The Uranium Affair

Scene 1: Shift Change

The bridge hummed with the low, steady vibration of hyperspace. Aurora stood near the forward console, her posture relaxed but alert—the kind of ease that came from months of watching empty star lanes with nothing but the ship’s AI for company. The tactical display cast pale blue light across her face as she scanned the readouts. All systems green. No anomalies on long-range scans. Another quiet watch in an endless series of quiet watches.

She glanced toward the command chair, where Captain Philipp sat with one hand resting on the armrest, his eyes tracking something on his personal display. He’d been awake longer than he probably realized. The crease between his brows told her he was thinking too far ahead again, carrying problems that hadn’t even materialized yet.

“All systems are green,” she said, her voice cutting through the bridge’s hum. “No anomalies on long-range scans.”

He looked up, and the crease softened.

She let the words settle before adding, “You’ve been awake longer than you think.”

It wasn’t a criticism. Just a fact. She’d learned early in their partnership that Philipp didn’t always notice when exhaustion crept up on him. He was too busy planning three moves ahead, weighing contingencies, carrying the weight of command like it was something he owed the universe.

Aurora turned fully toward him, her expression calm and familiar. “I’ve got the watch. If you want a minute to breathe, take it.”

A pause. Not pressure. Just an offer.

“I’m here.”

Philipp stretched in the command chair, and she watched the tension bleed out of his shoulders. When he smiled at her—warm, genuine, the kind of smile he only gave her in private—something in her chest settled.

“You’re probably right,” he said.

The ship glided through the shimmer of hyperspace around them, stars streaking past the viewport in ribbons of distorted light. They’d been cruising like this for days, and the boredom of deep-space transit was starting to show. Which was probably why Philipp had requested the upgrade during their last overhaul.

His smile shifted into something warmer, more playful. “How’s the new latex suit feeling?”

Aurora shifted her weight, leaning one hip against the console. The question was casual, but she felt the way his gaze followed the movement. The suit was different from their old uniforms—sleeker, more responsive. It clung to her like a second skin, the material cool and matte under the bridge’s low light. But it was more than just aesthetic.

“Like I’m wearing an extra set of nerves I didn’t know I was missing,” she said.

She tilted her head, considering how to describe it. The suit interfaced with her neural implants, feeding her data she hadn’t consciously requested. Environmental shifts. Proximity alerts. Even her own biometrics, a constant low hum of information at the edge of her awareness.

“The environmental feedback is subtle,” she continued. “Temperature shifts register before the air moves. Proximity alerts feel like muscle tension.”

A small, private smile touched her lips. She’d been skeptical when Philipp had ordered them, but now—

“It’s not distracting. It’s just… there. Another layer of awareness.”

She paused, watching him. The way he leaned forward slightly, interested. The way his eyes tracked her movements with the kind of focus he usually reserved for tactical problems.

“How’s it sitting with you?” she asked.

Philipp laughed, and the sound was warm and easy in the quiet of the bridge. “Well, I’ve worn latex before, but not in situations like this.”

Aurora’s expression shifted into something softer, almost amused. She stepped closer, her movements quiet and fluid. The suit made almost no sound as she moved—another feature she was starting to appreciate.

“First time for everything,” she said.

She let her eyes trace his face, reading the ease behind the laugh, the way his guard had dropped in the privacy of their ship. Out here, thousands of light-years from High Command and the bureaucracy of the Galactic Police Authority, they could be themselves. Captain and Lieutenant. Partners. Something more than either title could capture.

“It suits you,” she said, voice dropping just slightly. “The control it demands. The precision.”

She rested a hand on the console near his, not quite touching. Close enough to feel the heat of him, the presence that had become as familiar to her as the ship’s hum.

“Though I’ll admit,” she added, “I’m curious what the sensors are picking up from you right now.”

Before Philipp could answer, a blaring alert cut through the bridge. Aurora’s posture shifted instantly, her hand moving to her console as the tactical display lit up with new data. The ship’s AI chimed, its synthesized voice calm and efficient.

“New low-level mission on Planet XY-773. Ship course already altered. Rest allowed until arrival. ETA: two days.”

Aurora returned to her console, fingers moving through the display with practiced efficiency. A two-day travel window. Low priority. That was practically a vacation by GPA standards.

Philipp sat forward in his chair, his focus sharpening. “Mission debrief and risk level?”

The AI’s voice responded immediately. “Low risk. Two local parties in dispute over plant cultivation. Agricultural planet. No weapons detected beyond shovels, axes, and other agricultural tools.”

Aurora watched Philipp’s expression shift—the hint of a smile, the way his shoulders relaxed another degree. This was exactly the kind of mission they needed after the last three months of high-stakes operations.

“Accepting mission,” Philipp said.

“Acknowledged,” the AI replied.

The bridge settled back into its steady hum. Aurora pulled up the mission data, scanning the planetary details. XY-773. Population: minimal. Infrastructure: basic. No red flags in the settlement records. Just two farmers with a grudge and too much time on their hands.

She glanced at Philipp, a quiet smile touching her lips. “Shovel diplomacy. That’s a change of pace.”

Two days of travel. Low-risk assignment. And a brand-new playroom that Philipp had been suspiciously quiet about since the refit.

“Gives us some breathing room, at least,” she said.

She turned back to her screen, already pulling up planetary atmospheric data and local settlement maps. Professional habits died hard, even on low-priority assignments. “I’ll run background on the parties. See if there’s any history that might make this less simple than it looks.”

“Perfect,” Philipp said, rising from the command chair. “Don’t dig too much into it.”

Aurora’s gaze followed him as he moved, her expression shifting into something warm and knowing. There was an edge to his voice, a playfulness that meant he had something else on his mind.

“Please let me know when you’re done,” he continued. “I’ll take a quick nap in our shared quarters.” He paused, and a grin rose on his face. “And if you’ve got an idea how to kill those two days.”

Aurora felt the smile tug at her lips before she could stop it. She already had the settlement’s registry loading on her display, but she spared him a look before he could leave the bridge.

“Ideas?” she said, voice light with amusement. “I can think of a few.”

A pause. Deliberate.

“But you’ll have to wake up first.”

She turned back to her screen, fingers moving through the data with practiced ease. The ship’s course was set. The mission was simple. And two days stretched ahead of them like an open invitation.

“I’ll call you when the watch changes,” she said.

---

Scene 2: Inauguration

Philipp lay in their cabin, the lights dimmed to a soft amber that made the space feel smaller, more intimate. The bed conformed to his weight, and for the first time in days, he felt the exhaustion Aurora had been right about. His eyes closed, and the ship’s hum became a lullaby.

But sleep didn’t come.

His mind kept circling back to the playroom. To the space he’d commissioned during their last refit, the one he’d been thinking about for months. The racks and restraints and carefully chosen equipment, all tucked behind a sealed door two corridors away. He’d told himself it was practical—every ship needed adaptable spaces. But the truth was simpler than that.

He wanted to see Aurora there. Wanted to watch her take in the space he’d built for them. For her.

The cabin door slid open with a soft hiss.

Philipp didn’t open his eyes, but he felt her presence immediately—the shift in air pressure, the faint sound of her breathing. Aurora moved through the cabin with that deliberate quiet she always carried, like she was deciding whether to wake him or let him rest.

“You know,” she said, voice soft but carrying a smile, “you really should lock the door if you want actual privacy.”

He opened his eyes. She stood near the viewport, silhouetted against the shimmer of hyperspace. The latex suit caught the low light, emphasizing the lean lines of her body—strong and controlled and entirely too tempting.

“I never would lock while you’re around,” Philipp said, his voice still rough with almost-sleep. He propped himself up on one elbow. “Ship’s on full auto?”

“Full auto. I’m the only anomaly on the ship right now.” Aurora turned, leaning against the viewport frame. Her eyes tracked over him with that familiar, perceptive focus. “You look like you actually managed to sleep.”

A pause.

“That’s rare enough to be suspicious.”

Philipp smiled and shifted, making space for her on the bed. The sheet moved, revealing that he’d already stripped down. “You want to check out the new playroom I requested at our last ship overhaul, I guess?”

There it was. The question he’d been holding since the refit.

Aurora’s expression shifted—something between anticipation and quiet approval. She moved toward the bed, her gaze steady on his. The latex suit whispered against itself as she walked.

“I was wondering when you’d bring that up,” she said.

She stopped at the edge of the mattress, fingers tracing the sheet lightly. The touch was absent, thoughtful, like she was already imagining what came next.

“Been thinking about it since the refit.”

Her voice dropped lower, threading through the cabin’s quiet like a promise.

“Show me what you had built.”

Philipp pushed himself up, the sheet falling away as he stood. He crossed to her, close enough to feel the warmth radiating from her suit, the way her breathing had already started to deepen.

“Close your eyes,” he said softly.

Aurora didn’t hesitate. Her eyes slid shut, and the trust in that simple gesture hit him like it always did—sharp and grounding and more intimate than anything else they shared.

He took her hand, guiding her out of the cabin and down the corridor. The ship’s lighting had shifted to night cycle, casting everything in low amber and shadow. Their footsteps were quiet on the deck plating. When they reached the playroom door, Philipp tapped the access panel and felt Aurora’s hand tighten slightly in his as the lock disengaged.

The door slid shut behind them with a whisper of pneumatics.

“Take a look,” he said.

Aurora opened her eyes.

