Broken orbit, p.15
Broken Orbit, page 15
Mik finally looked up, his eyes meeting mine, a flicker of surprise in their depths. “You think? That’s a long shot, Rae. Most of those comms get scrubbed within minutes. Unless… you mean someone on board is talking. Someone on Indira.”
My stomach twisted, a cold knot of dread. The thought of a traitor in our small, fragile family was sickening, a betrayal from within. But Kellen’s presence, his cryptic warnings about silence, amplified the possibility. He might be the one Vos was looking for, or he might be looking for someone else. Either way, it made our search even more critical, more dangerous.
“It doesn’t matter if it’s on board or off, Mik,” I said, my voice firm, infused with new resolve. “What matters is that whoever is leaking information is directly tied to this network. And if Vos finds them first, if he silences them, or worse, hands them over… then we lose our leverage. We lose our chance to expose all of this. We lose everything.”
Mik nodded slowly, his expression grim, a rare vulnerability in his eyes. “So, we find them. First.” He rotated his console to face me fully, his previous territoriality forgotten, replaced by a shared sense of urgency, a silent commitment. “We need to run a full system scan, deep-level. Look for anomalous data packets, unscheduled access points, anything that screams ‘backdoor.’ We’re talking about corporate black-ops, Rae. They won’t leave a simple trail. They’ll have hidden layers, dead ends.”
“No, they won’t,” I agreed, leaning forward, my gaze fixed on the flickering screen. “And they certainly won’t leave a trail that says ‘transgender mechanic found our hidden network of child trafficking and AI destabilization.’ So we have to think like them. Or rather, like the people who built this mess, the ones who pull the strings. Every system has a backdoor, Mik. Every single one. Even if it’s a blind spot. Even if it’s a manual override for maintenance that was never logged, a hidden weakness they thought no one would ever find.”
My mind raced, already sifting through schematics, imagining the hidden pathways of Indira’s systems, the digital arteries and veins of the ship. The ship had been my escape, my new home. But it was also a labyrinth, filled with secrets and shadows, just like my own past. The irony wasn’t lost on me. I had run from my own history, only to find myself on a ship steeped in someone else’s dark secrets, a mirror of my own hidden truths.
“I’ll start with the comm logs, cross-referencing against internal access points,” I declared, my fingers already dancing over the virtual keyboard on my wrist-mounted datapad, a blur of practiced motion. “Anything that looks like an unscheduled upload, or a data burst at an odd time. Then we match that with internal heat signatures. A human signature, too small to be crew, too precise to be a malfunction. A ghost in the machine, leaving a thermal footprint.”
“Right,” Mik affirmed, his own fingers flying across his console, his brow furrowing in concentration. “I’ll focus on the power grid. Look for micro-fluctuations, phantom draws that wouldn’t show up on a standard diagnostic. Anything that screams ‘someone’s siphoning power for a low-profile comm unit.’ And then… we go looking in person. No stone unturned. We’ll comb every inch of this ship if we have to.”
As Mik initiated the deep system scan, the low hum of Indira seemed to intensify, a nervous tremor echoing my own internal state, a sympathetic vibration. Vos’s office door clicked open down the hall, and I subtly glanced up, catching his eye. His gaze was unreadable, but the tension in his jaw was clear, a visible sign of his stress. He was watching us, waiting. He was a shark, and we were navigating waters he controlled. But I had my own currents, my own tides. And now, with Tala’s words of acceptance ringing in my ears, with the profound peace of having shared my deepest truth, I felt a strength I hadn’t known I possessed. A strength born from being truly seen, truly myself. The constant awareness of my body—the subtle ache of my shoulder, the lingering phantom sensations from post-op dilation—was no longer a vulnerability to hide, but a testament to my resilience. It was a part of me. I refuse to be broken. I refuse to be silenced.
“We’ll find them,” I muttered to Mik, more to myself than to him, a quiet vow. “Before he does. Before ‘they’ find us.”
Void-CrawL
Vos's Private Sacrifice
The hum of Indira’s engines was a low, constant thrum beneath my boots as I walked past Vos’s quarters. The recycled air carried the usual metallic tang of the ship, but also a persistent, cloying sweetness—that artificial floral scent that had become Vossan’s signature, a grim reminder of the insidious network. I was on my way to the mess hall, my mind still reeling from our stowaway's story, the raw injustice of his coercion, and the sheer scale of the conspiracy we were up against. My left shoulder still ached from the radiation burn, a dull throb that mirrored the heavy weight in my chest.
