The Ghost network representative wasn't what I expected. No shadowy figure in concealing clothes, but a station maintenance worker, her uniform dusty and worn, tools hanging from a utility belt that had seen years of use.

"Vex said someone would be stopping by," she didn't look up from the diagnostic panel.

"We need secure off-station communication," I said. "Unmonitored."

She continued working. "That's valuable, especially with Brakers attention on your new business license."

How the hell?

"We're not the only new business," I stated.

"No, you're not, she replied, but you're the only one who wants secure off-site comms, right?"

Of course, they'd been watching us. Information was currency in the shadow economy.

"What's your price?" I asked directly.

She finally turned to face me. "Occasional transport services. Small packages, no questions."

"Smuggling," Sorrel said flatly.

"Commerce," the woman corrected. "Some goods have arbitrary restrictions. We help balance the scales."

I considered the moral calculus. Becoming a smuggler was a line I hadn't anticipated crossing so quickly.

<<It was going to be the first thing they asked for in compensation,>> Lia said. <<You did anticipate it.>>

"What kinds of packages?" I asked.

"Nothing alive. Nothing that hurts people." Her answer came quickly, suggesting established boundaries. "Information, mostly. Restricted technology. Occasionally, medical supplies require outside regulatory approval."

I watched her carefully, looking for tells of deception and I found none.

"Access today," I said. "First shipment in one month."

She nodded once. "Junction HC-17, sublevel three. One hour. Bring only your tech specialist." She returned to her work, conversation over.

As we walked away, Sorrel's disapproval was tangible. "We're becoming what we're fighting."

"No," I corrected. "We're using their tools to dismantle their system. There's a difference."

I hoped I was right.

The walk back to our safe house was different, the team's banter wasn't the same. I wondered if we'd made a mistake, crossed a line that we could never turn back from.

<<You haven't,>> Lia tried.

<<We are right, right?>>

Sorrel turned to me. "You okay?"

"Are you?"

"Second thoughts?" Mac asked.

"Too late for those," Sorrel said, but her voice was steady. "No, we made our choice now we just need to see it through. Together."

"Together," Mac said.

An hour later, we found ourselves in an abandoned maintenance bay. Even with my muted senses it stank of coolant and disuse. The only light was Lev's hastily assembled equipment. The Ghost network access point, a modified communications array disguised as outdated station infrastructure vibrated with power.

"Impressive engineering," Lev acknowledged, connecting our systems. "Parasitic tap into the station's primary communication backbone, but with routing protocols that mirror maintenance diagnostics."

Mac had prepared his message, compressing weeks of explanation into the most compact form possible: who we were, what had happened, what we needed. The Frost cipher would handle the encryption, but even with Ghost network access, the transmission time needed to be minimal.

"Final approval?" Mac requested.

I reviewed his compressed message:

EMERGENCY EXTRACTION REPORT

Academy compromised - Cover blown - Escaped with assets

Team of 4 survivors in hiding - New identities established

Stolen Braker AI (Nexus) + Doli technology secured

Ship C47 liberated - Currently at Cali Station

FUNDING REQUEST

Establishing legitimate shipping operation - Frost Enterprises

Need injection of credits for operational startup Port Authority bonds + insurance requirements

ZERO connection to Lynx Transport - Complete separation required

OPERATIONAL STATUS

Facial reconstruction complete - Unrecognizable

Ring-14 medical facility partnership secured

30-day window to establish revenue streams

Braker surveillance active - Communications compromised

"Approved. I hope this succeeds and doesn't fall into Braker intelligence."

"It won't," he promised.

"Ready," Lev announced.

I nodded, tension evident in every line of my body. He punched 'send,' hurling a packet toward relatives he hadn't heard from in months, betting nothing on delivery or forgiveness.

<<Monitoring for anomalies,>> Lia said. <<All systems nominal.>>

"Transmitting," Lev said quietly.

The progress bar crept forward agonizingly slow despite the high-bandwidth connection. Twenty percent. Forty. Sixty-five.

<<Alert. Security spike. An automated trace program was activated at the relay point.>>

"How?" Mac demanded over comms. "This shouldn't be visible to their systems!"

"The Ghost network is secure," Lev said, fingers flying across controls, "but relay points are still Braker-monitored. Countermeasures engaging."

The progress bar stalled at seventy-eight percent.

"Cut it," I ordered. "Now."

