Page 17

SEVENTEEN

Stavian

Stavian walked past the Mirka’s cargo bay. The miners had gathered in tight groups. Helmets on. Suits sealed. No one spoke.

He surveyed the rows of suits sweeping into the corridor, then turned at the top of the ramp, raising his voice just enough to carry across the cargo hold. A hush settled over the gathered miners. “We depart immediately, but I can’t do this alone. Especially not now.” His gaze swept over the group, just as a thud sounded against the sealed ramp. “If any of you have experience operating a vessel, I need you on the bridge.” He paused, the weight of his history with them pressing in. “I may be the last person in this quadrant you feel like helping. But I’m asking anyway. This isn’t my escape—it’s ours.”

There was a beat of silence. Then, hands rose. Four of them. They didn’t speak, but their steps forward said enough. Stavian nodded and rolled back his shoulders. There would be fight ahead, that much was certain—but for this moment, their rebellion had a crew.

“Come with me.” He turned and strode toward the central lift, four miners trailing behind.

They stepped into the lift with him in silence. When it locked and started to rise, he looked them over. All wore EP suits. He could see the tense lines on their faces through their visors—jaws clenched, eyes alert. No one here expected a soft ride.

The lift stopped. The doors opened to the bridge corridor. Everything pulsed with a quiet blue glow. They entered the large, eight-station space. He wouldn’t fill all the seats, but this would work. Most of the time, extra stations were for backups, anyway. In here, the air felt different. Everything was ready—new and fresh with anticipation and raw nerves.

They pooled into the space. Before his very eyes, the ex-miners, who were now also ex-prisoners, shed their previous statuses and looked around with eyes that were evaluating, bright, calculating. Good. That’s what he needed—a sharp-thinking crew who could make decisions and react fast.

Stavian looked around. Under better circumstances, they’d have a conversation, get to know one another, and decide where they best belonged. But he was reduced to barking, “What are your skills, other than poisoning Axis officers?”

“Operative for Kerran Resistance.” Jorr pushed back his shoulders and raised his chin. “Defense systems. Weapons. Tactical and covert missions. And I’d poison that fekker again, if I had the chance.”

Stavian nodded. “Weapons,” he said to Jorr. “Port console. Get the rail systems charged and the burst shells loaded. And you may never, ever, make me a meal.”

Jorr’s lips twitched as he slid into position and started up the commands.

The next was the tall Grippian youth who had administered his stim injection. “What about you?”

The boy lifted two, three-fingered hands. “Name’s Rinter. I’m trained on ship systems. Engine cores, coolant control, diagnostics—you point me at a system, I can probably find my way around it.”

“Probably?” Stavian crossed his arms.

“This system, definitely.” Rinter shrugged. “This looks standard for this class of transports.”

“Engineering.” He pointed to a bay of consoles on the back wall opposite from the window. “Monitor heat and power flux. Make sure we have the power to get off the ground.”

A female stepped forward next. Strong figure. Dark olive skin. Pale stripe of hair that swept over her shoulder. “Talla,” she said. “Raigal syndicate. I handled long-distance nav before we got picked up. Star charts, pulse-jump vectors, asteroid flows. I know this quadrant.”

Stavian didn’t hesitate. “Navigation. Set exit vector three clicks south of standard launch—get me a route Central won’t auto-flag.”

Talla was instantly at her post and began swiping through star maps. “There’s a debris ring above the Faltor fields. If we burn fast through vector six, we can break pattern before the Axis satellites catch the signature.”

Stavian nodded. “Set it. I’ll buy us the window.”

The last crew member was a short male with deep blue skin marked with pale shimmer lines across his jaw and temples. A long tail curved slightly behind his left leg, steady even in the face of uncertainty.

“Name?” Stavian asked.

“Rek’tor,” he said. His voice was quiet, sure. “Former captain of a six-wing formation out of the Hasyan system. We defended our sector eighty-nine rotations before the Axis brought in fleet-class destroyers. We lost. I’ve been in the mines ever since.”

Stavian heard the weight behind those words but didn’t acknowledge it. Not here. Not now. “You’ve piloted strike-class and long-haul?”

“Yes.”

Stavian pointed at him. “You’re flying the Mirka.”

Rek’tor gave a single curt nod. He slid into the central pilot’s seat, studying the outdated flight system like he already owned it. One by one systems were being powered on and with no time to lose. The onboard scanners showed that Bendahn had ordered a plasma cutter to begin work on the hull.

Rek’tor rested his hands on the twin throttle levers and set the thrusters. The Mirka hummed to life—all systems springing into motion. The main view screen lit up, showing the gray curve of dock 4B and the inner gate locking mechanism.

“Power lines responding,” Rinter said. “Core levels holding.”

“Rail systems warming,” Jorr added. “I loaded the burst shells into secondary. Shall I test on the hangar floor?”

“No. It could overheat the thrusters.” Stavian lowered into his captain’s chair with relief. His legs were still weak. He had a fraction of the strength he usually possessed. “Send an electrical pulse over the hull to dislodge them.”

