so often from the PA.

It was the very first thing Sky heard when she awoke. Her right arm was bruised, her leg cut open. Panic set in at first but she's been in situations before, not this bad, but similar enough that she knew what to do. The injured woman limped her way to a medical cabinet and scrambled for the expired supplies within. She grimaced and yelped in pain as she cleaned and then bandaged her wound.

Next, the stimpack. Her heart pounded within seconds. She felt like she was about to have a heart attack, but that wasn't important. The sudden burst of energy and awareness it provided gave her a necessary edge, an advantage that might very well be the difference between life and death.

She scrambled to the cockpit, pushed a dead pilot from the chair, and activated the comms. "Hello? Is anyone out there?" The message went out across every open channel it could reach.

 

[Serina Calis]

SOS: Hydian Way
Location: Polis Massa
Objective: Respond to SOS call.
Allies: ???
Opposing Force: ???
Tags: Sky Wulicailt

"Lead from the front."​

The darkness beyond the transparisteel pane had always suited her.

Polis Massa's scattered asteroids drifted like funeral shrouds in an endless wake, illuminated faintly by distant starlight and blinking navigation beacons. There was no sun here, not truly. No rising dawn to herald hope, no painted horizon to warm the soul. Just the vacuum. Just the silence.

It made it easier to think.

Serina Calis stood at the window in full regalia, the lines of her magenta-and-crimson bodice catching the low artificial light like embers beneath velvet. Her cape draped loosely at her shoulders, falling in elegant symmetry to the floor. No crown, no signet—nothing that might mistake her for royalty. She didn't feel like one today.

She had only recently dismissed the last of Reicher's transition staff. The office was finally hers alone. She'd spent an hour doing nothing but listening to the hush of the datafeeds and the rhythmic pulse of the orbital array. Her hands were clasped lightly behind her back. Her posture was perfect, but her thoughts…

Her thoughts were elsewhere.

Everything felt like a performance. The speech, the council, the damnable meeting. All the layers of deception and control she'd built, all the meticulous rhetoric and calculated force posturing—brushed aside like lint from the shoulder of a superior's coat.

She should feel triumphant. She had survived. She had inherited a system, a garrison, a future.

But instead… she felt hollow. Dismissed. Young. And in the eyes of the wider Empire, irrelevant.

So why did it still matter to her so much?

She wasn't weak. She knew that. But strength could be a cruel illusion when not witnessed. And right now, she was unseen.

The door to her office opened with a soft hiss. She didn't turn.

A soldier entered. One of the newer ones—a communications officer by the look of the uniform. Young. Eager. Still believing in things. Serina didn't have the strength to scold that out of him today.

"Governor Calis," he said quickly, approaching and standing at attention. His breath was slightly uneven, betraying haste. "We've picked up a signal. Civilian band. Proximity ping within Hydian drift-range."

Serina turned slowly.

"Speak plainly," she said, her voice measured silk. "Are they requesting passage, or bleeding out in the dark?"

The officer blinked. "It's… a distress signal, ma'am. YT-2400 freighter. Minimal power, one lifeform detected. Looks like a catastrophic system failure."

She said nothing for a long moment. Her eyes fell to the datapad in her hand. It didn't contain the distress call. It had Reicher's old campaign logs—unfinished plans to push deep-mining tech out to the fragments and bring in trade licenses through lesser-known systems. Now they were hers to finish. Hers to reshape.

But this… this was something new.

"Play the message," she said at last.

The officer tapped his wrist unit. A crackled, desperate voice emerged, fragmented by interference.

"Hello? Is anyone out there?"

Serina stared at the projected waveform.

It was a young woman's voice.

One life among the dead.

Just like me.

Her hand tightened slightly around the datapad, enough to cause the interface to flicker.

"Bring it into a secure channel. Prepare a rescue team with full hazard gear, and deploy a relay drone to their position. I want data and structural integrity readouts in ten minutes."

"Yes, Governor," he said with a salute. "Should I alert the medbay—?"

"No." Her voice was cool. "Alert the hangar."

The soldier nodded, and turned to leave.

"Wait."

He paused mid-step.

Serina's expression was unreadable. For a moment, there was something almost mournful in her gaze.

"…Inform the team that I'll be leading the mission personally."