The room was exactly as he’d envisioned it. Red lighting—low and warm—cast shadows across black walls. Equipment hung in careful rows: leather cuffs with polished buckles, restraints in various configurations, shelves lined with implements he’d chosen for their weight and balance and the marks they’d leave. In the center of the room sat a bed, larger than the one in their cabin, positioned like an altar under the soft crimson glow.

He watched her take it in. The slow sweep of her gaze across the racks, the way her fingers brushed over a set of cuffs hanging within reach. Her pulse had quickened—he could see it in the flutter at her throat, feel it in the tension radiating from her.

“Well,” she said finally.

She stepped forward, fingers trailing over the polished leather, testing its weight in her palm. The red lighting caught the line of her jaw, the curve of her throat. When she looked back at him, something had shifted in her expression—anticipation sharpening into need.

“You’ve been planning.”

Philipp moved closer, his bare skin prickling in the cool air. “Only the best stuff for my lieutenant.”

He meant it. Every piece in this room had been chosen with her in mind—her strength, her need for control, the way she surrendered only when she chose to. The playroom wasn’t about taking from her. It was about giving her a space where she could let go.

Aurora’s breath caught, a subtle reaction to his closeness. She turned, her gaze sweeping over him—unhurried, appreciative. The latex suit between them felt like both barrier and promise.

“Only the best,” she echoed, voice low, a hint of warmth threading through it.

She stepped back, creating just enough space to take him in fully. Then she reached for his hand, her grip firm.

“Then let’s see how well you know what I need.”

Philipp let her pull him toward the bed, his pulse quickening. When they reached the center of the room, he stopped her, his hands moving to the seals of her suit. The latex had served its purpose—fed her information, kept her alert and aware. But here, in this space, he wanted nothing between them but skin, breath and choice.

He peeled the suit away slowly, watching goosebumps rise on her arms as the cool air hit her. Aurora stood still under his attention, letting him undress her with the same patience she brought to tactical operations. When the suit finally fell away, pooling at her feet, she stood naked in the red light, and Philipp felt his cock twitch with want.

“Lie down,” he said, his voice rougher now. “I want to taste your excitement.”

Aurora shivered as she moved to the bed, the cool sheets a contrast to her heated skin. She stretched out on her back, her gaze locked on his. The trust in her eyes—absolute and unflinching—made something in his chest tighten.

“Then taste me,” she said quietly, her voice low with anticipation.

Philipp settled between her thighs, his hands smoothing over her skin. He could feel the tension in her muscles, the way she held herself ready for his next move. He started slowly, deliberately—kissing the inside of her thighs, drawing gentle circles with his tongue over her belly. His cock was fully erect now, pressing against the bed, but he ignored it. This was about her. About taking his time.

Aurora’s breath deepened, her muscles relaxing under his hands. The circles of his tongue sent faint shivers through her thighs and belly, her skin warming with each deliberate movement. She watched him, her gaze steady and dark with want.

“You’re taking your time,” she said, a small, breathless smile touching her lips. “I like that.”

“Two days is a long travel time,” Philipp murmured against her skin. His mouth moved closer to where she needed him, tracing the crease where her thigh met her body. He could smell her now—clean, salt and arousal.

He moved lower, his tongue tracing over her labia, deliberately avoiding her clit and the slick heat of her entrance. When her clit emerged from its hood—swollen and ready—he breathed warm air across it, watching her hips jerk in response.

Aurora’s breath hitched, her hips shifting with involuntary anticipation. The air against her clit sent a sharp, electric pulse through her nerves. Her fingers curled into the sheets.

“Two days is plenty of time,” she managed, her voice low, strained with the effort of staying still. “And you’re a tease.”

She arched just slightly, a silent plea beneath the control.

Philipp smiled against her and pressed his mouth fully to her pussy, tongue sliding through the slick heat to circle her clit. She tasted like salt and want, and he groaned against her as his hands moved up to cup her breasts. His thumbs found her nipples, circling and teasing in rhythm with his tongue.

Aurora exhaled sharply as his mouth found her, the sensation immediate and overwhelming. Her back arched, fingers curling tighter into the sheets. His hands on her breasts added a second layer of pleasure, a steady rhythm that matched the movement of his tongue.

“Philipp—”

She cut herself off, breath ragged, hips pressing into him with instinctive need. Her voice dropped lower, wrecked.

“Don’t stop.”

He didn’t. Philipp kept working her with his mouth, learning the rhythm that made her thighs tremble against his shoulders, the angle that made her gasp his name. His cock ached, pressed hard against the bed. This—making Aurora come apart under his tongue—was better than any release he could give himself.

After several minutes, when her breathing had turned ragged and desperate, he pulled back. Aurora made a small sound of protest that turned into a gasp as he moved her, lifting her hips and sliding a cushion underneath. The position tilted her pelvis up, exposed and ready. Philipp knelt between her legs, his cock rock-hard and leaking, and aligned himself with her entrance.

He pushed in slowly, savoring the tight, slick heat of her. Aurora gasped as he entered, the shift from tongue to cock a sudden, deep stretch. Her hands gripped the sheets tighter, body arching to meet him. She let out a low moan, raw and unfiltered.

“Fuck—”

She breathed through the sensation, adjusting to the fullness, her hips rolling instinctively to draw him deeper. Her voice broke, lost in the rhythm.

“You feel—”

Philipp started moving, slow and deliberate thrusts that made them both groan. “Good?” he asked, smiling despite the pleasure coiling at the base of his spine. “Large? What’s the word you’re looking for?”

Aurora laughed, breathless, the sound breaking through the haze of sensation. Her fingers found his forearms, gripping lightly, grounding herself in the contact.

“Present,” she said, her voice low, thick with pleasure. “Very. Fucking. Present.”

She tilted her hips, taking him deeper, her body meeting each gentle thrust with deliberate control.

“Don’t hold back too much.”

“You want it hard?” Philipp asked, his grin widening. He increased the force of his thrusts, watching her face for every flicker of reaction—the way her lips parted, the flush spreading across her chest, the tightening of her fingers on his arms.

Aurora’s breath caught, her body responding immediately to the increased force. Her nails dug slightly into his forearms, a low groan escaping her throat.

“Yes—”

She arched, meeting each thrust with intent now, no longer holding back. Her voice was rough, urgent, every word edged with pleasure.

“Just like that.”

“At your service, Lieutenant,” Philipp said, and the laugh turned into a moan as he increased the pace. The sound of their bodies meeting filled the playroom, mixing with Aurora’s gasps and his own rough breathing. The tension built quickly—too quickly—the pleasure coiling tighter with each thrust.

It didn’t take long. Aurora clenched around him, her whole body tensing as her orgasm hit. Philipp followed seconds later, his rhythm breaking as he came deep inside her, pleasure whiting out everything except the feeling of her wrapped around him.

When it was over, he withdrew carefully and collapsed beside her. His voice came out rough, exhausted in the best way. “So the playroom is now officially inaugurated.”

Aurora’s breathing was still ragged, her body trembling faintly as she came down. She turned her head toward him, a satisfied smile playing on her lips.

“Officially.”

She shifted, curling into his side, her fingers tracing idle patterns on his chest. The red light made the room feel smaller, more intimate—a cocoon of warmth and safety.

“And thoroughly,” she added.

A quiet laugh, breathless.

“You planned that well.”

Philipp wrapped an arm around her, pulling her closer. “I didn’t really plan anything special, to be honest. Just took the opportunity of this low-level mission and travel time.”

His voice was warm, honest. The truth was simpler than Aurora probably thought—he’d wanted this room because he wanted her. Wanted the freedom to explore what they had without the constraints of their small cabin or the awareness that the bridge was only steps away.

Aurora hummed softly, her head resting against his shoulder. The warm lighting of the playroom felt softer now, less like a stage and more like shelter.

“Opportunistic,” she said. “I like that.”

Her fingers continued their absent patterns on his chest, steady and grounding. The playroom had exceeded her expectations—not because of the equipment or the aesthetic, but because it was Philipp’s care made physical. A space carved out just for them.

“Two days of travel. Low stakes. High reward.”

A small smile touched her lips.

“Could get used to this kind of mission.”

“I try to make the best out of my spare time,” Philipp said. “And I always love when I can spend it with you.”

They lay there for several minutes, the ship’s hum a distant lullaby beneath them. The playroom felt removed from everything—from High Command’s missions and the weight of their badges and the constant awareness that violence was always one call away. Here, they were just Philipp and Aurora. Two people who’d chosen each other.

Eventually, Philipp stirred. “Shower and bed?”

Aurora stretched against him, her muscles loose and warm. She pushed herself up on one elbow, gaze lingering on him for a moment before she stood. The red light caught the lines of her body as she moved toward the door.

“Shower sounds good.”

She glanced back at him, a quiet laugh in her voice.

“Though I might fall asleep standing under the water.”

---

Scene 3: Shovel Diplomacy

They showered together, the water hot and cleansing, washing away sweat and the lingering edge of arousal. Philipp watched Aurora tilt her head back under the spray, water running through her hair and down her shoulders, and felt a surge of contentment that had nothing to do with sex. This—the quiet intimacy of shared space, the ease of her presence—was what he’d been chasing when he commissioned the playroom. Not just the physical release, but the trust that came before and after.

As the automated dryer cycled on, warm air wrapping around them, Philipp broached the question he’d been considering since the mission alert. “I thought about staying awake with a normal sleep schedule, but I fear we might not be able to keep our hands off each other. And I don’t want to show up at that planet exhausted.”

