Ancient Legacies part 2

 Chapter Two: The Leviathan’s Breath

The UEN Swiftsure hung in the void like a silver needle beside a mountain of jagged, frozen iron. At Commander Vance’s signal, five figures detached from the cruiser's personnel airlock. Their sleek, matte-black void suits were nearly invisible against the stars, betrayed only by the occasional blue-white hiss of thruster packs.

Below them, the Titan class dreadnought was a bruised god of a ship. It didn't just sit in space; it seemed to displace it, a massive, silent weight that had survived centuries of neglect. As Vance guided her team across the gulf, she looked back to see the Swiftsure banking away, its thrusters glowing as it retreated to a safe tactical distance.

"Captain," Jax’s voice crackled in her ear, steady but formal. "Message from Sector Command just cleared the relay. They’ve green-lit the boarding op. Two heavy tugs and a Grade-A exploration team are being diverted, but they’re two weeks out via slipspace. You're on your own until then."

"Copy that, Jax," Vance replied, her eyes locked on the massive airlock door dead ahead. "Two weeks is a lifetime. We're at the airlock now. Cracking the tomb."

The Threshold

The boarding party landed on the hull with the muffled thrum of magnetic boots. Up close, the dreadnought was even more imposing—the hull plates were thick enough to withstand a planetary bombardment, scarred by micro-meteors and ancient kinetics.

"Childs, you're up," Vance commanded.

Ensign Gavin Childs, the technical officer, knelt by the airlock’s control panel. He pulled an interface cable from his wrist console, attempting to find a port. He hissed in frustration through the comms. "Ma'am, the architecture is... it’s prehistoric. My hardware is trying to talk to a computer that hasn't existed in three centuries. I can’t get a handshake."

"Try an external power bypass," Vance suggested.

Childs hooked up a portable fuel cell, attempting to jumpstart the door’s motors. The panel flickered—a dull, dying orange—before sizzling out. "No go, Commander. The relays are fried or the language is just too different. We’re doing this the old-fashioned way."

Vance grabbed the recessed manual emergency handle. It took three of them—Vance, Miller, and Kovic tugging in unison to overcome the friction of centuries. With a screech that vibrated through their suits, the heavy gears finally turned. The outer door groaned open, revealing a dark, cavernous chamber.

They stepped inside and hauled the door shut, reset the seal, and waited. As the chamber cycled, a readout on Vance’s HUD flickered.

ATMOSPHERIC PRESSURE: 32%

OXYGEN CONTENT: TRACE

GRAVITY: NULL

"Cycle complete," Childs muttered. "Inner door is manual too."

As the inner hatch swung wide, the team stepped out into the belly of the beast. Their helmet lights cut through the gloom, revealing a corridor that stretched into an impossible distance.

"Check your sensors," Vance said, her voice dropping an octave. "Look at the deck."

"It’s... clean," Specialist Aris, the medic, remarked. Her torch swept over the floor. There was no dust, no debris, no signs of the frantic chaos that usually accompanies a ship's demise. "In a derelict this old, there should be some kind of decay. This looks like the crew just walked off for lunch."

The Heart of the Singularity

The team moved in a tactical diamond. Without gravity, they drifted, using the handrails along the bulkheads to pull themselves forward. Their torch beams were tight and sharp; the atmosphere was so thin there were no particles to scatter the light, creating a surreal, high-contrast world of deep shadows and blinding white spots.

Floating in the air around them were the ghosts of the past: a stray wrench, an antique glass bottle, and thousands of tiny, glittering ice crystals that danced in their light like frozen stars.

Thump, Thump

A low, rhythmic pulse vibrated through the deck plates, followed by a long, metallic groan that sounded like a whale singing in the deep.

"Commander," Sergeant Miller whispered, his hand tightening on his particle rifle. "How is this thing still breathing? If it's as old as they say, the fuel cells should have been spent before my grandfather was born."

"It’s not using fuel cells, Sarge," Childs answered, his voice sounding small in the vastness of the ship. "The Titan class was the only line to ever successfully field Zero Point Modules. They don't burn fuel; they draw vacuum energy directly from subspace. It’s a self-sustaining loop."

Miller paused, looking down at the floor as if it might disappear. "If it's got infinite power, why didn't we keep using 'em?"

"Because you're standing on a controlled explosion, Miller," Vance said, checking the deck plan on her HUD. "If a ZPM housing takes a direct hit in combat, the singularity inside doesn't just go out. It breaks free. It would devour the ship, the crew, and probably a good chunk of whatever fleet was standing next to it. We traded the 'infinite power' for the 'not being swallowed by a black hole' option."

Miller went silent, his magnetic boots clicking a little more softly against the deck.

"We're coming up on the primary elevator shaft," Vance noted, pointing her light toward a massive vertical opening. "The bridge is five decks up. Keep your eyes peeled. If the power is on, the internal sensors might be too. We don't want to find out the hard way if this ship has an automated defense 'ghost' still lurking in the wires."