Page 12

Chapter 12

Cirdox

“ T hat facility used to house enough luminore to heal half the Orion system,” I tell Neon, my wings shifting restlessly as I study the skeletal structure clinging to the asteroid’s surface like a derelict ship waiting to be stripped. “Now it’s just another abandoned prize, ripe for salvage after Garrox’s greed picked it clean.”

The Brotherhood’s latest intelligence suggested a cache of medical supplies might still be hidden in the lower levels—the kind of score that could fill our holds and save lives in the outer colonies where luminore shortages are hitting hardest. Even a picked-over facility like this could yield enough resources to justify the risk, especially with three of our supply ships recently lost to Eclipse raiders while running medicine to desperate settlements. Pirates we might be, but at least we make sure our plunder reaches those who need it most, not just those who can pay the highest price.

The asteroid field surrounding Morcrest shimmers like a shattered mirror, reflecting the cold light of distant stars. Jagged obsidian shards, remnants of some ancient celestial collision, drift in silent patterns, their edges sharp enough to shred a ship’s hull at a careless touch. The Void Reaver hangs in the shadows of a particularly large fragment, its cloaking systems masking our energy signature from prying sensors.

My wings twitch with tension as I scan the storage facility—a framework of metal and glass that looks more like a forgotten monument than a functioning medical depot. The bond-sickness burns through my veins, making my tribal markings pulse with fever, but I force myself to focus. Something about this place feels wrong. Under High Chieftain Garrox, it was a testament to corruption, hoarding healing while colonies suffered.

The facility’s unnatural stillness mocks everything Droilin promised when he took power. I remember Kyor standing in this same loading bay, his proud features lined with desperate hope as he negotiated with Garrox for a pittance—just enough credits to keep the Brotherhood’s medical supplies flowing to the outer colonies. “Sometimes we have to compromise,” he’d said, not meeting my eyes. “For the greater good.”

But there was no greater good waiting at the end of that devil’s bargain. Just a cell in an STI prison where Kyor now rots, betrayed by the very system he thought he could manipulate. His attempt to play both sides, to extract some small benefit for the Brotherhood while working with Garrox, ended exactly as I warned him it would. The memory of his face when they led him away, of the bitter resignation in his eyes, still haunts me. Now the facility stands empty, its shadows holding secrets that whisper of broken promises and shattered dreams.

“You know this place well,” Neon observes from her position at the tactical station, her enhanced eyes studying my reaction.

“Too well,” I growl, memories of past raids surfacing like phantom pain. “Lost good people trying to liberate supplies from here. Back when Garrox’s guards shot first and never bothered asking questions.”

The bond-sickness burns through my veins, intensifying with each pulse of the Void Reaver’s engines. My wings twitch, their membrane-thin edges quivering with barely contained tension. The fever makes my skin prickle beneath my armor, a constant reminder of the biological clock ticking down. Neon’s presence on the bridge, barely a meter away, both soothes and inflames the ache. Her proximity eases the worst of the symptoms, but it also amplifies the primal need to claim her, to complete the bond before it’s too late.

“Ready when you are, Captain,” Neon says, her voice cool and focused as she finalizes the infiltration protocols. Her neural implants cast an ethereal blue glow across her skin, highlighting the sharp angles of her face as she works. She’s a whirlwind of controlled energy, her fingers dancing across the console, weaving through the facility’s security systems with practiced ease.

The facility’s security systems pulse with an unnatural rhythm that sets my enhanced senses on edge. Something about the energy patterns feels wrong—too precise, too calculated. Like a predator lying in wait.

“These encryption protocols are... odd,” Neon mutters, her neural implants flaring brighter as she digs deeper into the facility’s defenses. “They’re using a hybrid system I’ve never seen before. STI architecture layered with Black Eclipse modifications, but there’s something else...” She trails off, her enhanced eyes narrowing. “Something almost organic.”

“Organic?” I move closer, studying the patterns flowing across her display. The bond-sickness flares at her proximity, making my tribal markings pulse with barely contained heat. “What do you mean?”