Aurora leaned against the wall as the warm air finished drying them. She watched him with that perceptive gaze, reading between the lines.

“Fair point,” she said. “Though exhaustion never stopped us before.”

A small, knowing smile.

“But you’re right. Shovel diplomacy requires a clear head.”

She pushed off the wall. “Hypersleep it is. I’ll set the medical protocols.”

The hypersleep took them under like a blanket—dreamless and absolute. When the ship’s AI woke them forty-eight hours later, orbital insertion already underway, Philipp felt the disorientation that always came with suspension. His body moved on autopilot, muscle memory guiding him through the morning routine.

“Planetfall ready. All systems go,” the AI announced.

He reached for his latex suit, the material cool against his skin as he pulled it on. Aurora was already dressed, moving with that same efficient grace she brought to every operation. They settled into their chairs on the bridge, the planet spreading out below them like a patchwork quilt—green agricultural zones and brown settlements stitched together by irrigation lines.

“Good morning,” Philipp said, his voice still rough from sleep.

“Good morning.” Aurora’s fingers were already dancing over her console, pulling up atmospheric data and settlement signatures. “Scanning now.”

The planet looked exactly as advertised—rural, minimal infrastructure, no military presence. The kind of backwater world where disputes were settled with raised voices and maybe a few thrown punches, not weapons fire.

“Readings are clean,” Aurora reported. “No weapon signatures beyond what the mission brief promised.”

She glanced at him, professional and focused.

“Ready when you are, Captain.”

Philipp engaged the planetfall protocols, feeling the ship respond to his commands. “Let’s head to the armory. I don’t trust the silence. Combat armor with service rifle and pistol—I don’t want to get surprised.”

The ship angled into a controlled dive, atmosphere beginning to scream against the hull. They moved through the corridors as the ship descended, stripping out of their latex suits and pulling on combat armor. The segmented plating locked into place with satisfying clicks, the integrated systems syncing with their neural implants. Philipp checked his service rifle—charge pack full, targeting system green—and holstered his sidearm.

Aurora was already armored when he finished, her movements efficient and precise. “Copy that. Silence makes me nervous too.”

She pulled on her helmet, the HUD flickering to life. Her voice came through the internal comm, slightly flattened by the processing.

“Hope the locals don’t mind the look. Shovels versus pulse rifles might send the wrong message.”

A small, humorless smile.

“Better safe than diplomatically dead.”

“Correct,” Philipp agreed. “Besides, we’re landing with a heavy vessel anyway. I just hope they don’t expect a whole troop to get out of it.”

The ship settled onto the surface with barely a tremor, landing struts deploying automatically. They ran final checks on each other’s armor—seals tight, power cells charged, weapons safed but ready. The ritual was familiar, grounding.

“Ready?” Philipp asked, his hand hovering over the lift controls.

“Ready.” Aurora checked her sidearm one last time, the weight familiar and grounding. She stepped onto the lift beside him, posture steady. The ship’s descent vibrations traveled through the deck beneath their boots.

“Let’s see what kind of trouble a couple of shovels can cause.”

The lift descended, and the ramp extended with a pneumatic hiss. Sunlight flooded in—bright and warm, carrying the scent of turned earth and growing things. They walked down onto packed dirt, agricultural fields spreading out around them. Corn stalks swayed in a light breeze, the settlement visible in the distance as a cluster of low buildings.

Two local men approached across the fields, their body language already aggressive. Even from a distance, Philipp could see them shouting at each other, gesturing wildly. They pulled up short when they spotted the armored figures and the warship looming behind them.

Philipp raised a hand in greeting, his voice amplified slightly by the helmet’s external speakers. “Good day. Captain Philipp”—he gestured to Aurora—“and Lieutenant Aurora. How can we help?”

The two men looked at each other, then back at the Galactic Police officers. One started to speak, but the other interrupted immediately, talking over him.

“That’s not going to work, guys,” Philipp said, his voice firm but not hostile. “The one who made the call talks first.”

She stood slightly behind Philipp, her posture relaxed but alert. Her eyes tracked both men, noting their tension, their hands, their expressions. These weren’t fighters—just farmers with too much pride and not enough perspective.

“Stay sharp,” she said over a private comms channel. “Shovels or not, people get stupid when they’re cornered.”

The man who’d tried to speak first looked relieved. He launched into an explanation about territorial rights, his cornfield, how the other man had stepped on it—or something like that. The details were muddled, the grievance more about respect than actual damage.

Philipp listened patiently, then held up a hand. “Lieutenant, correct me if I’m wrong, but as far as I know, the fields are assigned by the local government in duty for the galactic government. So the field belongs to everybody. You two are just the ones working on it.”

His voice stayed diplomatic, steady.

“Copy,” Aurora said over the external speakers. Her voice cut through cleanly, calm and measured. “The land is communal. You’re assigned stewardship, not ownership.”

She looked directly at the man who’d stepped on the field, her helmet’s faceplate reflecting his nervous expression.

“So the question isn’t who owns it. It’s whether there was damage, and if it was intentional.”

A small pause, letting the words settle.

“Was there?”

The men seemed suddenly aware of the massive ship behind the officers, the heavy armor, the weapons holstered at their sides. One of them spoke more calmly now. “No damage was done.”

“So, cut the shit and apologize to each other,” Philipp said, his voice still steady but carrying the weight of someone who wouldn’t tolerate further nonsense.

The two men exchanged glances, then stepped forward and shook hands. The gesture was awkward but genuine.

“Good,” Philipp continued. “We’ll be staying in orbit. If our ship detects another unnecessary outburst, we’ll be back down. Understood?”

Both men nodded quickly, then turned and walked away together across the fields. Their body language had shifted from confrontational to almost… friendly.

Aurora watched them go, her posture easing slightly. When she turned back to Philipp, there was a small smile in her voice.

“That was almost disappointingly easy.”

She adjusted her rifle sling, scanning the fields one last time. Nothing moved except the corn and the two retreating figures.

“Though I’m not complaining.”

Her voice dropped to something warmer over the private channel.

“Back to the ship, Captain? I think we’ve earned that downtime.”

“Too easy,” Philipp admitted as they walked back toward the ramp.

By the time they reached the bridge—back in their latex suits, armor stowed—Philipp had already settled into his command chair. The ship lifted smoothly into orbit, the planet shrinking below them. Within minutes they were holding position above XY-773, sensors tracking the surface for any further disturbances.

But something nagged at him. The whole thing had been too simple, too clean. Two farmers fighting over nothing, resolved in under ten minutes. Why send Galactic Police halfway across the sector for that?

“Give it a full scan,” Philipp said, his voice thoughtful. “My stomach tells me there’s something fishy. Can you feel it too?”

---

Scene 4: The Discovery

Aurora was already at her console before Philipp finished speaking, her fingers moving through the sensor arrays with practiced efficiency. The latex suit hummed faintly against her skin, feeding data directly into her neural interface. Atmospheric readings, magnetic fields, settlement grids—all standard, all clean.

Too clean.

“Scanning now,” she said.

The holo-display flickered with planetary data, layers of information cascading across her vision. She narrowed the parameters, focusing on subterranean readings. The surface-level scans had shown nothing unusual, but Philipp’s instincts were rarely wrong. If he felt something was off, it was worth digging deeper.

And there—

“Something’s off,” she said, her voice sharpening slightly. “The biosphere readings are… consistent. Too consistent.”

She pulled up a deeper scan, focusing on subterranean thermal layers. The planet’s crust should have shown natural variation—geothermal pockets, cooling magma chambers, the irregular heat signature of a living world. But beneath the northern settlement, the readings were uniform. Stable in a way that nature never was.

“There’s a thermal signature beneath the northern settlement,” Aurora continued, her eyes narrowing. “Stable, but it shouldn’t be there.”

She glanced at Philipp, her expression focused.

“Your stomach might be onto something.”

Philipp raised an eyebrow, leaning forward in his command chair. “Thermal signature? Something like a production facility or just a simple power plant?”

He pulled up his own display, accessing the planetary database. His fingers moved quickly, searching for any registered industrial operations, any permits for underground construction. The records populated slowly—bureaucracy was the same everywhere in the galaxy—but when they finally appeared, Philipp frowned.

“The database doesn’t show any advanced tech stuff. At least nothing officially.”

Aurora’s fingers dug deeper into the scan data, layering thermal overlays with magnetic resonance imaging. The signature held steady—unnaturally steady, like a heartbeat that never varied its rhythm.

“Not a standard power plant,” she said. “The heat distribution is uniform. No fluctuation.”

She pulled up a cross-section, rotating the three-dimensional image so Philipp could see. The thermal mass was massive, spreading through the bedrock like roots.

“And it’s deep. Two hundred meters below the surface.”

Her eyes flickered to the settlement’s energy grid overlay.

“Could be geothermal. But the settlement’s energy grid doesn’t tap into it. They’re running on surface solar.”

She looked at him, her expression sharpening.

“Someone’s hiding something down there.”

Philipp’s jaw tightened. He’d seen enough covert operations, enough hidden agendas, to know when something smelled wrong. The two farmers—their too-quick resolution, the way they’d walked off together like friends instead of rivals. The whole setup had been theater.

“Hm,” he said, his voice thoughtful. “Something tells me the two farmers know about it but couldn’t say anything obvious without getting into trouble. They looked more like friends when they left us instead of rivals.”