Talla brought up the nav grid and tapped a series of lines into a narrow arc. “Debris field plotted. Evasive jump course angled toward the edge of neutral space. I’ll adjust once we’re clear.”

The ship’s AI chirped quietly. The system was ready.

“Cerani?” Stavian asked, activating the comm.

There was a crackle, then her voice. “We’re all in. Hatch sealed. Cargo and people secured. Hurry up. They’re making progress breaking through.”

“Stay with them until after we’re away,” he said. “We’re pushing the launch.”

“I’ll see you on the other side,” she said.

No more time. This was it. The moment that would sever him from the Axis forever. After this, there would be no going back.

Stavian pressed his palm flat against the panel beside him. “Disengaging final locks.”

The clamps released with a bone-deep clunk. Through the view screen, dock 4B’s outer gate didn’t budge. Not surprising. “Jorr, blast a hole thought that gate.”

Jorr muttered to himself about an old system, but his hands flew over the controls. He fired and the final barrier broke apart with a flash of light and some debris hitting the hull.

“All stations,” he said. “Go.”

Rek’tor grunted and shoved the levers forward. The Mirka’s rear thrusters lit like a silent roar, fire blurring across the lower feeds. They blasted out of the DeLink Mine hangar in an arc, leaving the prison moon behind in a streak of smoke and spent rage.

No Axis alerts yet. No trailing ships. No orders coming through the clogged, delayed relay.

They were free.

As the Mirka cleared the gravity well of FK-22R, Stavian tried to take a full breath, but they were not in the clear. Bendahn always had backup plans. Plenty of them. Warm pulse monitors blinked beneath his hands. The ship’s thrusters purred. The crew were focused, efficient. Systems held. No alerts. Every escaped miner was safe.

Then, the sound he was expecting—an incoming ping.

Private channel.

The ID wasn’t coded like a security relay or emergency feed. It was direct. Stavian knew exactly who it was. His gut twisted. He exhaled once, then keyed the screen. “Incoming feed,” he said to the others. “Prepare yourselves. She’s fekking mad.”

The hologram activated and Bendahn’s image filled the space in full-color projection. Her tall frame was as rigid and regal as always.

Jorr let out a low, clicking hiss—a unique sound of alarm made only by his species.

“I had hoped,” Bendahn said calmly, “that you wouldn’t take this path, Stavian.”

Stavian kept still and straight, not showing the fact that he was still physically depleted. If a team of guards rushed onto the bridge at that moment, he’d be able to do little to stop them. So, he held a deceptively casual pose and waved a hand as if he were perfectly fine, just a little bored. He knew how much Bendahn disliked anything but rigid deference in her presence. “What did you inject me with?” he asked, ignoring her statement.

“A little something our scientists created to halt the Zaruxian transformation process,” she replied vaguely. “If nothing else, you’re useful as a test subject.”

“Just had that lying around, did you?” he drawled, but inside his mind was churning.

Her lips pressed together. “Let’s just say we’ve had some trouble with your kind recently. Thank you for demonstrating how this compound neutralizes the more difficult qualities of the Zaruxian species.”

This…drug he was shot with was alarming. It wasn’t meant to kill him. It was meant to break him. He suspected she expected him to be rendered incapacitated, and thus, carried off for punishment. Bendahn hadn’t counted on the miners being armed. She hadn’t counted on them helping him, and she clearly hadn’t expected him to be up and functioning.

“You’re trying to spin this as a victory for you. It’s not,” he murmured, resting his chin on his fist. “But surely the other High Council members won’t blame you for failing to subdue us.”

“Insolent. Ungrateful wretch,” she snarled, her eyes flashing. “You were favored. I vouched for you. I spared you. Instead of sending you to burn with the rest of your species, I gave you training. Structure. Purpose. We honored our agreement with her and this is how you pay your debt to me. To us.”

Stavian held very still. It was disgusting how she spoke of his kind, as if they were beasts to contain. But then again, the Axis viewed everything that didn’t bow to them as useless at best, and an abomination at worst. As one who no longer bowed, it was clear that he fell somewhere on that scale. But there was that one word—her—that thudded through the back of his skull, cold and loud.

We honored our agreement with her…

For so long, he’d wondered. He thought maybe his people had been lost in a war, scattered by instability or absorbed quietly into the folds of Axis society. His file had said nothing, but now, he heard the truth that Bendahn had never uttered—the Axis had “burned” his people and hid the truth from him. He had been permitted to live, through some deal that had been paid in blood. And he was supposed to be grateful.

“You could have had a career of significance,” Bendahn went on. “But instead, you turned your back on the Axis and stole government property. Including prisoners.”

“They’re sovereign beings,” Stavian said, deceptively calm. Underneath, his bones ached with fury. His blood felt too hot for his veins. Heat rose up in his throat.

“Silence,” Bendahn snapped. Her gaze didn’t waver. “This ends now, Stavian. Did you think I didn’t know you were planning something asinine? Did you think I’d just let you carry on with that Terian after what’s been happening with—” She cut herself off abruptly and fixed him with a steely gaze. “You will power down your systems, halt your current trajectory, and send a surrender signal. Do it, or the four cloaked ships surrounding you will open fire.”

