Thanatos

Ensign Aileen Vessari shifted the weight of her regulation-sized duffel, adjusting the strap to keep it from creasing her uniform. An officer should look sharp—especially on her first real deployment.

Soon-to-be Signals Intelligence Officer, Solar Federation Navy.

FSV-CLN-43 Thanatos.

It still didn’t feel real.

“Federation Council approves asylum requests for another wave of refugees fleeing the Tolvora system, as local unrest brews while Tribunal arbitration continues.”

The news anchor’s voice was soft, as if she were announcing lottery numbers—not another arc of humanitarian crisis unfolding a few light-years from the Federation border. Her tone filled the elevator, the only entertainment during the ride from the orbital arrival deck down to the departure shuttles.

“Tensions between Tolvora Prime and the Tolvoran Miners’ Front continue to rise, as the Volkaran Union still denies involvement in financing and militarily supporting the separatist movement.”

Aileen’s fingers tightened slightly. Tolvora’s troubles had begun decades before she was born. The diplomatic quagmire known asThe Tribunal Arbitrationhad haunted the news since she was old enough to understand them.

“The Sarmatian government still refuses to adhere to Federation-ordained refugee quotas, citing concerns over Volkaran agents infiltrating the refugees. Auriele DeGaulle of Nouveaux Domremy, speaking from her seat on the Federation Council, calls on all sixteen member-states to show greater empathy in these trying times. As we move to the report—”

“Fucking Tolvorans,” someone muttered behind her—just loud enough to carry. “We let them in and they steal our fucking jobs and steal our money, while we rot away in flying tin cans.”

“And fucking Sarmatians,” another, younger voice chimed in. “They keep the scum out of their system, and the rest of us end up with their quota.”

Aileen’s shoulders tensed. She hadn’t expected that kind of talk in uniformed company. It wasn’t the Tolvorans’ fault someone was trying to destabilize their planet for personal gain. Helping those who couldn’t help themselves was one of the core principles of the Federation.

She turned, lips parting—ready to respond—but the words caught in her throat.

The first man met her eyes—chocolate-brown locking with her vivid green—before flicking to the two silver diamonds on her collar, gleaming under the elevator’s yellow lights. Then to the patch on her arm. His expression changed fast. He jabbed his companion sharply with an elbow.

The two voidmen—regulation khaki jumpsuits, faces weathered from hard vacuum and harder schedules—snapped to attention and saluted.

Startled, she reflexively returned the salute.

Silence settled over the lift. Somewhere above, the news anchor droned on about Daochun’s AI-driven social credit scores.

None of it mattered.

Then she remembered the magic words.

“At ease.”

Hands dropped.

“Mind your conduct, voidman,” she said—tone flat, textbook-perfect. Or it would’ve been, if her voice hadn’t pitched up at the end and her eyes hadn’t drifted to the wall.

The older voidman stared, brows drawn in quiet confusion. Too soft? Too confrontational? Her stomach sank lower.

“No, ma’am,” he said.

“You’re fromThanatos?” the younger one blurted out. His eyes widened—like she’d told him she was marching herself out the nearest airlock.

She shifted her posture slightly, letting the armpatch show. She’d sewn it on during her transfer to Hecate Station, wanting to arrive already bearing the mark of her new posting. A sign that she took her job seriously.

“Yes—I am.”

Her voice cracked, alarms going off behind her eyes, one after another.

The younger one opened his mouth again. She couldn’t look away, waiting for whatever revelation was about to spill.

The older one jumped in. “Oh. That’s our stop, apparently,” he said—too fast, too forced.

The younger one turned sharply. “But we’re going to—”

An elbow to the ribs cut him off.

“Have a good day, ma’am.” Both saluted again and stepped off the lift the instant the doors opened.

Aileen blinked as the elevator resumed its descent. It felt faster now, though she knew it wasn’t. She leaned against the wall, letting the Academy-drilled spring in her posture collapse. Her heart pounded, thoughts spiraling tighter with each loop. The younger one knew something—and the older one stopped him. She’d expected indifference. Maybe curiosity. Jealousy, even.

Not that look.

That last goodbye look.

Just what the hell was Thanatos?

This was supposed to be her real step on the career ladder. A Mars-class line carrier—pure prestige. A ship you put on your record and watch doors open.

She remembered the email. Her fingers trembled as she keyed in her service number, barely breathing. It had come just two weeks after she completed her training cruise aboard Minerva—an honor reserved for the top third of her class. She’d made it by six places.

“Thrives in a structured environment,” the CO of Minerva wrote in her performance review. At the time, it felt like validation. Like a door opening. She’d hoped for a destroyer posting, or maybe even a light cruiser with a commendation like that. It was the proudest moment of her career—until now.

When she saw the ship assignment—Mars-class—her pulse spiked. Not a destroyer, not a cruiser, but a goddamn line carrier? She knew she’d done well on Minerva, but posting a greenhorn to a top-of-the-line Federation ship? She’d even sent a formal request for clarification. No response. Just silence.

It was like the whole fleet was pretending Thanatos didn’t exist. No chatter, no alumni, no inside gossip. Her friends had bragged about Atlantia, Oberon, and Celestine. Even Gallahad, the new Avalon-Novadarmund “hush-hush” doctrine-breaker cruiser, got attention.

Thanatos? Nothing.

The email told her nothing. Just a name. An anchorage. A place to be. It read more like a reassignment than a deployment.

CO: [redacted]. No previous deployments, no accolades, no battle history.

The elevator hissed open, decompressing her into the structured chaos of the departure platform. Voices overlapped. A scent cocktail of grease, sweat, and too-expensive perfume hit her in the teeth—Hecate Anchorage, in all its ugly glory.