Then I paused. Vos’s hatch was slightly ajar, a thin sliver of light spilling into the corridor. He rarely left it open, even by accident. Curiosity, a dangerous instinct on this ship, pulled me closer. Through the gap, I saw him.
He was hunched over his desk, his back to the door, his shoulders slumped with a weariness that went bone-deep. His worn flight jacket was half-zipped, revealing a grease-stained undershirt. A dim lamp, coated in dust, cast long shadows across his desk, illuminating the worn, framed photograph I’d seen before: a younger, unburdened Vos, standing proudly beside a sleek, powerful ship, utterly unlike our battered freighter. He was staring at it, his posture rigid, almost as if he were bracing for an impact that only he could feel.
He reached out, his fingers tracing the edge of the photograph, a moment of profound regret etched into his face. For a fleeting second, his usual cynicism was gone, replaced by a raw, naked vulnerability, a glimpse into the man beneath the hardened exterior. I felt a cold wave of empathy wash over me, surprising in its intensity. He looked like a man about to make an impossible choice, a man saying goodbye to a life he’d lost, or was about to lose.
Then, with a visible effort, he straightened, his jaw hardening, his resolve steeling. He pulled a comms unit from his desk drawer, its screen glowing dimly in the gloom. It was a private unit, not linked to Indira’s internal systems, clearly designed for unsavory, untraceable communications. He tapped a few keys, the soft clicks barely audible, initiating a coded, one-way burst transmission.
His voice, low and clipped, came through the slightly ajar hatch, fragmented but clear enough to pierce the hum of the ship.
“…draw their fire. They want the asset on my ship… the boy. Let them think they can have me instead.”
He paused, a heavy silence, then continued, his voice rough with suppressed emotion.
“It will buy time for the others to get the real cargo clear. Make it count.”
My breath hitched. The words weren't just military jargon; they were pieces of a puzzle clicking into place with horrifying speed. They want the asset. The boy. He was making himself the target. Not just for the crew, but for Kael. This wasn’t him fleeing; it was a calculated sacrifice. He was offering himself up as bait, a one-way trip to pull Vossan's attention away from Indira, away from the boy, away from all of us. The cynical, calculating man who always made the gray call to survive was making his final one.
He briefly touched the photograph again, his fingers lingering, a silent farewell to his past, to his youth, to whatever dreams that sleek ship represented. Then, with a sharp, decisive movement, he slammed the comms unit shut, silencing its dim glow. His face was grim, etched with the pain of a desperate decision, but also with a quiet, unyielding resolve. He had made his choice.
The floral scent in the corridor seemed to thicken, a mocking presence, but beneath it, I recognized the sharp, acrid tang of ozone—the smell of a man preparing for battle, for a final, desperate fight. My stomach clenched, a cold knot of dread, but also a flicker of profound respect. Captain Darrin Vos, the cynical smuggler, the man of compromises, was making his stand. And he was doing it for a child he’d helped endanger.
I backed away silently, my boots making no sound on the metal deck, leaving his hatch slightly ajar, leaving him to his private sacrifice. The hum of Indira’s engines deepened, a low, solemn thrum, a battle drum for the war that was coming. A war that, thanks to Vos, we might just have a chance to win. My own resolve hardened, fueled by this unexpected act of redemption, this quiet, profound sacrifice. He was willing to die for this crew. And I was damn sure going to fight for them.
* * *
A Suicide Mission
The mess hall was quiet, too quiet, the usual hum of conversation replaced by a heavy silence that pressed in on us. The crew sat hunched over synth-plates of recycled protein paste, their faces grim in Indira’s flickering overhead lights. The discovery of the boy, Kael, huddled and terrified, coerced into sabotaging our ship, had cast a heavy shadow over us all. His story, whispered in broken fragments, had spread like a contagion of dread, chilling us to the bone. Captain Vos stood at the head of the table, his usual cynicism replaced by a weary resignation that spoke volumes of the burdens he carried, a profound fatigue that settled over him like a shroud.