The young officer blinked again, uncertain whether he'd misheard. "Ma'am?"

"You heard me. If this is some trap, I'd rather spring it myself. And if it isn't…" Her eyes returned to the stars. "Then maybe this girl has something I've been missing."

Hope.

The door shut behind her with a hiss.

And in the dark vacuum where lost things drifted, a pulse of life flickered faintly—and Polis Massa turned to face it.

 

[Sky Wulicailt]

There was no immediate response.

Sky slouched into the chair and then glanced down at the corpse beside her. It was a strange feeling to stare at the corpse of someone you were familiar with just hours ago. He was in the mess before all this happened, and so was she, in the middle of a conversation about various ports of call and the like. Stories and exploits. Small talk and banthachit among spacers.

She continued to stare at it, and somehow, it didn't feel like the same person. Maybe it was the stimpack, or maybe it was the dwindling life support, but she stared and stared and felt no remorse. No fear. Just a blank spot in her mind as echoes of the day before began to fade like a dream. She put the passing events out of mind. Thoughts for later, survival for now.

Then, there was a ping from the monitor. Something just jumped out of hyperspace into her proximity. Sensors were minimal at this power level, but it was small and moved cautiously around the ship.

"A probe?" She muttered the thought to herself.

That could be good or bad... It meant whoever noticed their distress signal had resources and the calculation to deploy them. Someone expected--even in passing possibility--the threat potential of an ambush and likely had the means to respond accordingly if they were going to recon ahead.

A few punches into the console and she had the computer monitor its movement and establish an alert should something else drop out of hyperspace. She also connected a portable comlink to it; that way, she could respond to any messages without needing to be in the cockpit.

Then, Sky stood up and limped her way toward the armory. It was a small smuggling vessel and not a warship, and the only weapon available was an old, sawed-off CDEF rifle. Wouldn't be her first choice, but it would have to do.

Serina Calis

 

[Serina Calis]

SOS: Hydian Way
Location: Polis Massa
Objective: Respond to SOS call.
Allies: ???
Opposing Force: ???
Tags: Sky Wulicailt

"Lead from the front."​

There were few places quieter than Polis Massa.

But the shuttle interior… that was something else entirely. A silence cultivated with purpose. Even the engine thrum was subdued, as if the vessel itself dared not interrupt the Governor's thoughts.

Serina Calis sat near the viewport, legs crossed at the knee, hands clasped loosely in her lap. Her armored silhouette caught the dim red cabin lights, crimson lines glowing faintly along her chestplate, pulsing with rhythmic energy like a heartbeat sealed in durasteel. The cloak pooled around her like coiled silk, still and heavy.

She watched the stars slide past, and for a moment, she felt nothing at all.

This was how it always happened—when she was alone, truly alone, the noise inside her head dulled. The bitterness that clung to her like dust on a datapad—silenced. For just a flicker of time, she was neither judged nor dismissed, not compared to anyone, not seen as a brat nor a liability.

She simply was.

And that was enough.

A soft tone chimed on the panel beside her. The probe's transmission had returned, and with it… visuals. A ship. YT-2400 class. Power bleeding. Structural integrity—questionable. One lifeform aboard, same as before.

"Open the channel," she murmured.

Her pilot—a woman from the detachment she'd begun reshaping under her direct command—nodded silently and complied.

There was no response yet, but Serina didn't expect one. Not immediately.

"Passive scans show no weapons power," the pilot said over her shoulder. "It's a ghost. Atmosphere's still holding, barely."

Serina didn't answer.

She was staring again.

Not at the screen. Not at the ship. But at her own reflection in the dark glass of the viewport. The shape of her. The armor. The shadows around her eyes from too many sleepless nights. She looked like a wraith, a specter masquerading as a savior.

"Five minutes to docking range."

Serina stood.

"Prep your breach team," she ordered softly. "Standard hazard formation. But I'm first on board."

There was a moment of hesitation.

"…Governor, protocol requires—"

"I'm not here to follow protocol," Serina replied without venom, only precision. "I'm here to see for myself. If this is a trap, I want to walk into it eyes wide. If it's a survivor, I want them to know they were not rescued by committee."

The pilot gave a sharp nod and relayed the order.