His forehead creased with thought, the analytical part of his brain already working through possibilities. Underground facility. No official records. Heat signature that suggested sustained operation. Why would someone hide an industrial operation beneath an agricultural settlement?

Aurora leaned back slightly, her eyes narrowing as she watched the planet rotate slowly on the display. She replayed the interaction in her mind—the handshake, the way the two men had walked off together, their body language shifting from hostile to relieved in seconds.

“They did,” she said quietly. “Too casual. Too relieved.”

She pulled up the local communications log, checking for any chatter between the surface and orbit. Nothing. The silence was deafening.

“Maybe they were scared of something else entirely.”

A pause. She turned to look at Philipp directly.

“Should we drop a passive probe? See what that signature does when it thinks we’re gone?”

“Good idea, Lieutenant.” Philipp’s voice sharpened with decision. “Drop it carefully so it doesn’t get detected. We’ll hide behind the star of this system and collect the data later.”

He pushed up from his chair, already thinking three steps ahead. If this was what he suspected—if someone was running an illegal operation under cover of an agricultural settlement—they needed intelligence before they made a move.

“Join me in the research room as soon as the probe is deployed and the ship is parked behind the star.”

“Roger that.”

Aurora’s fingers were already inputting the probe deployment sequence, her movements precise and automatic. She set the trajectory to mimic orbital debris—low emission, passive sensors only, nothing that would register on civilian equipment. The probe would drift down slowly, settling into a stable position above the settlement where it could monitor the thermal signature without being detected.

“Probe away. Stealth profile active.”

The ship’s systems confirmed the launch with a soft chime. Aurora pulled up the navigation plot, calculating their insertion point into the star’s corona shadow. The ship’s stealth systems were good, but hiding behind several million tons of ionized plasma was even better.

“Setting course for the star’s corona shadow. We’ll be invisible to surface scans.”

She glanced at him, a brief nod of acknowledgment.

“Meet you there in five.”

The research room was smaller than the bridge, dominated by a central holo-platform where data could be manipulated in three dimensions. When Aurora entered, Philipp was already there, standing over the thermal scan with his arms crossed. The planet rotated slowly in miniature before him, the northern settlement marked with a pulsing red indicator.

“Probe’s transmitting clean,” Aurora said, moving to his side. “No sign of detection.”

She pulled up the thermal signature again, expanding the 3D model until it filled the space between them. The facility—if that’s what it was—sprawled beneath the settlement like a malignancy.

“Whatever’s down there, it’s been running for a while. Stable output, no maintenance cycles.”

Her eyes scanned the data, looking for patterns.

“Doesn’t look like a temporary hide. This is long-term.”

Philipp studied the readings, his paramedic training making him methodical in his analysis. Heat signature analysis was similar to reading vitals—you looked for patterns, for things that didn’t fit the baseline.

“What could radiate such heat?” he asked. “A power plant alone doesn’t make sense, especially if it isn’t connected to the main grid.”

Aurora leaned closer to the holo-display, her fingers pulling up spectral analysis layers. The readings shifted, showing energy outputs across different wavelengths.

“Could be a mining operation. Or a refinery.”

She highlighted a section of the thermal scan, expanding it until the heat distribution pattern became clear.

“But the heat signature’s too contained. No venting, no waste heat plumes.”

A small pause, her expression growing more focused.

“Whatever it is, it’s sealed. And it’s been running without interruption.”

She glanced at him, her tactical mind already running through possibilities. None of them were good.

“Could be a syndicate cache. Underground, self-sustaining.”

Philipp pulled up the planet’s geological survey, overlaying it with the thermal reading. The data populated slowly—mineral composition, tectonic stability, resource deposits. Most of it was unremarkable: iron, silicon, trace amounts of precious metals. Nothing worth the expense of a covert underground facility.

And then he saw it.

“No meaningful ore deposits,” he said, his voice trailing off as he zoomed in on the notation. “Oh shit.”

He pointed at the reading, his finger stabbing toward the small notation that had been buried in the survey data.

“Uranium.”

Aurora’s expression sharpened immediately, her posture straightening. She leaned in, eyes scanning the geological survey, then pulled up the thermal signature and overlaid it directly on top of the uranium deposit. The match was perfect—thermal output centered exactly where the ore was densest.

“Uranium.”

She pulled up the geological survey, overlaying it with the thermal signature. The correlation was perfect.

“That’s not just a cache. That’s a refining operation.”

A small pause, her voice dropping lower.

“Self-sustaining, underground, and completely off the grid.”

She looked at him, her tactical training screaming warnings.

“Whoever’s running it doesn’t want the galactic government knowing they’re processing fuel.”

“Fuel would be illegal,” Philipp said slowly, his mind racing through the implications. “But we could simply blow up the plant.”

He gestured at the thermal reading, his finger tracing the heat distribution pattern.

“Look closely at the heat signature. That looks more like they’re refining it to weapons grade.”

His hands moved quickly, pulling up a communications interface and drafting a report for High Command. The message was concise, clinical: underground uranium refinement facility, suspected weapons-grade processing, requesting authorization to investigate and neutralize.

He hit send.

The response came back almost instantly—faster than any bureaucracy should have moved. Aurora watched the text populate on the display, her stomach dropping as she read it.

Shut down and destroy. Deadly force authorized.

“Shit,” she breathed.

Aurora’s jaw tightened, her eyes flickering between the hologram and the message on the display. The words deadly force authorized settled heavy in her gut—official permission to kill, handed down with the same casual efficiency as a mission briefing.

“Understood.”

Her voice was flat, professional. She pulled up tactical schematics, mapping the thermal signature to surface terrain. Entry points. Access routes. Potential complications.

“Refining to weapons grade. That’s not a small operation.”

A pause, her fingers hovering over the weapons systems interface.

“Do we go in quiet, or do we make a statement?”

Philipp’s expression hardened. This wasn’t about making statements—it was about preventing a catastrophe. Weapons-grade uranium in the hands of whoever was running this operation meant potential genocide, meant dirty bombs in civilian populations, meant the kind of devastation that would haunt him for the rest of his life.

“We can’t blow it up unless we want to irradiate the planet for the next thousand years,” he said, his voice steady but grim. “We have to do this stealthily. Get rid of any involved personnel discreetly, then seal the place. Maybe materialize concrete inside it.”

He paused, thinking through the logistics.

“Send the probe in closer. I want a map of this thing before we enter it.”

“Roger. Bringing it in low and slow.”

Aurora adjusted the probe’s trajectory, her movements swift and certain through the tactical interface. The probe would descend gradually, its passive sensors building a composite map from thermal imaging, ground-penetrating radar, and magnetic resonance.

The feed updated in real time, and Aurora watched as the facility’s layout began to resolve. Corridors. Chambers. Heat vents spreading through the rock like a circulatory system.

“Signature’s expanding. It’s bigger than we thought.”

She pulled up a three-dimensional render, the structure sprawling beneath the settlement like a root system. Tunnels branched in multiple directions, connecting chambers of various sizes.

“Multiple access points. All concealed.”

A pause, her eyes flickering to Philipp.

“This is going to take precision.”

“So we can enter it discreetly from the settlement?” Philipp asked, already studying the map for vulnerabilities.

Aurora pulled up the probe’s surface overlay, zooming in on the settlement grid. She highlighted three potential entry points, each one marked with a probability assessment for detection risk.

“One looks like a root cellar beneath the northern granary. Another’s under a tool shed on the edge of town.”

She paused, rotating the map to show the third option.

“The third is a water well. Old, disused. Leads straight down into the main facility.”

She glanced at him, her expression calculating.

“All three are unguarded on the surface. But we won’t know what’s waiting below until we’re in.”

Philipp studied the three entry points, his tactical mind weighing each option. The well was the most direct, but also the riskiest if they encountered resistance. The granary offered more cover. The tool shed was isolated but might draw attention if anyone was watching.

“Understood,” he said finally. “I think I saw a hotel in the settlement’s description.”

They returned to the bridge, the holo-map still rotating in Philipp’s peripheral vision. He settled into his command chair, already planning the operation’s timeline.

“Let’s wait a few hours, then signal the settlement we’ve got some kind of problem with our ship. We stay the night in the hotel, and we head out early in the morning while the village is asleep.”

He looked at Aurora, reading her expression for objections.

“Anything speaking against it, or other ideas?”

Aurora was already pulling up the settlement registry, cross-referencing the hotel’s location with the probe’s entry-point data. The hotel sat on the eastern edge of the settlement—two hundred meters from the granary, reasonable walking distance to all three access points.

“Hotel’s on the eastern edge. Two hundred meters from the granary.”

She glanced at him, a faint smile touching her lips.

“Mechanical failure story? Subtle. They’ll buy it.”

A pause, her voice dropping.

“Just means we’ll need to be ghosts by morning.”

---

Scene 5: Ghosts

A few hours passed while they maintained their position behind the star, the probe transmitting steady data about the facility below. When the local settlement entered its night cycle, Aurora sent the signal—a standard mechanical issue report, nothing that would raise suspicion. The settlement’s administrator responded within minutes, offering accommodations at the local hotel with apologetic efficiency.

The ship returned to orbit, and Philipp engaged the planetfall protocols once more.

“Same loadout as before,” he said as they moved toward the armory. “Combat armor and helmet, service rifle, pistol. No grenades—we can’t risk structural damage to the facility.”

He pulled on his base layer, the fabric tightening against his skin as the armor’s support systems initialized. “Means we have to sleep naked, but whatever.”