“Alright,” Vos began, his voice raspy, cutting through the silence like a dull blade. “You all know what we found. The boy. His name is Kael. Not Denny’s Kael, but… Kael. He’s a refugee. Or rather, he was forced into servitude by Vossan’s network. They threatened his family back on Kepler-7, a mining colony ravaged by corporate neglect. Made him sabotage us, so they could intercept the cargo. Our human cargo.” He spat the words, his disgust palpable, a rare display of raw emotion.
A collective shudder went through the crew, a ripple of shared horror. Jaime’s jaw was clenched, his usual flippant demeanor replaced by a rigid anger, his eyes fixed on Vos with grim intensity. Denny looked sick, clutching his synth-paste, as if the very food was tainted by the revelation of what others were forced to endure, his young face pale and drawn. Tala watched Vos with quiet intensity, her hands clasped in front of her, her posture still but alert. Mik’s face was a thundercloud of simmering rage, his knuckles white as he gripped the edge of the table.
“So, we’re being hunted,” Jaime stated, his voice flat, devoid of its usual teasing inflection. “Not just pirates. Vossan. For real. They want the boy. And they want the data. They know everything.”
Vos nodded, running a hand over his tired face, a gesture of profound weariness. “For real. They know we have the boy, they know we have… certain data. The leak is confirmed. And they want it all back. Which brings me to our current predicament. The last attack, during that jump through Sector 7… it wasn’t just the shields. A main coolant line, deep near the warp drive, took a direct hit. Hairline fracture. It’s bleeding radiation. Slowly, but steadily. If we don’t fix it, the core will destabilize within forty-eight hours. We’ll be dust. All of us.”
A collective intake of breath, sharp and ragged, filled the strained silence. The air in the mess hall grew even heavier, thick with dread, with the scent of impending doom.
“It’s a void-crawl,” Vos continued, his gaze sweeping over each of us, assessing, weighing. “Decompressed section. High radiation. Right next to the warp core. One mistake… and you’re vapor. Not just you, but the ship. All of us. There’s no secondary safety. No backup.” He paused, letting the grim reality sink in, allowing the weight of his words to settle over us. “It’s a suicide mission, plain and simple. No one but an engineer can get in there. And no one wants to. The last guy I ever heard of who tried… didn’t make it back.”
My hand, resting on the table, felt heavy. A suicide mission. The words echoed the desolation I’d felt after Lena and the kids. That numb emptiness that had driven me to abandon my old life, to seek anonymity in the vastness of space. But I wasn’t that person anymore. I had rebuilt myself, piece by painful piece, from the ashes of my grief. I had found purpose, and a fragile, unexpected family. And I would not abandon them.
My gaze drifted to the corner of the mess hall where the boy, Kael, was still huddled, watched over by Tala. His small, frail figure, forced into such a monstrous act, was a stark reminder of what Vossan’s network truly was. A network that preyed on the vulnerable, twisted human connection into weapons, and destroyed lives without a second thought. My own children. Maya. Eli. They were gone. But this boy, this Maya, the others trapped in those crates… they were still here. Still suffering. And I had the skills, the strength, the sheer stubborn will to fight for them. This was not just a job. This was a vow.
I pushed back my chair, the scrape of metal on deck plates loud in the silence, cutting through the heavy air. All eyes turned to me, a sudden, collective focus.
“I’ll do it,” I said, my voice steady, betraying none of the tremor in my hands, none of the fear that still gnawed at the edges of my resolve. “I’ll fix the coolant line. I’ve worked on worse. And Indira deserves to keep flying.”
Vos’s eyes widened slightly, a flicker of surprise in their depths, quickly masked by his usual hardened expression. Mik stared at me, his mouth slightly agape, a rare display of shock. Jaime raised an eyebrow, a hint of respect in his gaze, a silent acknowledgment of my courage. Denny looked from me to Vos, then back, a mixture of fear and awe on his young face. Tala’s eyes met mine, and in their depths, I saw understanding, and a quiet, profound acceptance, a silent promise of support.
“Jacobs,” Vos said, his voice low, tinged with a warning. “You understand the risks? It’s a death trap in there. That last guy…”
“I understand,” I replied, my gaze firm, unwavering. “But someone has to. And I can do it. I’ve worked on cores before. I know the schematics. And the ship… Indira deserves to keep flying. And those kids… Kael, Maya… they deserve a chance. A future. This ship is their only hope.”