“The system’s learning from my intrusion attempts,” she explains, her fingers flying across the interface. “Adapting in real-time. It’s like... like someone took my own code and evolved it into something new.” Her voice catches slightly. “Something dangerous.”

“Wait.” Neon’s voice turns sharp, her enhanced eyes widening as recognition hits. “These modifications... I know this coding style.” Her fingers freeze over the interface, implants pulsing erratically. “Only one person could have twisted my protocols like this.”

“Kira,” I growl, the name sending a fresh wave of protective fury through me. My wings mantle instinctively despite the fever burning beneath my skin. The bond-sickness flares hot at the sight of Neon’s distress, primal instincts screaming to eliminate the threat to my mate.

The technical brilliance needed to corrupt Neon’s work is beyond my comprehension, but I understand threats. And seeing Kira’s signature in these systems, knowing she’s been here, watching, waiting... it makes my blood boil despite the fever already consuming me.

“Fall back,” I order, already reaching for my plasma blade. “If Kira’s involved—”

“Too late,” Neon cuts in, her enhanced eyes widening as new data streams across her vision. “Multiple contacts. They’re already inside.”

The words barely leave her lips before the facility’s emergency protocols engage. Blast doors slam shut with pneumatic force, sealing us in the main cargo hold. Emergency lights strobe red, casting twisted shadows across empty storage containers and abandoned equipment. The bond-sickness roars through my veins, but the primal need to protect my mate burns even hotter.

“Get behind me,” I growl, wings mantling despite the agony that tears through them. My enhanced senses strain against the fever, cataloging every shadow, every potential threat. The cargo hold suddenly feels like a cage, and Neon is trapped here. Because of me.

Emergency lights strobe in a pattern that makes my tribal markings pulse in response, each flash illuminating another corner where death might lurk. The recycled air carries traces of weapon oil and modified armor—distinctive scents that set my predatory instincts on high alert. Someone’s here, watching, waiting. And they’re between us and freedom.

“We’re surrounded,” I murmur, low enough that only Neon can hear. My wings quiver with the effort of staying extended, but I’d rather collapse than leave her exposed. “At least three hostiles, maybe more.”

The bond-sickness might be burning me alive from the inside, but I’ve never felt more focused. Every cell in my body screams to protect her, to eliminate any threat to my mate. Even if it kills me.

Then I smell it—the faint, metallic tang of modified combat armor. The subtle whir of enhanced servos. The nearly silent footsteps of soldiers trained to move like ghosts.

“Contact,” I growl, my wings snapping wide despite the pain that tears through them. “Three o’clock high.”

The first plasma bolt screams through the air before I finish speaking. I twist, wings creating a living shield between the attack and Neon. The shot impacts my armor, sending waves of agony through my fever-wracked body. But the bond-sickness transforms the pain into something else—raw energy fueled by the desperate need to protect my mate.

Three Eclipse soldiers emerge from the shadows, their modified armor gleaming with an unnatural sheen. They move with inhuman grace, servos whirring as augmented muscles propel them forward. Standard Eclipse troops don’t move like this. These are something else. Something new.

“Captain!” Zara’s warning comes just as my vision blurs, the bond-sickness striking at the worst possible moment. I stagger, wings trembling as another wave of fever hits. The closest soldier sees my weakness and lunges, plasmablade humming with lethal intent.

The battle dissolves into controlled chaos. Zara and Grig engage the remaining soldiers while Neon covers my momentary weakness. My vision swims, tribal markings burning bright enough to cast crimson shadows across the metal walls. Every movement costs more than it should, the bond-sickness turning simple maneuvers into exercises in pure willpower.

But there’s something wrong about this fight. The soldiers aren’t pressing their advantage, aren’t using tactics that could easily overwhelm us. Instead, they’re... testing. Probing. Like they’re gathering data rather than trying to kill us.

“They’re scanning us,” Neon confirms through gritted teeth as she parries another strike. “Combat analysis protocols. Everything we do, every move we make—they’re sending it somewhere.”

The last soldier falls, their modified armor crackling with residual energy. But before I can warn the others, the fallen soldier’s neural implants pulse with a final transmission. Data streaming outward, carrying everything they learned about our fighting styles, our weaknesses, our patterns.