Lev severed the connection, and the equipment went dark. In the sudden silence, the magnitude of what we'd just attempted, and partially failed at again, hung heavy.

"Was it enough?" I asked Mac.

He stood still, staring at the equipment, calculating. "Maybe. The core data was front-loaded. If they're looking for it, if they know to look, it might be enough."

"And now we wait," Sorrel said softly.

"And now we wait," I agreed. "But not idly."

We dispersed across the station, maintaining normal routines while watching for any sign of response or increased surveillance. The waiting game was perhaps the hardest part, uncertainty stretching nerves thin as we continued building our cover.

I spent my afternoon with Dr. Chen, finalizing requirements for the new facility.

"These specifications exceed standard research parameters," he noted, reviewing the plans. "The containment systems alone..."

"Are necessary," I finished. "We'll be working with materials that can't risk exposure."

He studied me, assessing more than just the facility requirements. "Your neural Integration is proceeding remarkably well. The new pathways show unprecedented stability."

"I had good doctors," I replied.

"You had good motivation," he corrected. "Revenge is a powerful integrative force for neural reconstruction. But be careful that it doesn't become the only architectural framework."

His warning stayed with me as I left the medical district, a reminder that rebuilding myself solely around vengeance might create something as inhuman as what the Brakers had done to me.

The genuine version of this novel can be found on another site. Support the author by reading it there.

Across the station, the others maintained their parts. Sorrel secured additional medical supplies through legitimate channels. Mac established connections at the commerce hub, building Peyton Tachim's business reputation. Lev monitored security protocols, reporting increased Baker presence, subtle but definite.

They knew something had happened. They just didn't know what.

Three days passed with no response. Then four. By the fifth night, even Mac's optimism had begun to fade.

"Maybe the transmission was too corrupted," he said during our evening briefing. "Or they received it but couldn't risk responding."

"Or they're already in transit," Lev suggested. "Communication silence would be standard protocol if they suspected monitoring."

It was a kind attempt at reassurance, unusual for Lev. The gesture itself spoke volumes about how our team dynamics had evolved.

After the others left, I remained in the common area, reviewing contingency plans in case no response came. The financial projections looked increasingly grim without the Frost connection, not immediate failure, but a slow, inevitable slide toward insolvency.

I was still working when Lia's alert jolted me fully awake.

<<Emergency protocol activated. Incoming transmission detected on obscure frequency band.>>

I straightened, instantly alert. "Source?"

<<Pattern analysis matches Frost family communications, but the format is non-standard. Decryption in progress.>>

The message appeared on my slate, resolving from encrypted static into text:

Received Partial. Position Compromised.

En Route Cali Station - Eta 72 Hours.

Arriving Under Commercial Cover - Luxury Transport "Sterling Ascendant."

Watched. Compromised. Trust No Standard Channels.

Standard Lynx Blanket Liability Bond Extended to Frost Enterprises

Hedge Fund Tbd/Contracted

I stared at the message, reading it three times to ensure I understood the implications. Mac's parents weren't just responding, they were coming personally, and they were being watched.

"Wake everyone," I told Lia. "Emergency meeting. Now."

It wasn't long before we were all in the living space.

"This changes everything," Mac said, pacing the room after reading the message. "They wouldn't come in person unless the situation was dire."

"How dire?" Sorrel asked.

"My parents don't leave their secure transport network—ever," Mac ran a hand through his hair. "The Celestial Empress is their fortress. The fact that they're traveling on someone else's commercial vessel, even a luxury one..."

"They're already under Braker surveillance," Lev concluded.

"Or pressure," Mac added grimly. "The message said 'compromised.' That could mean many things, none of them good."

I considered the implications, the opportunities, and the dangers. "The Sterling Ascendant. Is that significant?"

"It's one of the most exclusive passenger vessels in this sector," Mac explained. "Diplomatic-level security protocols are a legitimate reason for high-profile passengers to maintain privacy. Smart choice for cover travel."

"But it creates both opportunity and exposure for us," Sorrel pointed out. "How do we meet them without compromising our operation?"

The question hung in the air, each of us considering the angles.

"We accelerate," I decided finally. "Move up our timeline. By the time they arrive, we need to have our new medical facility moving and the initial shipment contracts in place."

"Seventy-two hours isn't a lot of time to do all that," Sorrel cautioned. "Almost impossible I'd say."

"It's all we have," I replied. "Mac, coordinate with Chen to expedite the facility preparation. Sorrel, finalize the medical supply chain. Lev, we need that security perimeter now, not next week. Lia?"