As Serina made her way aft, she passed the emergency supply cabinet and removed a compact rebreather, checking its seals, then slipped it into a magnetic clamp at her belt. The motion was fluid, practiced. Everything about her was deliberate.

She stepped into the small launch corridor just behind the boarding claw. The sound of the magnetic locks cycling open was like a breath drawn and held.

Then she saw it.

The freighter loomed ahead like a wounded animal—scorched, fractured, slouched in its own orbit. The probe was still latched beneath it, feeding telemetry back to the shuttle.

She could feel it even now, through the Force.

Pain. Desperation. Trauma. Not raw panic anymore, not chaos. Just... pressure. A pressure that lingered like soot in the lungs, clinging to the survivor's skin and bones.

The shuttle adjusted course, locking into place.

The airlock hissed.

She stepped forward.

Darkness greeted her.

 

[Sky Wulicailt]

Her comlink clicked. Someone, or something, connected on the open channel.

"Hello? This is Navigator Wulicailt of the Red Kimogila. Are you receiving our distress signal?" She asked in a strained but unpanicked tone.

Before she could wait for a response, however, an alarm blared across the PA system. It was that alert she had set up just minutes ago. Something else must have jumped out of hyperspace. Sky rushed, as much as she could with her limp, toward the cockpit to see what came up on display.

This time, it was no probe. A larger ship, shuttle class by the readout. Large enough to carry more than a handful of souls, it made a beeline toward the stranded freighter. While she hoped it was a rescue party, there was still the paranoia in the back of her mind. She looked down again at the pilot's corpse. Her true feelings showed through the cracks.

"It wasn't personal," she whispered. Her eyes flicked back to the display.

The sound of the shuttle docking chimed throughout the interior. As did the audible hiss of atmosphere as both pressure and oxygen began to rebalance ahead of the airlock opening. A small window for her to react before it did.

Sky moved again. She began to shut down as many of the interior lights as she could. All save for the emergency ones that wouldn't shut off. Shuttered a maze of doors and lifted a floor grate into the smuggling compartment. Options just in case.

Finally, she limped towards the airlock--snub rifle in hand but not brandished--and stood at the ready as the interior airlock door opened.

Serina Calis

 

[Serina Calis]

SOS: Hydian Way
Location: Polis Massa
Objective: Respond to SOS call.
Allies: ???
Opposing Force: ???
Tags: Sky Wulicailt

"Lead from the front."​

The hiss of the pressure seal releasing was less mechanical than usual. More like breath. Like the whisper of a veil being drawn aside.

Serina stepped forward with the soft, deliberate grace of a predator who knew the kill was optional.

She didn't rush.

The interior lights flickered low, casting a dim crimson hue that danced across her armored silhouette in pulses, catching the glowing lines etched into her cuirass. Her cloak trailed behind her like living shadow, pooling at her boots, a blade sheathed in velvet. The snaking lines of her armor shimmered faintly in the emergency glow—geometric, sinuous, half-organic and half-runic, as though something inside her wasn't made of flesh at all.

Her helmet was off. Of course it was.

She wanted to be seen.

The door finished cycling open, and there—just as the probe had promised—stood a woman.

Wounded. Guarded. Armed, but not hostile. Not yet.

Serina's expression was unreadable, a carefully arranged calm. Her lips were slightly parted, as if to speak but choosing instead to observe. Her eyes, icy blue, raked over the survivor—not cruelly, not lasciviously, but analytically. She didn't leer. She studied. Measured.

The rifle wasn't aimed.

Good.

"Navigator Wulicailt, was it?" Serina asked gently, her voice like poured wine—low, textured, luxurious. "That's quite a mouthful."

She took one step closer, but not enough to threaten. Just enough to suggest she could if she wanted to.

"And you're alone," she said, almost to herself, as if observing something quietly tragic. "I assume the rest of your crew isn't faring quite as well."

She didn't look at the bodies. She didn't need to. The smell told her enough. The echo in the Force—faint, jagged remnants of violence and despair—filled in the rest.

"You've done well to hold out this long. Most don't," she said. And then: "Most break."

A pause.

"I'm Governor Serina Calis of Polis Massa," she continued at last, stepping to the side to let the flickering light better sculpt her face. "Not that names mean much in the void, do they? Still. I'd like to know who I'm talking to before I offer you a choice."