The cargo bay doors hiss open, flooding the space with harsh light from the corridor. A tactical team sweeps in, weapons raised but not yet targeting. A woman strides through their formation, her expression grim as she surveys the fallen Eclipse soldiers.

“Sophisticated combat analysis systems,” she observes, crouching to examine one of the modified bodies. “The Eclipse is evolving their methods. These aren’t standard troops anymore.” Her piercing blue eyes lift to meet mine. “Though I suspect you’ve already figured that out, Captain Thar’Kal.”

I spin toward the sound, wings flaring despite the agony that tears through them. A figure emerges from the shadows, her tactical team spreading out behind her with practiced efficiency.

“Well, well,” a familiar voice cuts through the darkness, precise and cold as a blade. “The infamous Captain Thar’Kal and his crew.”

I recognize that voice—Officer Neve McCoy, the Planetary Police investigator who exposed Kyor’s corruption. Her reputation for relentless pursuit of justice is matched only by her uncanny ability to appear at the most inopportune moments. The last time our paths crossed, she was building the case against Kyor’s luminore smuggling operation. She let me go then, acknowledging that some forms of piracy serve a greater good. But her presence here now can’t be coincidence.

“And...” McCoy pauses, her sharp gaze locking onto me with unmistakable recognition. “Lyra Arden. Last time I saw you, you were disappearing into the maintenance shafts of Orion Outpost. Right after that interesting data breach in the STI’s secure servers.”

I stiffen beside her, my wings twitching as if ready to shield her from a threat. My eyes narrow, the possessiveness unmistakable. “ Lyra— ?”

“Not now,” Neon cuts in sharply, shooting me a warning glance before turning back to McCoy. “I go by Neon Valkyrie these days. And I doubt you tracked me across half the sector just to reminisce.”

Lyra Arden. My wings shift restlessly at the revelation of her true name, a piece of herself she’s kept hidden even from me. The bond-sickness burns hotter in my veins as I study her profile, noting the slight tension in her jaw, the way her enhanced eyes flicker with barely contained anxiety. She guards her secrets like a dragon hoards treasure, each one a wall built from past pain and betrayal. But I’ve earned the right to know this truth, to understand the woman behind the hacker’s mask she shows the world. Later, when we’re alone, I’ll have words with my mate about this.

The bond-sickness flares hot in my veins as I step between McCoy and Neon, my wings mantling protectively despite the fever weakening my muscles. “A lot’s changed since Kyor’s arrest, Officer McCoy. Including who your real enemies are.”

“Has it?” McCoy’s footsteps echo as she emerges fully into view, her red hair gleaming like fresh blood under the emergency lights. Her piercing blue eyes miss nothing as they scan our group, lingering on my chest markings pulsing with fever. “Or are we all just playing different sides of the same corrupt game?”

My wings shift restlessly, the bond-sickness making each movement cost more than it should. But I force myself to focus through the fever, to see the careful way McCoy positions herself—close enough to appear non-threatening, far enough to maintain tactical advantage. “You could say the the game changed when the Eclipse moved from plain old extortion and into… acquisitions.”

“Interesting theory,” McCoy says, her tone carefully neutral. “And what evidence supports these... allegations?”

“Unless those records have been falsified,” Neon cuts in, her enhanced eyes narrowing as she studies McCoy.

McCoy’s expression doesn’t change, but something shifts in her eyes. “Interesting theory. Care to elaborate?”

“Not particularly.” Neon’s neural implants pulse brighter as she works, probably scanning McCoy’s credentials even while maintaining this verbal sparring match. “But I’m curious why a decorated officer like yourself is skulking around an abandoned medical depot instead of chasing real criminals.”

“Who says I’m not?” McCoy signals her team to lower their weapons—not holster them, but no longer aimed directly at our heads. A calculated show of... trust? Or manipulation? “The Black Eclipse has compromised everything they touch. Including the STI’s most secure facilities. Neutralizing corruption is my area of expertise.”