Stavian looked at Talla, who gestured to the nav screen. She shook her head. Nothing visible. He followed her gaze. A wide swath of stars and debris clusters dominated their route, but cloaked ships could hide anywhere. He pressed his lips into a thin line. The Axis didn’t believe in freedom and they never let a betrayal go unpunished.

Stavian leaned back in his seat. Cloaked Axis ships. “We’re dead either way.”

Bendahn stared through the holo-projection like she still owned him. She clearly still saw him as the orphan she’d selected for her project—her rescue pet in a neat uniform with nothing left to lose. “No, no,” she said, taking on a cajoling tone. “If you do as you’re told, the miners’ lives will be spared. Their memories will be wiped and they’ll be reprocessed into new systems. Some may even be given reduced sentences.”

Rek’tor let out a snarl from the pilot’s chair. “Liar.”

Bendahn ignored him. “As for the Terian female…” Her gaze narrowed. “She will be contained. For safety reasons, of course. But I will spare her, as a favor to you.”

Stavian’s blood boiled over. For a second—just a second—uncertainty crawled up his spine.

She was offering him a choice he’d feared from the start: Everyone’s life (except for his, of course) for the price of their freedom. If he powered down now, they might keep her alive. Might spare the rest. If he made a choice that spared her life…would she forgive him? Because making a choice that killed her was unthinkable.

“Don’t surrender.” Rek’tor swiveled in his seat and looked at Stavian. “Cerani said, ‘If we’re going to die, let’s die on our own terms.’ I’m inclined to agree with her.”

Stavian didn’t move. He pictured Cerani standing behind him, chin raised, eyes burning the way they had on the mine floor when she said she wouldn’t beg for mercy. She’d rather perish than live as a prisoner of the Axis. She deserved more than survival—she deserved freedom.

“You surrender,” Jorr added, “and she’ll never forgive you.”

Stavian glanced down at his hands. They didn’t shake as he rested them on the arms of the captain’s chair. Somehow, that surprised him. He thought this would be harder. Bendahn’s projection waited for his response as her words still echoed through him. His heartbeat thumped once, hard.

There was one more bit of information he needed to get out of her before he did what he had to do. “What was the agreement?”

Bendahn gave the barest tilt of her head. “What?”

“You said, ‘We honored our agreement with her…’” he said. “Who was ‘her’?”

She hesitated. Her throat shifted, too subtle for most to catch. Her gaze darted at something to her left—just a brief glance offscreen—and her mouth opened, then closed again. “It’s not relevant now.”

“Yes, it is.” Stavian leaned forward, voice cold. “I’ll ask again. What agreement did you make, and who was it with?”

“Stavian—” Bendahn straightened, but her expression was starting to fray. “An agreement was made shortly after you hatched, yes. And if you surrender now, I’ll tell you everything.” Her tone turned silky, as if she believed she’d just come upon the key to making him comply. “All of it. The truth about your species. Your family. What we burned and what little we kept. I’ll give you what you want. Just stop this now.”

“She’s bluffing,” Jorr said through his teeth. “Or lying.”

“Or both. That’s all the Axis do,” Rek’tor said, his tail flicking once behind him.

Stavian stared at the projection. At the cracks starting to slip into Bendahn’s polished mask. The strain behind the offer. Not rage. Not discipline.

Desperation .

She was afraid of Cerani. Of him. And that told him everything he needed to know.

Stavian’s fingers hovered above the comm panel. The projection of Bendahn still waited, serene and smug. She thought he would break. That after everything, all it would take was a blade held to the back of the one person he couldn’t afford to lose.

He looked at her and felt nothing but wrath. She had taken his people and erased them. Now she’d come for his future. He wasn’t giving it to her.

He didn’t answer.

He cut the feed.

He turned toward the crew. “Shields to maximum,” he said. “Evasive vector. Cloaked ships or not—we punch through them. Rek’tor, make this ship dance.”

“Yes, Controller,” he replied, eyes on his screen and hands at the controls.

“Rinter.” Stavian turned to the engineer. “We need more power.”

“Okay.” The young male frowned over his many screens, adjusting here, shifting there. “Found thirty-five percent more for the thrusters.”

“I knew you wouldn’t take the deal,” Jorr said, as he swung back to weapons and gazed through his target-finder scope. “Cerani would have killed you herself.”

Stavian figured that was probably true. He sincerely hoped to ask her about it when they were through this. But first, they needed to actually make it out of there alive.

Talla adjusted the nav course. “Trajectory is rerouted. We’ll slingshot through the debris in thirty seconds.”

Rek’tor grinned, hands on the flight console as once-cloaked ships came into view, one by one. “Let’s give your High Council hellfire, Controller.”

“The controller is dead,” Stavian said through his teeth, glaring at the ships that used to be ally ships. “My name is Stavian.”

The ESS Mirka surged toward the stars, raining projectile fire and blaster flares, with four enemy ships hot on their tail. FK-22R and the DeLink Mine shrank into shadow—but ahead, the space opened wide. The entire Axis fleet could be at their backs. They were not returning.