Stars Beyond the Horizon. Book One: Celestial Hearts

You’d think being the captain of a starship meant getting a moment to breathe now and then. A chance to admire the stars, sip coffee, and maybe pretend I didn’t just sign up for the galaxy’s most chaotic life. But no. My first clue this wasn’t that kind of day came when Zara Kai, my engine mechanic and best friend, stomped out of the engine bay looking like she was ready to fight me—and win. “Nova, I swear to every bolt holding this ship together,” she growled, holding up a piece of piping like a weapon, “if you push her past 110 percent one more time, I’m reprogramming your cabin lights to blink ‘Captain Stress Me Out’ in Morse code until the day I die.” I leaned against the console, trying not to laugh. Zara had exactly two modes: “chill as a frozen asteroid” and “warrior goddess protecting her sacred engine bay.” Right now, I was definitely getting mode two. “I’ll make a note to keep her at 109 percent, just for you,” I replied with a smirk. “Don’t patronize me, Vega. The engines are holding up because I’m a miracle worker, not because you have some magical captain touch,” Zara said, jabbing the pipe in my direction. “You’re going to send us careening into the void one day, and I’m going to be there to say, ‘I told you so.’” “You know, I think you live for the day you get to say that,” I shot back. Zara grinned and twirled the pipe like she was in a parade. “Oh, absolutely. I’m already working on my victory speech. It’s going to be long, dramatic, and full of phrases like, ‘I carried this team on my back.’” Before I could reply, the ship’s comms panel let out a shrill chirp, cutting through our banter. My smile vanished instantly. When you hear that particular sound enough times, your body just reacts. My gut tightened, and I straightened up. “Tia, what’ve we got?” I asked, turning toward the communications console. Tia Malik, our comms officer, tapped a few buttons with practiced ease. Her brow furrowed as she squinted at the distorted feed on her screen. “Incoming distress signal,” she reported. “Originating from sector 19-Beta.” I frowned. “19-Beta? That’s uncharted space.” “Yeah,” Tia said, her fingers flying over the controls. “Signal’s faint. Could be interference, but it’s definitely a mayday. Sounds human… ish.” “Human ish?” I repeated, narrowing my eyes. “What the hell does that mean?” “Could be garbled,” Tia replied with a shrug. “Or maybe it’s, like, a human with a really bad accent.” “Or it’s a trap,” Zara added, wiping grease off her hands as she walked over to us. “You know, pirates pretending to be in distress. That old chestnut.” I ignored her for now, leaning closer to the comms panel. Static filled the speakers, but underneath it, I caught pieces of a voice. “… request… immediate assistance… under attack…” My gut twisted further. The voice was desperate, and desperation was never simple. “Set a course for 19-Beta,” I ordered. “Zara, prep the engines for maximum burn.” From the corner of my eye, I saw Zara throw her hands up in mock exasperation. “Maximum burn? Oh, sure! Let me just grab the emergency stash of magic engine parts I keep for moments like this!” “Save the sass and make it happen,” I said, not bothering to hide my grin. She turned toward the engine bay but stopped to point at me with her oil-streaked hand. “When this ends in fiery doom, don’t say I didn’t warn you.” “Duly noted,” I replied. Zara disappeared into the engine bay, muttering something about captains who believed in “gut instinct” over “actual physics.” Meanwhile, Tia brought up the ship’s navigational charts, her fingers gliding over the holographic display. “You know,” Tia said as she swiveled her chair to face me, “this is the fifth distress call we’ve answered this month. We’re starting to get a reputation.” “For what?” “For being the galaxy’s official ‘fix my problems for free’ hotline.” I smirked, but the weight of the distress signal tugged at me. Tia wasn’t wrong—our little starship had a habit of running toward disaster like it was a sport. Most of the time, I chalked it up to my moral compass being just slightly broken. “Somebody has to answer,” I said quietly. Tia gave me a long look. Then she grinned. “You’re a softie under all that captain bravado, aren’t you?” “Don’t let Zara hear you say that,” I replied dryly. A soft hum vibrated through the ship as the engines roared to life. Zara’s voice crackled over the intercom. “Engines are prepped for maximum burn, Captain Stress-Me-Out. Just don’t ask me to hit the magic ‘fix everything’ button when things go sideways.” “I’ll keep that in mind,” I said, trying not to laugh. The ship jolted slightly as we jumped into warp, the stars outside the viewport stretching into bright streaks of light. I sank into the captain’s chair, my fingers drumming lightly on the armrest. The hum of the engines and the steady rhythm of the ship’s systems filled the air, comforting in its familiarity. “Another day, another disaster,” I muttered to myself. Tia chuckled from her station. “You love it.” I didn’t answer. She wasn’t wrong. Somewhere out there, someone needed saving. And if there was one thing I knew, it was that The Horizon and her crew were built for days like this.