Her smile wasn't large. Barely a curve. But there was a certain shimmer behind it—a gleam that had nothing to do with light.

"You can lower the weapon, if it pleases you. Or don't. I quite like watching people make their own decisions. Even bad ones."

She turned her body slightly, angled just enough that the intricate patterns along her side were exposed in full. Runes that hinted at Sith architecture, but deviated—distorted. Her corruption was not loud or boastful. It was graceful. Serene. Beautiful, even, in the way venom glistens on a blade's edge.

"I didn't come to interrogate you," she added after a long silence, her voice quieter now. "I came because you asked for help. And because... something in your voice told me you were worth hearing out."

A slow blink.

"I was right, wasn't I?"

She took another step. Not to encroach. Just close enough to enter the survivor's space—subtly, masterfully—without requiring permission.

"You remind me of something," she said suddenly, looking past the other woman, as though into some distant memory. "A storm I saw once over Jaga's Rift. Black and gold and terrible. It didn't scream. It just loomed. Waiting."

Her gaze snapped back, cold fire in her pupils.

"Are you waiting too?" she asked. "Or are you hiding?"

A beat.

She moved then, not forward, but aside—beginning to circle slowly, casually, like someone admiring the artistry of a statue she didn't yet own.

"No need to answer that. Not yet."

The air between them hummed faintly with tension, but not the kind born of fear. It was something else. Like the first moment a flame brushes paper—not consuming, not yet, but inevitable.

"Here's what's going to happen," Serina said finally. "You'll come aboard my vessel. You'll eat, bathe, and sleep somewhere that doesn't smell like blood and ozone. You'll tell me what happened, when you're ready. You'll choose, in time, whether you want to vanish... or matter."

She stopped, finally, just a few feet away.

Then, slowly—exquisitely slow—she offered her gloved hand.

"No one else survived," she said softly. "But you did. That makes you special."

A beat.

"Show me why."

 

[Sky Wulicailt]

The woman who stepped first into the dying freighter met none of Sky's expectations. How she was dressed, carried herself, and spoke all felt strange, to say the least...

"Rolls off the tongue when you get used to it." Sky tightened her grip around the blaster but didn't brandish it.

Sky itched to glance back towards the room full of two deceased crew members, and she thought of the dead pilot especially, but her gaze stayed locked on the newcomer. Most break? An interesting dialogue to begin now. "Thanks, I'll be sure to tell my therapist... But--" Her words were cut off as the woman continued to speak.

A governor? That was new. Sky had heard of Polis Massa in passing but knew nothing besides that it was some rock floating in an asteroid field. It was true, as the governor claimed, that names meant little out here. It didn't add any definition to their conversation. Not yet, anyway.

"Respectfully... Miss... Err, is it Madam Governor? The barrel is pointed down, and it will stay that way as long as things stay friendly like they are." Sky replied.

The next step forward felt testy, but Sky continued to keep her ground with no movement forward or back.

"Waiting, hiding? I don't under--" She began to answer before she was cut off again, with her eyes squinted in confusion.

This was all starting to feel like a spaceport interrogation. Routine questions, standard procedure, yada yada, but all wrapped in a certain display of esotericism and dress that felt like it belonged to another world. A world that Sky was completely unacquainted with until now. Her thoughts kept from drifting back to what happened only hours ago, this was not the time or place to analyze that massive kark up.

When Serina's words--their accompanying tone--turned to the 'what will happen next' speech, Sky's grip tightened again, but she did not raise the weapon. Merely scratched her nails against the metal in frustration. "I'm sorry, is this a recruitment speech?" Despite her mild-mannered backtalk, Sky was certainly feeling the creeps right about now.

The gentleness of Serina's offer all tied up in demands and the understated fact that no one else was coming to her rescue left little choice. Only a bitter taste masked by nonchalance. Sky looked down at the offered hand and reluctantly took it. She wasn't about to add to her disrespect of the situation. She could only hope this person's offer was a genuine one.

"Being alive doesn't feel very special, but it's preferable to the alternative... I accept your assistance." She said with a curt bow of her head and clipped the rifle to her hip.

Before anything else, Sky glanced behind her before she looked back to Serina. "If I may make one small request... I'd rather the vessel be destroyed than some scavenger finding and looting the bodies and their belongings."

Serina Calis