The revelation hangs in the air like plasma smoke, acrid and dangerous. I exchange glances with Zara, seeing my own suspicions reflected in her eyes. This could be exactly what we need—or another trap in a game we’re only beginning to understand.

“Prove it,” I challenge, though the effort of maintaining my defensive stance makes my wings tremble. The bond-sickness burns hotter, fed by the adrenaline of confrontation and Neon’s proximity. “Why should we trust you?”

“Because I’ve been tracking their operations since before they got their hooks into Kyor Drakonforge,” McCoy says, her voice carrying the weight of bitter experience. “Since before they started using luminore shipments as leverage against outer colonies.”

“The Tasha incident,” Neon says suddenly, her enhanced eyes narrowing. “You were the one who exposed High Chieftain Garrox’s corruption and helped the human girl. Who protected her when everyone else believed the lies.”

McCoy inclines her head, that sharp smile softening slightly. “Someone had to stand up for the truth. Just like someone needs to expose how deep the Eclipse’s influence really goes.” She pauses, her gaze flickering between us. “The question is, are you interested in being those someones? Or should I arrest you all and sort it out later?”

The bond-sickness chooses that moment to strike hard, sending fire racing through my veins. My wings falter, the effort of keeping them extended becoming almost impossible. Neon moves closer instinctively, her presence both soothing and intensifying the fever burning beneath my skin.

“Captain?” Zara’s voice carries layers of meaning—concern for my condition, questioning about McCoy’s offer, readiness to fight our way out if necessary.

I study McCoy through the haze of fever, weighing options that grow more limited with each passing moment. She could be lying. Could be working for the Eclipse herself. But something in her eyes, in the way she recognized Neon’s abilities, suggests otherwise.

“What exactly are you proposing?” I ask, forcing my voice steady despite the tremors wracking my body.

“An alliance,” McCoy says simply. “You help me trace these shipments back to their source, share what you know about Eclipse operations. In return, I provide official cover for your activities and access to STI resources.” Her gaze shifts to Neon. “Including protection from certain parties who might be hunting talented hackers.”

Neon stiffens beside me. “You know about that?”

“I know someone’s been using classified protocols to track you. Someone with intimate knowledge of both STI and Eclipse systems.” McCoy’s expression hardens. “Someone who knows exactly what they’re looking for.”

The implications hit like a physical blow. She knows about Kira. Or at least suspects. The question is, how much does she know? And can we risk trusting her with the full truth?

“And if we refuse?” I ask, though the bond-sickness makes the words scrape against my throat.

“Then I arrest you all for trespassing, theft, and whatever else I can make stick.” McCoy shrugs, the gesture almost elegant in its casualness. “But I don’t think you will. Because you know as well as I do that we’re stronger together than apart.”

I look at Neon, seeing the same conflict in her eyes that I feel burning in my blood. Trust is dangerous. Allies can become enemies in the space between heartbeats. But trying to fight the Eclipse alone... that’s suicide.

“Your call, little hacker,” I say softly, my wings drooping slightly as another wave of fever hits. “You’re the one they’re hunting.”

Neon’s fingers brush against my arm, the touch sending electricity through my overheated skin. “We need resources,” she admits reluctantly. “And someone with official authority to back us up when this gets messy.”

“When?” McCoy asks, amusement coloring her tone.

“Trust me,” Neon says, her voice carrying an edge of bitter experience. “With the Eclipse involved, it’s always when, never if.”

“Then we have a deal?” McCoy extends her hand, the gesture both offer and challenge.

I meet Neon’s gaze one last time, seeing in her enhanced eyes the same desperate hope I feel—that this time, trust won’t lead to betrayal. That this time, we might actually have a chance.

“Deal,” I say, clasping McCoy’s hand despite the fever making my grip unsteady. “But if you betray us...”

“You’ll kill me,” she finishes, that sharp smile returning. “I’d expect nothing less. Now, shall we discuss what was really stored in this facility? Because I don’t think either of us believes it was just medical supplies.”

The facility’s interior feels colder than the void outside, each breath visible in the recycled air. My wings twitch with barely contained tension as we follow McCoy deeper into the complex, past rows of empty storage units that once held enough luminore to power entire systems.