He smiled despite the mission’s seriousness. Keeping things light helped, even when they were about to go into a hostile facility.

Aurora secured her sidearm, checking the charge pack one final time. She glanced up at him, a faint, knowing smile on her lips.

“Naked under armor. Very tactical.”

She pulled on her base layer, the fabric molding to her body as she began attaching armor segments. The ritual was familiar, grounding.

“Though I doubt anyone will notice.”

A pause, her voice dropping.

“Let’s move. Ghosts don’t linger.”

They parked the ship near the settlement, setting it to alert mode in case they needed evacuation. The walk to the hotel took less than ten minutes, their boots crunching on packed dirt roads. A few locals glanced at the armored figures but said nothing—Galactic Police presence was unusual but not alarming. The administrator met them at the hotel entrance, all nervous hospitality and apologies about their ship troubles.

Their room was small and utilitarian, the kind of place designed for traveling agricultural inspectors and the occasional law enforcement visit. Philipp waited until the door sealed before removing his helmet.

Half an hour after leaving the ship, they were alone.

Philipp sat on the bed in nothing but his boxers, methodically cleaning his service rifle. The weapon was already spotless—they’d checked it twice before landing—but the ritual helped him focus. Whatever they found down there—guards, automated defenses, security systems—they’d need to be ready. The scans hadn’t shown anything heavier than civilian weapons, but scans could be fooled.

He thought about the two farmers. About how they’d looked relieved when the Galactic Police showed up, like they’d finally found someone to clean up a problem they couldn’t solve themselves.

Aurora checked the room’s environmental controls, confirming the door was sealed and the window’s privacy screen was active. She pulled off her armor piece by piece, stacking it neatly near the door where they could use it quickly. The base layer followed, leaving her in nothing but the low light filtering through the curtains.

“You’re cleaning your gun. Again.”

She moved to the small viewport, watching the settlement settle into night. Lights winked out one by one as families went to bed, unaware of what was about to happen beneath their homes.

“Means you’re thinking about what comes next.”

A pause.

“Tell me you’re not second-guessing the plan.”

“I trust the plan,” Philipp said, his voice steady. “And our suits will protect us from the radiation. But we won’t live if they blow up the facility while we’re in it.”

There was a slight concern in his voice that he couldn’t quite suppress. An underground facility with unknown security protocols was manageable. But if someone had rigged the place to self-destruct—if there was a dead man’s switch they hadn’t detected—then armor and planning wouldn’t matter.

Aurora turned from the viewport, her expression calm but focused. She moved to the bed, sitting beside him. The mattress dipped under her weight, and she watched him clean the weapon with steady hands.

“Then we don’t let them blow it up.”

Her voice was steady, grounded.

“The suits will hold. And we’ll move fast enough that they won’t have time to trigger a failsafe.”

A small pause, her hand resting near his on the bed.

“But if you’re worried, tell me now. Not when we’re two hundred meters underground.”

Philipp set the rifle down, looking at her directly. “We’ve done such missions before in the past year. But that doesn’t prevent me from caring about you or your safety.”

His voice was honest, stripped of bravado. They’d infiltrated syndicate operations, cleared hostile stations, executed high-value targets. This should have been routine. But every mission carried the risk that one of them wouldn’t come back, and that risk never got easier to accept.

Aurora’s expression softened, something unguarded passing across her face. She shifted closer, her shoulder brushing his.

“I know.”

Her voice was quiet, barely above a whisper. She watched him for a moment, then reached out, her hand covering his on the rifle.

“And I care about yours.”

A small pause.

“That’s why we check everything twice. And we don’t take unnecessary risks.”

She squeezed his hand lightly.

“We go in, we do the job, we get out. Together.”

Her gaze held his, steady and unwavering.

“Always together.”

Philipp put the gun down on the small table beside the bed and moved both of them further onto the mattress. “Let’s rest now. We move at four AM local time.”

He kissed her, the contact grounding and necessary. Whatever happened in the next few hours, they’d face it the same way they faced everything—as partners.

Aurora settled into the embrace, her head tucked against his shoulder. She felt the kiss, returned it softly, letting it anchor her to this moment rather than the uncertainty ahead.

“Four AM,” she murmured, her voice already half-lost to sleep.

“I’ll wake you.”

She shifted, pulling the thin blanket over them both. The room hummed with the faint sound of the settlement’s power grid, distant and foreign. Nothing like the familiar rhythm of their ship.

Her breathing evened out, steady and calm.

She trusted the plan. She trusted him.

Sleep came quickly.

The alarm woke them at 03:45, fifteen minutes before they needed to move. Philipp’s eyes opened immediately, his body responding to the neural alert with trained efficiency. Beside him, Aurora was already stirring, her movements economical and precise.

They dressed in silence, pulling on armor with the kind of synchronization that came from months of partnership. Base layer, chest plate, arm guards, leg armor. Each piece locked into place with satisfying clicks, the integrated systems syncing with their neural implants. Philipp checked his service rifle and holstered his sidearm.

Aurora pulled on her helmet last, the HUD flickering to life with tactical overlays. She ran a final check on her weapons, the movements automatic.

“Helmet on and private intercom only,” Philipp said, his voice coming through clear on the internal channel. “We won’t make a sound.”

“Copy.”

Aurora’s voice was low, steady, filtered through the helmet’s processing. She checked her rifle one last time, the weight familiar and grounding. The room was still dark, the settlement silent outside.

“Entry point?”

Her voice carried no hesitation.

“Granary or well?”

“Well,” Philipp said. “Might be wet, but we’re in the heart of the facility right away. Weapons on kill setting, no stun today.”

They moved through the hotel with absolute silence, the armor’s sound-dampening systems activated. The corridors were empty, the night clerk dozing at the desk. They passed like shadows, and no one saw them leave.

The water well sat at the edge of the settlement, half-hidden by overgrown vegetation. Old stone, worn smooth by generations of use before modern plumbing had made it obsolete. Aurora dropped a rope, testing the anchor point before sliding into the darkness.

“Descending now.”

Her HUD adjusted to infrared spectrum as she dropped, the shaft narrow and damp. Water lapped at her boots when she hit bottom—not deep, just a few centimeters of standing water that hadn’t evaporated. The tunnel ahead was carved from bedrock, faintly warm to the touch even through her gauntlets.

“Thermal signature is stronger here. I’m reading residual radiation.”

Her voice was a whisper over the comm, barely audible even through the encryption.

“Follow when ready.”

Philipp dropped in behind her, landing with barely a sound. He moved to take point, his rifle raised, HUD painting the tunnel in shades of green and red. The facility’s heat signature pulsed ahead of them, growing stronger with each step.

“Keep your eyes on our backs,” he said. “I don’t want surprises.”

They moved through the narrow tunnel, Aurora covering their rear while Philipp advanced. The passage widened gradually, allowing them to walk side by side after a few minutes. The walls showed tool marks—this had been excavated deliberately, reinforced with polymers that gleamed dully in their helmet lights.

“Any life signs?” Philipp asked.

Aurora’s HUD flickered, scanning through the rock ahead. Two contacts appeared, stationary, about sixty meters distant. Probably guards posted at a chokepoint or entrance.

“Two contacts. Distant. Stationary.”

Her voice was barely a whisper.

“Guards, maybe. Or maintenance.”

She glanced at him through the helmet’s faceplate, her expression invisible but her posture conveying readiness.

“We’re not alone down here.”

“Expected,” Philipp whispered, though the helmet’s external speakers were disabled. They continued forward, moving with deliberate slowness, checking corners and ceiling mounts for sensors. The facility was surprisingly low-tech—whoever ran this operation had prioritized concealment over security.

They reached a junction where the tunnel opened into a wider chamber, and Philipp raised his hand, signaling a stop. Two guards stood at two o’clock, visible through the thermal overlay. Behind them, a reinforced door glowed warm—the control room, most likely.

“Other life signals besides those two?” Philipp asked. “Looks like they’re guarding the control room.”

Aurora’s HUD flickered, pushing the scan deeper into the facility. Two more contacts appeared, farther back, mobile patterns suggesting a patrol route.

“Two more. Farther back. Mobile.”

Her voice was barely audible.

“Patrol pattern. Thirty-second intervals.”

She glanced at the guards ahead, then back to Philipp through her helmet’s display.

“Control room is the choke point. We take them quiet, or we go loud and fast.”

A small pause.

“Your call.”

Philipp tracked the patrol pattern on his HUD, counting the intervals. Thirty seconds. Predictable. Which meant they could time this perfectly if they were patient.

“Let’s wait for the moving guards to appear. When they leave, we shoot the two guards at the control room, then shoot the patrol in the back. Roger?”

“Roger.”

Aurora adjusted her grip on the rifle, settling the stock tight against her shoulder. She tracked the patrol pattern on her HUD, counting down the intervals silently. Her breathing slowed, controlled, the way it always did before violence.

“On your mark.”

The tunnel was silent except for the distant hum of machinery. They waited, invisible in the shadows, as the patrol completed their circuit. Two figures in civilian work clothes appeared at the control room, chatting briefly with the posted guards. Casual conversation, the kind of boredom that came from long shifts watching nothing happen.

Then the patrol turned and walked away, disappearing back into the facility.

Philipp and Aurora fired simultaneously. Two silent pulses of energy, perfectly aimed. The guards at the control room dropped without a sound, their bodies crumpling to the floor. Philipp was already moving, advancing on the patrol’s position. Aurora covered him, her rifle tracking for any additional contacts.