Clutching her duffel, she straightened again. Shoulders back, chin high, hand locked on the duffel strap. And tried to melt into the flow of bodies. Someone bumped her. A boot stomped hers. She pushed through the tide toward the departure board. The red flicker stabilized, resolving into a single, unblinking line of text:

THANATOS – Shuttle Coltraine – Berth 26C – Departs: 1 hour.

One hour. After that, no more questions—just answers she might not want.

She drifted toward a wide viewport, eyes scanning the void, trying to spot Thanatos among the stars. In the vastness of space, even something the size of a small city was hard to see—especially when she didn’t even know where it was anchored.

It had to be a Mars-class hull repurposed into a logistics bird or some forgotten carrier under a retiring officer—perfect for getting her career started in relative safety.

But the voidmen’s reaction...

Near the bottom of the viewport, something moved—barely a glint, just a shifting silhouette against the stars.

She leaned in.

Nothing. Maybe a tug. Maybe a shadow.

But her chest tightened anyway.

Instinctively, she pulled her slip out of her breast pocket. The holo-screen sprang to life. Her parents looked at her proudly. A photo taken the day she left for the Academy. Her dad in that blue jumpsuit they made him wear in the factory; he almost missed her departure.

She swiped and went into contacts.

And who was she going to call?

Real-time was only available inside the station’s network. She didn’t know anyone on Hecate.

She could’ve sent a digital letter. But it would take days. Maybe weeks before they received it.

She hung her head and put her slip away.

She gripped the railing as her stomach twisted again.

Maybe it was some kind of black ops vessel.

Maybe those men knew something she didn’t.

Fighting the sudden, stupid urge to stay here until the Fleet forgot she existed, she wiped the sweat from her brow and forced herself toward the gate—praying no one had noticed the tremble in her hand.

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“Thanatos?” a bored voice asked.

Aileen looked up. The woman speaking was a lieutenant—Folstad, her nametag read. Her collar confirmed the rank, but it was the eyes that caught Aileen off guard: grey, sharp, buried behind half-circled, thin-framed glasses. Wrinkles deepened around them as she squinted.

“Are you deaf, Ensign?” the woman repeated, louder this time.

Aileen felt the queue’s attention shift toward her like a laser. Her ears burned. Her face flushed hot—with her complexion, there was no hiding it. She was probably redder than her own damn hair.

“N-no, ma’am,” she blurted. Her voice cracked—half an octave too high. She snapped to salute.

Folstad shook her head. “At ease.”

Then, eyes narrowing: “Then why are you wearing the patch, Ensign...” she glanced down at Aileen’s nametag, “...Vessari?”

“Because I’m supposed to report to Thanatos,” Aileen replied, trying for formal. Trying to recover.

“Then why did you say no?”

“I addressed the last question, ma’am.” She swallowed loudly.

Folstad sighed, the exhale sharp with exhaustion. Aileen could swear she saw a twitch at the corner of her mouth. A smirk?

“Why are you going there, Ensign?” she asked.

Aileen’s stomach dropped like a failed burn.

“Because I was assigned there, ma’am?” she answered—except it came out like a question. She hated the sound of it.

“Your slip, Vessari.” The lieutenant held out a small box. “You know that civilian tech must be checked by forensics before connecting to the ship networks. You’ll get it sometime after boarding.”

“I know the regulations, ma’am.” With a swift motion, she placed her slip into the box.

“Any black-market implants, Ensign?”

“No, ma’am.” She could swear she heard a chuckle from the other side of the desk.

“Of course not,” the woman replied.

Folstad swiped something on the gate desk tablet, then turned back and gave her a slow, appraising once-over—from boots to collar, pausing on her perfectly ironed, regulation-dark graphite uniform.

“I’ll give you one piece of advice, Ensign.” Her voice was flat, matter-of-fact. “Drop the uniform. Switch into your khakis. You’ll thank me later.”

Before Aileen could say a word, the gate light flashed green. The crowd surged forward and swallowed her up.

Twenty minutes later, she was staring at her reflection.

The khaki jumpsuit fit perfectly—pressed, regulation-tight. The only thing separating her from the voidmen now were the two silver diamonds on her collar. That, and the fact her uniform didn’t look like it had been through a combat cycle.

Her skin was back to its usual ceramic-white, maybe even a shade paler. Hard to tell under the lighting. She leaned in until her forehead touched the cold mirror. Stayed there. Crossed her arms, gripping tight to stop the tremor running down her spine.

She wasn’t sure if she wanted to cry, or scream.

Or both.

Or neither.

What the fuck is Thanatos?

The thought bounced inside her skull like a pinball, careening off everything—duty, fear, pride, doubt.

It hit something raw every time.

She stood there, breathing hard, waiting for her pulse to calm. This was hazing. It had to be. The crew saw the stiff uniform, the too-perfect stance, the pale face, the red hair—she might as well have walked in screamingfresh meat.

That had to be it. Just the usual shit they pulled on rookies.

She laughed. Sharp, short, too loud for the empty room.

And Folstad telling her to switch into khakis?

She probably wanted her to show up underdressed. First-ship hazing, all part of the ritual.

Aileen exhaled. The tremble in her hands was gone.

Maybe she’d change back before reporting in. Maybe—

“Coltraine – departing for Thanatos in ten minutes.”

She glanced at the time. No chance. She was stuck with the jumpsuit now.

Reporting aboardThanatoslooking like a voidman wasn’t ideal, but it was done.

She straightened her collar, squared her shoulders, and walked toward the shuttle.

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The story continues.

The Iron Carriage arrives Monday at 16:15 UTC+1