“The Eclipse didn’t just take over Kyor’s routes,” McCoy explains, her voice echoing off metal walls. “They inverted his entire operation. Where he smuggled luminore to help outer colonies, they’re using those same networks to control supply lines. Create artificial shortages.”

The words stir memories of the Brotherhood captains’ meeting—K’vex’s too-careful questions about our supply routes, Vornak’s aggressive posturing, Ralith’s calculated indifference. Could one of them be feeding information to the Eclipse? The thought sends a fresh wave of fever through me.

“I might have something useful for you,” I say, fighting to keep my voice steady despite the bond-sickness. “The Brotherhood recently lost several ships along supposedly secure routes. Routes that only our captains should know about.” I meet McCoy’s sharp gaze. “Cross-reference those disappearances with your Eclipse activity data. Might help identify their infiltration patterns.”

McCoy’s expression doesn’t change, but something like interest flickers in her eyes. “That could be... enlightening. Especially if we can establish a timeline of when specific routes were compromised.”

“And if one of your captains is the leak?” Neon asks softly beside me, her enhanced eyes studying my reaction.

“Then we’ll deal with that too,” I growl, wings shifting restlessly. “One betrayal at a time.”

“And in the meantime?” McCoy asks, her sharp gaze cutting through the shadows. “While we hunt for your traitor, the Eclipse continues weaponizing medical supplies. Making colonies beg for basic treatment.”

“Forcing colonies to submit to their rule in exchange for medical treatment,” I growl, the words tasting bitter. My wings shift restlessly, partly from the fever and partly from growing rage. “Using suffering as leverage.”

“That’s not all,” Neon cuts in, her neural implants flaring as she accesses another terminal. “They’re not just stockpiling luminore—they’re modifying it. Running tests on different chemical compositions.” Her enhanced eyes widen. “I think they’re trying to create an enhanced version that only their people can use.”

McCoy nods grimly. “Which makes this facility more than just a storage point. It was a testing ground. A place to perfect their control over who lives and who dies.”

The implications land like a punch to the gut. This isn’t just about power or profit anymore. It’s about systematic extermination through selective treatment. About reshaping the very fabric of society by controlling who has access to life-saving medicine.

“How did you find this place?” I ask McCoy, fighting another wave of fever that makes my markings pulse erratically. “Why were you watching it?”

“We weren’t looking for you specifically,” she admits. “We were tracking unusual luminore shipments, trying to map the Eclipse’s distribution network. Your raid just happened to trip the same security alerts we were monitoring.”

It makes sense—too much sense, perhaps. But we’re running out of options, out of time. The bond-sickness burns hotter with each passing moment, and Kira’s presence in the facility’s systems proves she’s always one step ahead of us.

“We need to shut this down,” I say, my voice rough with pain and determination. “All of it. The testing, the distribution network, everything.”

“Agreed.” McCoy’s expression hardens. “But we do this smart. Gather evidence that can’t be buried or denied. Build a case that will expose not just the Eclipse, but everyone who’s been helping them maintain power.”

“And in the meantime?” Neon asks, her voice tight with barely contained fury. “How many more colonies suffer while we play politics?”

“We help where we can,” I say, catching her gaze. “Keep smuggling pure luminore to those who need it most. But we have to be careful now—Kira’s watching. Learning. Planning.”

The name hangs heavy in the air, though McCoy doesn’t comment on it. Instead, she pulls up another set of classified files on her datapad. “Start with these shipping manifests. They show regular deliveries to coordinates that don’t exist in any official database.”

“Black sites,” Neon murmurs, her implants already processing the data. “Testing facilities hidden in dead space.”

“Find them,” McCoy orders. “Map their network. Give me something I can use to bring them down—legally and permanently.”

It’s a start. A chance to fight back against the rot that’s been spreading through the galaxy like a cancer. But as another wave of fever washes over me, making my vision blur and my wings tremble, I can’t help but wonder if we’ll live long enough to see it through.

Because time is running out—for the colonies dependent on luminore, for my own survival, for all of us. And somewhere out there, Kira watches and waits, using everything she learns against us.