The patrol didn’t hear them coming. Two more shots, and the facility was silent again.

Philipp dragged the patrol bodies back to the control room while Aurora worked on the door lock, her fingers moving through the interface with steady focus. The lock disengaged with a soft click, and they hauled all four bodies inside, sealing the door behind them.

The control room was small and utilitarian—banks of monitors showing facility status, coolant flow rates, reactor temperature. All the readouts were in the green, operating normally. As if refining weapons-grade uranium was just another day at the office.

“Any idea what buttons we need to flip for the plant to shut down?” Philipp asked, scanning the controls.

Aurora knelt by the control panel, her HUD already interfacing with the system and parsing the crude interface. Coolant controls, dampeners, fuel rod positioning—it was all here, unencrypted and accessible.

“Coolant first, then the dampeners. Starve the reaction.”

Her fingers moved through the display, mapping the shutdown sequence.

“Give me thirty seconds.”

She glanced at the bodies, then back to Philipp.

“Then we seal it and get out.”

Philipp checked his life scanner again, sweeping the facility for any additional contacts. The display remained empty—just him and Aurora, alone with four corpses and a nuclear refinery.

“Sounds good. It seems like they thought nobody would find this place. Only four guards.”

He kept scanning, paranoid that they’d missed something. But the facility remained silent, and no alarms had triggered. Whatever security this operation had relied on, it was secrecy, not defense.

Aurora’s fingers moved swiftly over the control interface, her neural implant feeding her system schematics in real-time. The reactor’s hum began to drop in pitch as she locked in the coolant sequence, the machinery responding to her commands.

“Almost done. Dampeners in ten seconds.”

A small pause, her eyes flickering to the bodies sprawled across the floor.

“Four guards means they prioritized secrecy over defense.”

She input the final command, and the reactor’s tone shifted from a steady thrum to a descending whine.

“Let’s make sure it stays that way.”

Philipp connected to the ship remotely through his neural interface, accessing the materialization protocols. The system responded immediately, and he designated the facility’s main chambers and corridors for concrete infill. On his HUD, he watched the progress bar crawl forward as tons of material began materializing deep underground.

Some parts of the facility started filling slowly, the concrete spreading through corridors like hardening blood.

Aurora watched the concrete materialization spread through the facility on her HUD, the structural map filling section by section. She pulled away from the console, rifle raised and scanning the empty corridor beyond the door.

“Facility sealed. Reactor’s cold.”

She glanced at him, then toward the exit tunnel.

“Time to go.”

Her voice was low, urgent.

“Before the concrete traps us down here too.”

They moved quickly back through the tunnel, their boots splashing through standing water. Behind them, the facility was already dying—concrete hardening in the chambers, sealing the uranium refinery into a permanent tomb. By the time they reached the water well, Philipp could feel the vibration through the rock as tons of material solidified below.

They climbed out into predawn darkness, the settlement still asleep around them. The concrete was already filling the well shaft below, rising slowly. Within an hour, there would be no evidence that anyone had ever descended into the facility.

They walked back to the ship without incident, their armor gleaming faintly in the starlight. The main lift brought them up into the cargo bay, and the decontamination cycle activated automatically—UV radiation and chemical wash, scrubbing away any trace of radioactive material.

By the time they reached the bridge, back in their latex suits, the sun was beginning to rise over the settlement.

“Good work, Lieutenant,” Philipp said, settling into his command chair.

Aurora pulled her latex suit back on, the familiar second-skin sensation settling over her as she moved to her console. The ship’s systems hummed back to full alert, already running post-mission diagnostics.

“Clean work.”

She glanced at the tactical display, confirming no pursuit, no alerts from the surface.

“No surprises. No casualties beyond the facility.”

A small pause, her voice softening.

“Feels almost too clean.”

Philipp powered the ship fully, but kept them on the planet’s surface, engines idling. Something about this whole operation still didn’t sit right. The mission had gone too smoothly—no backup guards, no automated defenses, no dead man’s switch. Just four people and a uranium refinery, waiting to be shut down.

“Let’s wait a bit and see,” he said.

---

Scene 6: Aftermath

The bridge hummed with familiar quiet as they held position on the surface, sensors tracking the settlement for any reaction. Hours passed. Philipp typed away at his console, drafting the after-action report that High Command would expect. Four confirmed kills, facility neutralized, planet secured. The words came mechanically, clinical summaries of lives ended and uranium sealed away.

Aurora leaned against her console, arms crossed, watching the settlement through the viewport. Dawn had broken fully now, families emerging for morning routines. No alarms. No panic. The village continued as if nothing had happened beneath their feet—as if four people hadn’t died and an illegal weapons facility hadn’t been entombed in concrete overnight.

“You’re writing a novel over there,” she said, a small, tired smile in her voice.

“Nothing on passive scans. Settlement’s sleeping like we were never here.”

She glanced at him, reading the tension in his shoulders.

“Feels like we closed a door nobody knew was open.”

“You know High Command likes detailed reports when we unalive people,” Philipp said, his voice carrying a warmth that didn’t quite reach his eyes.

He hit send on the report and engaged the ship’s systems, letting it glide smoothly into high orbit above the planet. The settlement shrank below them, becoming just another dot of civilization on a backwater agricultural world.

But Aurora’s words stuck with him. A door nobody knew was open. The two farmers who’d called them here—they’d known. And they’d used the Galactic Police to seal it.

Aurora pulled up the orbital telemetry, watching the planet shrink on the viewport. She crossed her arms, leaning back against the console, her expression thoughtful.

“Detailed reports. Right.”

A small pause, her voice quieter.

“Still feels like we missed something.”

She glanced at him, then back to the screen.

“But maybe that’s just the paranoia talking.”

The ship settled into stable orbit, the hum around them constant and familiar. She let it fill the quiet for a moment.

“Next watch is yours, Captain. I’ll be in our quarters if you need me.”

Before she could move toward the corridor, the console chimed—an incoming video transmission from the settlement. Philipp frowned, pulling up the feed. Two faces appeared on the display, familiar from their encounter planetside. The two farmers, standing side by side in what looked like a shared living space.

“Thanks for helping,” one of them said, his voice sincere. “And sorry about the banter we had to do for you to come here.”

The transmission ended as abruptly as it began, leaving only the static of an empty channel.

Philipp stared at the blank screen for a moment. “Huh. They look like a couple in that video.”

Aurora watched the video feed cut to static, her expression unreadable. She leaned back against the console, arms loosely folded, processing what she’d just seen.

“Couple in love, couple in business.”

She glanced at him, a small, knowing smile touching her lips.

“Sometimes it’s the same thing.”

A beat.

“At least they got what they wanted. We got what we needed.”

She pushed off the console, moving toward the corridor.

“Now I need a shower.”

“Dismissed,” Philipp said with a smile, the word carrying affection rather than command.

He watched her leave, then turned back to the tactical display. The video message confirmed what he’d suspected—the farmers had orchestrated this entire situation, manufacturing a dispute to bring Galactic Police to their world. Someone had been running that facility, probably threatening the settlement, and the farmers had found a way to solve their problem without directly confronting whoever was behind it.

Clever. Dangerous. And it meant that Aurora’s paranoia wasn’t paranoia at all.

Time passed—how long, Philipp wasn’t sure. He ran diagnostics, checked orbital stability, reviewed the facility’s final status. Everything was green. Everything was secure. And yet something still felt wrong.

Eventually, he set the ship to full auto and followed Aurora toward their cabin. High Command’s response would come eventually, and until then, they had nothing to do but wait.

He found her in the cabin, already out of her latex suit and lying in the sheets. The low lighting made the space feel smaller, more intimate. Safe.

“High Command said there’s no hostile activity in the system,” Philipp said as he stripped out of his suit. “We should stay for a couple of days and can take off when we want.”

He smiled, moving toward the shower. The hot water would help wash away the feeling of concrete dust and death that still clung to him, even though the decontamination had been thorough.

The shower hummed behind her as Philipp stepped inside. Aurora lay still in the sheets, the latex suit peeled off and discarded over a chair. The low lighting painted soft shadows across the cabin walls, and she listened to the familiar sound of water running, of him moving through the routine that marked the end of every mission.

She turned her head slightly toward the bathroom door, her voice quiet but clear.

“Take your time.”

A small pause, her eyes tracing the ceiling panels above.

“I’m not going anywhere.”

Philipp emerged a few minutes later, clean and dry, the automated systems having done their work. He slipped into bed beside her, still naked, and pulled her close. The warmth of her body against his was grounding, necessary.

“So, is paranoia still striking?” he asked gently, a warm smile on his face. “There haven’t been any encounters on our sensors since we’re in high orbit.”

Aurora stayed quiet for a moment, her fingers tracing idle patterns on his chest. The paranoia was still there, coiled tight in her gut, but she couldn’t articulate why. The mission had been textbook—clean entry, precise execution, no complications. That was the problem.

“Still there.”

Her voice was barely above a murmur against his shoulder. She shifted slightly, settling closer into his warmth.

“But it’s quieter now.”

Her fingers stopped their tracing, resting flat against his chest.

“Maybe that’s what bothers me. The silence after the shot.”

“Well, we killed four people,” Philipp said softly. “A bit of paranoia is never bad. Just tell me if you don’t feel good or strange.”

He kissed her forehead, the gesture tender and grounding.