Vos studied me for a long moment, a battle of pragmatism versus a flicker of something almost akin to admiration playing across his face. He nodded slowly, a single, weary nod, a silent concession. “Alright, Jacobs. You got it. Mik, prep the maintenance bay. Jaime, get us a stable orbit. Denny, assist Mik. Tala… you’re with Jacobs for medical oversight. We depart in six hours. Move.”
As the crew scrambled, a renewed sense of purpose humming through the mess hall, I felt the weight of the task settle over me. It wasn't just a repair; it was a promise. A promise to the boy, to the hidden cargo, to the ghosts of my past, and to the woman I was determined to be. Indira would not fall. Not on my watch. Not while I still had breath in my body.
* * *
Come Back
The maintenance bay was a cavernous space on Indira, usually bustling with activity but now strangely subdued, filled only with the low hum of dormant machinery. The air hummed with the dormant power of heavy machinery, the metallic tang of lubricants and ozone sharp in my nostrils, a familiar, almost comforting scent. Tools hung from magnetic racks, gleaming under the harsh utility lights, organized with a precision that spoke of careful hands. I moved with practiced efficiency, checking my void-suit, running my hands over the seams, ensuring the pressure seals were intact, performing a silent ritual of preparation. Every piece of equipment, every backup system, needed to be perfect. One error, one forgotten step, and this mission would be my last. The thought wasn't a stranger; it had been a constant companion since Midreach, since Lena and the kids. But now, it was tinged with a new determination. I wasn’t just surviving; I was fighting. And this fight mattered, more than anything.
I methodically ran through the pre-breather cycle, my lungs aching with the compressed air, preparing my body for the vacuum, for the extreme cold and radiation. My shoulder throbbed where Tala had cleaned the radiation burn, a persistent, dull ache, but I pushed it aside, compartmentalizing the pain.
A soft footstep announced Tala’s arrival, a quiet presence in the vast space. She moved with her characteristic quiet grace, carrying a compact medical kit, its polished surface reflecting the harsh lights. Her eyes, serene as always, held a deep concern as she surveyed my preparations, a silent worry etched on her face.
“Just checking vitals and final suit integrity,” she said, her voice calm, professional, cutting through the hum of the machinery. “Standard procedure for a void-crawl, especially one with such… unpredictable radiation levels. And a ship that’s been through what Indira has.”
She set her kit down on a nearby workbench, pulling out a portable bio-scanner. As she ran it over my helmet, then down the torso of my suit, her brow furrowed, a subtle shift in her composed expression. She paused, her fingers tracing a specific seam just below my left shoulder, precisely where my radiation burn had been, where the new patch glowed faintly.
“Rae,” she said, her voice dropping, a new urgency in her tone, a quiet warning. “The sealant here. It’s compromised. A hairline crack. Almost invisible to the naked eye, but it’s there. Not a tear, more like… an old stress fracture that’s finally given out under the recent strain. It’s weak.”
My stomach dropped, a cold, hard knot. A compromised seal. On a void-suit. In a decompressed, high-radiation zone. This wasn’t just a risk; it was a near-certain death sentence. Was it an oversight? Or a subtle, insidious sabotage, a final, cruel twist from an unseen hand? The thought sent a cold shiver down my spine, a chilling realization: the enemy was everywhere, even in the smallest details.
“Can you patch it?” I asked, my voice tight, strained, barely a whisper.
Tala was already pulling a small, glowing tube from her kit, her movements swift and precise.
“I can. It won’t be perfect, but it’ll hold. Just means the shielding won’t be as robust in this area. You’ll have to be extra careful. Avoid direct exposure as much as possible.”
Her fingers worked deftly, applying the glowing sealant to the micro-fracture, the substance bonding with the suit material almost instantly, a faint hiss audible in the quiet. As her fingers brushed against my suit, our hands met, her touch gentle and warm against my gloved palm. Her eyes, deep and knowing, met mine, and in that gaze, a profound connection bloomed. There was no need for words, only a silent acknowledgement of the trust that flowed between us, a mutual vulnerability. Her fingers lingered for a second, a gentle squeeze that sent a surprising warmth through my chest, a sense of being truly seen and cared for, not just as a patient preparing for a mission, but as a person, as Rae. It was a comfort I hadn't realized I craved, a quiet anchor in the face of oblivion, a fragile hope for something more if I survived this.
