The station rumbled beneath their feet as the automated voice continued its eerie chant:
"Administrator override… in progress…"
John gritted his teeth, gripping the edge of the control console. "Okay, I’ve had enough of this. Who the hell thinks they own my new space station?"
Vrixibalt was frantically scrolling through the station’s ancient logs, his feathers puffed up in a mix of anxiety and scientific curiosity. "The system is pulling from deep archives—whatever’s overriding us is old."
Drix, still breathless from his infiltration mission, leaned against the console. "You’re telling me some long-dead owner still has dibs on this place?"
The station trembled again, and across the monitors, power rerouted itself. Doors locked. Defense systems shut down.
And then, a new voice cut through the station.
Not cold. Not robotic.
This one was very much alive.
"Unauthorized claim detected. You have exactly sixty seconds to explain why you are on my station before I eject your remains into deep space."
John froze. He wasn’t sure what he’d been expecting—some long-lost AI, maybe a pre-recorded message from a forgotten owner.
But this?
This was something else entirely.
<hr>
The Ghost of a Station Past
Vrixibalt squawked in alarm, his fingers flying over the controls. "The override signal is coming from inside the station."
John blinked. "Wait, hold on—you’re telling me someone’s been here this whole time?"
Drix’s mandibles clicked together. "That would explain why none of the records listed a salvage claim. If the station was truly abandoned, the Guild would’ve registered it ages ago."
John folded his arms, annoyed. "So we’re dealing with a squatter? Or some long-lost station keeper?"
Before anyone could answer, the voice returned—low and unimpressed.
"You have thirty seconds."
John rolled his shoulders and did what he did best—improvise. He pressed the intercom.
"Listen, pal, I don’t know who you are, but as far as I can tell, this station was abandoned. We got here first. Salvage rules say finders keepers—unless you’ve got a damn good reason to say otherwise."
Silence.
Then, a soft chuckle.
"Salvage rules? Oh, I like you. You must be the one they call John."
John felt a shiver crawl up his spine. "…And you are?"
"You can call me Keph. I’ve been watching you since you set foot on my station. And I must say—your luck is fascinating."
John’s stomach dropped.
Oh, he really didn’t like that.
<hr>
Revealing the Truth
The station’s lights flickered as a door hissed open on the far side of the control room.
A figure stepped through.
Tall. Wrapped in a sleek, semi-organic exosuit with glowing cyan lines running along their limbs. Their face was obscured, but the voice came through clear and mocking.
"Let’s talk, John."
John didn’t move. "Let me guess. You’re the real owner of this place?"
Keph tilted their head. "In a way. The station was part of an old project. I was… involved."
Vrixibalt furiously scrolled through the archives, his feathers twitching. "This station was marked as part of a lost research division. But that was—"
Keph interrupted smoothly. "—A long time ago. And yet, here we are."
John narrowed his eyes. "You didn’t answer my question. Are you the actual owner?"
The author''s content has been appropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.
Keph took a slow step forward. "I am now."
Drix muttered, "That’s not suspicious at all."
John exhaled through his nose. "Alright, Keph. If you are the owner, then you owe back taxes, a ton of overdue maintenance costs, and probably a parking violation or two."
Keph laughed. "You’re amusing. But let’s be clear—you’re sitting on something much bigger than you realize. And you just walked into the middle of it."
The station shuddered again.
Keph turned slightly toward a monitor, as if listening to something only they could hear. Then, they smiled beneath their mask.
"You’re not the only ones looking for this place. And they just found us."
John clenched his fists.
Oh.
Of course they had.
The station shuddered, and a deep, ominous hum resonated through the walls. John didn’t know what was worse—the fact that Keph had been lurking on this station, apparently watching them from the moment they arrived, or the fact that someone else was now coming for it.
Drix’s mandibles clicked in irritation. “Great. Another complication.”
John sighed. “Because things were going so smoothly before.” He turned his attention back to Keph. “Alright, mysterious station ghost, care to explain who exactly is looking for this place?”
Keph tilted their head, cyan-lit fingers tapping against the sleek material of their suit. “I assume you’re familiar with the concept of people who really don’t like competition?”
Vrixibalt fluffed his feathers in alarm. “Corporate enforcers?”
Keph chuckled. “That would be an understatement. This station was part of a classified research project long before the Salvage Guild ever laid eyes on it. But let’s just say… certain entities don’t appreciate anyone poking around in places they thought were erased from history.”
John’s stomach sank. “And let me guess—now that we’ve poked, they want to erase us too?”
Keph simply nodded.
<hr>
Intruders on Approach
The comms crackled to life. Tylle’s voice, tense and urgent, came through.
“Uh, boss? We’ve got incoming.”
John pressed the intercom. “How many?”
“Three ships, small strike craft. No official markings, which means either pirates or black-ops. Not sure which is worse.”
Drix groaned. “I hate being right.”
John turned to Keph. “So, this was your station. Care to tell me if it’s got any working defenses?”
Keph exhaled. “It did. Past tense. But whoever’s coming isn’t here for a friendly chat. If we don’t want to get spaced, we need to move—now.”
John frowned. “Move where? We’re on a space station.”
Keph gestured toward a nearby console. “Lucky for you, this isn’t just any station.”
Vrixibalt’s eyes widened. “You don’t mean—”
Keph smirked. “Oh, I do.” They tapped the controls.
A deep vibration pulsed through the entire structure. Monitors flickered as dormant systems roared to life.
Drix looked around, his mandibles tightening. “What the hell did you just do?”
Keph’s voice was far too smug.
“I turned the station back on.”
<hr>
A Station with Secrets
Lights blazed to full brightness. Automated systems rebooted, and deep within the station, enormous mechanisms groaned as they shifted.
John grabbed the console as a sudden lurch threw him off balance. “Hold on—what the hell is happening?”
Keph’s cyan-lit visor gleamed. “You’re standing on something much more valuable than a simple outpost. This station wasn’t designed to stay put.”
Vrixibalt nearly fell over in shock. “This station is—mobile?”
Keph nodded. “Not just mobile. It can change. Adapt to different needs—combat, cargo, research, whatever the operator requires.”
John let out a slow whistle. “And let me guess—the operator would be me?”
Keph shrugged. “Technically, the station needs an authorized claimant.” They gestured toward the console. “Which, lucky for you, it already registered.”
John glared. “I don’t like how often people keep using the word lucky around me.”
Keph ignored him and turned back to the controls. “Right now, our only option is to get the station out of here before our uninvited guests blow us to pieces.”
The comms crackled again. “Uh, boss?” Tylle’s voice was even more panicked. “They’re locking weapons.”
John gritted his teeth. “Alright. Let’s see what this station can really do.”
Keph’s fingers danced over the console. “Strap in, everyone. This is going to be fun.”
The entire station lurched, and outside the observation windows, space itself seemed to twist. The oncoming ships suddenly found their target disappearing in a blinding burst of energy.
And just like that—
The station was gone.