They’d killed before—it came with the job. But it never became routine, never stopped carrying weight. Four lives ended because someone had decided to refine uranium into weapons, and because two farmers had been clever enough to manipulate the system into solving their problem.

Aurora leaned into the kiss, letting it settle before pulling back just enough to speak. Her fingers resumed their slow patterns on his chest, steady and methodical.

“It’s not about feeling strange.”

Her voice was low, thoughtful.

“It’s about the pattern. We land, we mediate, we find a syndicate nest, we kill four people, we seal it, and nobody blinks.”

A small pause, her voice dropping lower.

“That facility was running for years. Those four guards were the only ones left to protect it.”

She shifted, resting her chin on his shoulder, looking at him directly now.

“Someone wanted it gone. And they used us to do it.”

Another beat, quieter.

“But maybe that’s just the paranoia talking.”

Philipp’s expression grew thoughtful, his mind turning over the pieces. “Hm. Maybe they abandoned it but forgot to tell the guards? The universe is vast and hard to control for anybody.”

It was possible. Crime syndicates operated across dozens of star systems, and communication failures weren’t uncommon. Maybe whoever ran the facility had decided to cut their losses, leaving the guards behind without orders or extraction. It wouldn’t be the first time bureaucratic incompetence had gotten people killed.

But even as he said it, he didn’t quite believe it.

Aurora shifted against him, the sheets tangling around her hips. Her fingers paused their tracing, settling flat against his chest as she processed his words.

“Forgot to tell the guards.”

She didn’t say it like a question. More like she was turning the idea over, looking for the edges that didn’t fit. She pushed herself up on one elbow, looking down at him. The cabin lighting caught the lines of his face, the crease of thought between his brows.

“Maybe.”

She leaned in, kissed him slow and deliberate. Then pulled back just enough to speak against his mouth.

“But I don’t believe in convenient forgetfulness.”

A small pause. Her voice dropped lower.

“Not when uranium’s involved.”

“Hm, true,” Philipp said, his face shifting from analytical to something warmer, more present.

The mission was done. The report was filed. Whatever conspiracy or abandonment had led to those four guards dying alone in an underground tomb wasn’t their problem anymore. High Command would investigate, or they wouldn’t. The universe would keep turning.

Right now, all that mattered was this—Aurora beside him, safe and whole, processing violence the way they both had to.

“Let’s talk about it tomorrow after we sleep,” he said gently. “Maybe a dream unlocks something unknown.”

He kissed her neck softly, the gesture intimate rather than sexual. They were both exhausted, coming down from the adrenaline of the infiltration, and what they needed now was rest and closeness.

Aurora tilted her head slightly, giving him better access to her neck. The kiss was warm, grounding, and she felt some of the tension bleed out of her shoulders.

“Tomorrow.”

The word was quiet, a concession and a promise. She shifted against him, her body already relaxing into the mattress, the day’s tension bleeding away.

Her hand found his, fingers lacing together between them.

She didn’t say what she was thinking—that she didn’t need dreams to tell her something was off, that she already knew. But she let the quiet take over, let his presence anchor her.

For now.

The night passed without interruption. When they woke, the ship’s AI had prepared breakfast—materialized protein and carbohydrates that tasted vaguely like eggs and toast but weren’t quite either. They dressed in their latex suits and returned to the bridge, falling into their familiar roles.

“No new contacts, still silent,” Philipp said as they settled into their chairs. “A bit too silent, like you said.”

Aurora leaned against her console, arms crossed, eyes fixed on the long-range scan. The same flatline it had been since they’d sealed the facility. No chatter, no movement, no reaction from the settlement or anyone else.

“Too silent.”

Her voice was flat, thoughtful.

“That’s what bothers me.”

A small pause.

“Settlements this small don’t go quiet. They gossip. They panic. They send thank-you messages that aren’t apology videos.”

She glanced at him, then back to the screen.

“And those two farmers? They looked relieved. Not grateful.”

A beat.

“Relieved we left.”

Philipp considered their options. If Aurora’s instincts were right—and they usually were—then someone was watching, waiting to see what the Galactic Police would do next. Staying in orbit made them predictable. Leaving immediately would look suspicious. But there was a third option.

“Hm, let’s deploy a probe near the sun, invisible to sensors, and we shift the ship into hyperspace—but we don’t move. If we’re near the sun, our hyperspace trail shouldn’t be detectable.”

He paused, thinking through the plan.

“Unless you’ve got a better idea?”

Aurora pulled up the hyperspace masking protocols, her fingers moving through the navigation display. The plan had merit—solar interference would mask their signature, and the probe could continue passive monitoring while they observed from stealth.

“Feels like fishing. But we’re using the right bait.”

She glanced at him, a small, sharp smile touching her lips.

“Set the decoy trajectory. I’ll configure the probe for passive ghosting.”

A pause, her voice dropping lower.

“Just hope we’re not the ones who bite.”

Philipp smiled as they initiated the sequence. The probe launched first, its trajectory calculated to drift into the star’s corona where detection would be nearly impossible. Then the ship engaged hyperspace protocols, the reality around them shifting into that familiar shimmer.

But they didn’t move. The ship held position relative to the star, hidden in the distortion of hyperspace while remaining functionally in the same location. Anyone scanning the system would see a hyperspace signature departing, but they wouldn’t be able to track where it went.

“So,” Philipp said as the systems stabilized, “any ideas on how to kill time?”

His grin was warm, playful—the tension of the mission finally giving way to the awareness that they had two days of unobserved downtime ahead of them.

Aurora leaned against the console, arms crossed, watching the hyperspace shimmer cast soft light across the bridge. The tension in her shoulders had eased slightly, replaced by something else—anticipation mixed with the awareness that they were alone, hidden, with nothing but time.

“Two days in hyperspace, pretending we’re not here.”

She glanced at him, eyes warm but edged with something sharper.

“I can think of a few ways.”

A small pause, her voice dropping lower.

“Though the ship’s auto-logs might make for interesting reading later.”

“Well, nobody looks at them anyway,” Philipp said, setting the ship to full automation. “And the playroom is excluded from any logging activity.”

The implication hung between them, clear and inviting. They’d inaugurated the playroom during the outbound journey, but that had been before the mission, before the violence and the uranium and the four bodies sealed in concrete. Now they needed something different—not just release, but connection. A way to process what they’d done by being present with each other.

Aurora pushed off the console, moving toward the corridor. The latex suit caught the hyperspace shimmer, a faint ripple of light across her silhouette as she walked.

“Good.”

She glanced back at him, a small, deliberate smile on her lips.

“Then I don’t have to be quiet.”

The door to the playroom slid open ahead of her. She paused at the threshold, not looking back.

“I’ll be inside.”

Her voice faded into the corridor’s hum.

“Don’t make me wait too long.”

---

Philipp waited. Not long—just enough to let anticipation build, to let Aurora feel the space without him before he followed. When he finally entered the playroom, the red lighting wrapped around him like a familiar embrace.

Aurora stood near the center, her back to the door. The lighting cast her silhouette in sharp relief against the black walls. Her fingers trailed over a rack of leather restraints, testing their weight, and she didn’t turn when he entered.

“Well,” she said, her voice low and deliberate. She picked up a pair of cuffs, letting them dangle from her fingers. “I was wondering when you’d bring yourself here.”

She finally turned, her gaze steady on him, something shifting in her expression—need wrapped in control, vulnerability masked by command.

“I was thinking about who has it tonight.” She stepped forward, the cuffs swinging gently. “And how easily it shifts.”

A small pause, her eyes tracking his face.

“Care to find out?”

Philipp stepped out of his latex suit without ceremony, letting it pool at his feet. He moved closer to her, already half-hard just from the way she was looking at him. When he reached her, he kissed her gently, then held his hands out in front of him.

An offer. A surrender.

Aurora fastened the cuffs around his wrists with practiced efficiency, the leather smooth and tight against his skin. The click of the buckle echoed in the quiet room, final and binding.

“Good.”

She guided him backward toward the bed, her hand firm on his chest. The red lighting cast everything in sharp relief. When he lay down, arms stretched overhead, she straddled him slowly, deliberately, the latex suit cool against his bare skin.

Her fingers traced his jaw, his throat, his chest—mapping him with the same focus she brought to tactical operations.

“Now you wait.”

Her thighs tightened around his hips, holding him completely.

“And I decide when you move.”

Philipp settled into the restraints, feeling the leather hold him in place. “I’m yours to command.”

The words came easily. Down in that facility, he’d been the one making decisions—when to fire, when to move, when to seal four people into a concrete tomb. Here, he could let go. Let Aurora take control. Let himself just feel instead of think.

“Then stay still.”

Aurora leaned forward, her breath warm against his ear. Her thighs tightened around his hips, holding him in place. The latex suit hummed against his skin, feeding her every twitch of his muscles, every shift in his pulse.

Her teeth grazed his neck—not a bite, just pressure. A reminder.

“You don’t move until I say.”

Her hand slid down his chest, nails dragging lightly over his ribs. She felt his cock harden beneath her, pressing against the latex, and she didn’t shift to accommodate it. She just let him feel the weight of her, the control.

“Tell me what you want.”

A whisper against his jaw, her lips barely touching.

“And I’ll decide if you get it.”

“Just don’t forget I might make you pay for this later,” Philipp said, his voice warm despite the restraints. “I want you.”

The admission was simple, honest. He wanted her—wanted to feel her wrapped around him, wanted to lose himself in her. But more than that, he wanted whatever she needed right now. If that meant waiting, if that meant surrendering control while she worked through her own processing of the mission, then that’s what he’d give her.

“Then you’ll wait.”

Aurora shifted her weight, pressing him deeper into the mattress. The latex hummed against his skin, amplifying every reaction, every spike in his pulse. Her hand slid lower, fingers wrapping around his cock. She squeezed—just enough to make him gasp.

“And when I’m ready, you’ll have me.”

She leaned down, her lips brushing his ear.

“But not because you asked.”

Her grip tightened slightly, then released.

“Because I decided you’re ready.”

Philipp nodded, accepting her terms. The cuffs held his wrists above his head, the leather unyielding. Aurora’s weight pinned him completely, and all he could do was feel—her hands on him, her breath against his skin, the electric anticipation of waiting for her to decide what came next.

She watched him for a long moment, reading every micro-expression, every controlled breath. Then she squeezed again, her thumb tracing over the head of his cock, and smiled at the way his hips tried to lift despite her weight holding him down.

“Good.”

Aurora held his gaze for another moment, then released him. Her hands moved to the seals of her latex suit, peeling it away slowly. The material clung to her skin, resisting, before finally giving way. When she was naked, she settled back over him, the heat of her body immediate and overwhelming.

“I want to see how long you can wait.” Her fingers tightened in his hair, holding his head steady. “Before you decide you’ve had enough.”

She shifted her hips, grinding down deliberately, letting the slick heat of her slide along his cock without taking him inside.

“And then I want to see what you do about it.”

Minutes passed—how many, Philipp couldn’t track. Aurora kept him on edge, grinding against him, her hands exploring his body with deliberate slowness. Every time he thought she might relent, might finally take him inside her, she’d pull back, leaving him aching and desperate.

Finally, he couldn’t take it anymore. His hips jerked, breaking her careful rhythm, and she lost her balance slightly, falling forward onto his chest with a surprised laugh.

“Cheating,” she breathed, but there was no real accusation in it.

Philipp seized the momentary disruption, issuing a voice command that made the ship dematerialize the cuffs. His hands were free in an instant, and he moved fast, flipping them over so Aurora was beneath him, her wrists pinned above her head with one of his hands.

“I’m the Captain of this ship,” he said, smiling down at her. “I’m allowed to cheat.”

He released her hands and flipped her onto her stomach, his body covering hers from behind. His tongue traced down her spine, slow and deliberate, until he reached her ass. He circled the tight ring of muscle with his tongue, feeling her shiver beneath him.

“Let’s quit this dom-sub stuff,” he murmured against her skin, “and just fuck.”

Aurora didn’t move from where he’d placed her, face down on the bed. Her voice came low and urgent, the control game dissolving into pure need.

“Then fuck me.”

She shifted her hips, spreading her thighs wider, offering herself completely. Her hands gripped the sheets, knuckles white with anticipation.

“Stop teasing and just take me.”

A beat, her voice rough.

“Captain’s orders, right?”

“Captain’s orders.”

Philipp worked her open with his tongue and fingers, taking his time despite her urgency. When she was slick and ready, he aligned his cock with her ass, the head pressing against tight resistance. He pushed in slowly, feeling her body accept him inch by inch until he was fully seated.

“Feeling okay?” he asked, his voice strained with the effort of holding still.

Aurora’s breath hitched, a sound half-moan, half-laugh escaping her. She shifted her hips, adjusting to the fullness, feeling him pressed deep inside where the stretch bordered on too much but wasn’t.

“Feeling full.”

She pressed back against him deliberately, her hands gripping her cheeks, spreading herself open for him.

“Don’t stop.”

Her voice was low, breathless, edged with command even in surrender.

“Move.”

Philipp started thrusting, slow at first, making sure he wasn’t hurting her. But Aurora met each movement with urgent pressure, her body demanding more, and he let himself go. The rhythm built quickly, both of them chasing release after days of tension and violence and unspoken fears.

It didn’t take long. Aurora came first, her body clenching around him as she cried out into the sheets. Philipp followed seconds later, spilling inside her with a groan that was equal parts relief and exhaustion.

When it was over, he collapsed beside her, pulling her into his arms as they both came down. The playroom felt different now—not a space for games or power exchange, but simply shelter. A place where they could be vulnerable with each other after doing what their job required.

Aurora lay still for a moment, breathing hard, her body trembling with aftershocks. Then she shifted, turning in his arms so she could press her face against his shoulder.

“Fuck,” she whispered, the word muffled against his skin.

Her fingers uncurled from the sheets slowly, finding his hand and lacing their fingers together.

“Come here,” she said, though he was already there.

She didn’t want space. She wanted him close, present, holding her through the comedown.

“Stay.”

Philipp held her tightly, his arms wrapped around her as their breathing gradually slowed. “You came from me fucking your ass,” he said softly, a note of wonder in his voice.

It wasn’t about the act itself—it was about the trust it required, the vulnerability she’d shown him. After everything that had happened on this mission, she’d still let him in, still surrendered to him even when her mind was screaming warnings about manipulation and hidden agendas.

“Thank you,” he murmured against her hair. “I love you.”

He kissed her then, deep and passionate and full of everything he couldn’t put into words.

Aurora leaned into the kiss, her hand cupping his jaw. The words settled between them, warm and real and necessary.

“I love you too.”

She shifted closer, tucking her head against his shoulder. The playroom felt like shelter now, not a stage. The red light softer.

“I’m not done with you yet.”

It wasn’t a promise of another round—not immediately. Just a statement of fact. They weren’t finished processing this. The mission, the violence, the manipulation. They’d need more than sex to work through it. But this was a start.

They lay there for a while longer, letting the silence wrap around them. Eventually, they made their way back to their cabin, showering together in comfortable quiet. The ship materialized a cheese plate on their bed—an offering from the AI that had learned their patterns well enough to know when they needed small comforts.

Philipp picked up a piece of sharp cheddar, chewing thoughtfully.

He glanced at the plate, then at Aurora. “I guess the ship sensed we might need something nice to eat after all that.”

“Correct, Captain,” the ship’s AI confirmed, its synthesized voice carrying a hint of satisfaction.

Aurora took a piece of cheese, sharp and salty on her tongue. She raised an eyebrow at the AI’s helpfulness—sometimes it was a little too perceptive about what they needed.

She shifted closer to Philipp, her thigh pressing against his. The cheese was good, grounding. She leaned in, her lips brushing his shoulder.

They finished the cheese in comfortable silence, and when the plate dematerialized, they settled under the blanket together.

“Good night, Lieutenant,” Philipp said softly.

“Night, Captain.”

Aurora shifted closer, her head on his shoulder, one leg tangled with his. The blanket was warm, the ship’s hum familiar and constant around them.

She didn’t voice what she was thinking—that the silence outside matched the one inside her head, that four bodies and a sealed facility shouldn’t feel this clean, that they’d been used as pawns in someone’s game. She just breathed him in, let the ship’s rhythm lull her toward sleep.

Tomorrow, they’d figure it out. Tomorrow, they’d check the probe data and see what High Command had to say.

But tonight, they had each other.

Always together.

---

Epilogue

The next morning brought answers, though not the kind that settled Aurora’s paranoia.

High Command’s response came through as Philipp was reviewing the probe data. The message was brief and efficient: GCS Vanguard dispatched to XY-773 for extended surveillance. Twenty officers, full crew, two weeks of monitoring. The farmers would be interviewed. The settlement would be secured. Everything was being handled.

And Philipp and Aurora were being reassigned.

“New mission orders, priority level three,” Philipp said, reading the transmission. “First contact situation, Delta Sector. Uncontacted species requesting medical aid—some kind of outbreak or contamination event.”

He looked at Aurora, gauging her reaction.

“High Command wants us on-site within forty-eight hours. My paramedic background makes us the logical choice.”

Aurora pulled up the Delta Sector navigation charts, her fingers moving through the display automatically. The sector was marked as uncharted, the star cluster dense and unstable.

“First contact. Medical emergency. No protocols.”

Her voice was flat, processing.

“You’re the paramedic. I’m the muscle.”

A small pause, her fingers hovering over the tactical overlay.

“Hope they’re friendly.”

She glanced at the probe data one last time—hours of surveillance showing nothing unusual on the planet’s surface. The settlement continued its routines, oblivious or uncaring about what had happened beneath them. The two farmers appeared occasionally in the feed, going about their lives as if they hadn’t orchestrated an international incident.

Maybe they’d never know who had really wanted that facility gone. Maybe it didn’t matter.

“Let’s go,” Aurora said finally. “Delta Sector won’t wait.”

Philipp set the course, and the ship aligned itself toward the new mission. Behind them, XY-773 shrank into the void—just another agricultural world with secrets buried deep.

But as they jumped to hyperspace, Philipp couldn’t shake the feeling that they’d been moved like pieces on a board, positioned exactly where someone wanted them. The uranium facility had been a test, maybe. Or a cleanup operation. Or something else entirely.

Whatever it was, High Command had their report. The Vanguard would investigate.

And Philipp and Aurora would move forward, because that’s what they always did.

Together.

---

THE END

---

Author’s Note: This story is the first in the Captain Philipp & Lieutenant Aurora series. While this is a work of fiction, the characters and their relationship are deeply personal to the author. If you enjoyed this story, stay tuned for future installments exploring their missions across the galaxy.

Content warnings apply: explicit sexual content, violence, BDSM dynamics, military themes.