"Yes, Captain?"

"Get us our first small payload."

"Cargo?"

"Yes, anything that pays, we need to get this moving."

"Agreed?"

As they nodded in agreement, something moved out of the corner of my eye. Outside, a surveillance drone drifted past, its eye sensor eyes sweeping methodically across the building's exterior.

Lev checked his security scanner. "It's the third pass in the last hour. Station security doesn't repeat patterns that frequently."

"Breaker surveillance," Mac said quietly. "They're looking for something."

Or someone, I thought, watching the drone disappear around the corner. The game was evolving faster than anticipated, pieces moving on the board before we were fully prepared.

We would be.

***

"Lia?" I asked.

"Yes, Captain?"

"Show us what you've been looking over with Nyx and Dr. Chen, please."

Sorrel arched an eyebrow. "What exactly did you have in mind?"

"You know this is Ring-14," Lia announced, and the display screen behind us flickered to life. "These are the tech plans and production plans too."

"That's some plan!" Lev said. "And you already have this ready to go?"

"Possible scenarios are always a good thing. We're just well prepared." Lia admitted. "That's not a bad thing, right?"

"Not at all," I told her. "Thank you."

Mac whistled low. "We'd be going from paper to power in less than two weeks. That's..."

"Insane," Lev added.

"The price of the facility is covered, so is a lot of the equipment, you know that. But getting it running.... that's different, that takes work. People."

"It's exactly what we need," I finished. "Where do we start?"

"Juice," Lia said. "If we can get a fusion core online before your parents dock, we'll have something tangible."

"It really is a perfect base operations for Frosts and our medical needs," Mac said, growing animated. "But where do we get a fusion core? The black market would take weeks, and legitimate channels—"

"Show them," I said.

Lia changed the image we were looking at. "This is the salvage yard in Sector 9," I interjected. "She spotted a shuttle graveyard while we were doing our market run. Old military transports. Their auxiliary power systems use micro-fusion."

"Stealing from a salvage yard," Sorrel shook her head, but I detected the ghost of a smile. "We're really committing to this criminal enterprise thing, aren't we?"

"Liberated salvage," Mac corrected with a grin. "They're practically giving it away."

"Practically," I agreed. "Lev, prep the EVA gear. Mac, we'll need those transponder codes you mentioned. Sorrel, alert Chen that his timeline just accelerated."

As they dispersed to their tasks, Lia flickered through my consciousness.

<<Time estimate to operational power grid: 63 hours at optimal efficiency. Probability of complications: 87%. Probability of Braker intervention: 43%.>>

I mentally acknowledged her assessment. The odds weren't great, but they never had been. Not since...

"Then we'll just have to work at 150% efficiency," I murmured. "And be ready for complications."

***

The Sector 9 salvage yard sprawled across a three-kilometer stretch of vacuum-exposed debris field, a graveyard of decommissioned vessels tethered to a central hub. We approached in a rented maintenance skiff with false registration tags. Lev's handiwork. My EVA suit pinched at the left shoulder, despite the weight and muscle I'd lost.

"That's our target," I said, pointing through the viewport at a cluster of military-grade shuttles. Their hulls were scarred from re-entry burns and decades of service, now stripped of weapons systems and most valuable tech. "Third one from the left. According to Lia's scan, its auxiliary power core is still intact."

"Can't believe no one has stolen it already," Mac said.

"Same, so something is off."

"Agreed, lets proceed with care."

Mac piloted us in a lazy arc, keeping our approach casual. "Two security drones on patrol," he murmured. "Predictable pattern, 12-minute cycles."

"Typical Leviathan Salvage," Lev's voice crackled over comms from his position back at our temporary base. "They spend all their security budget on those threatening legal notices but can't be bothered with actual surveillance."

I pulled up the yard's schematics on my HUD. "Their processing facility draws power at 15-minute intervals to run compactors. When that happens—"

"Power dips to the security grid," Mac finished. "And their drones enter energy conservation mode, slowing their patrol. Nice catch."

<<Power consumption spike predicted in 3 minutes, 42 seconds,>> Lia informed me. <<You'll have an 8-minute window.>>

"Ready?" I asked Mac.

He secured his helmet. "Born ready. Let's go fusion core shopping."

We detached from the skiff at the next security blind spot, using our suit thrusters to cross the fifty meters of open space to the shuttle cluster. The magnetic boots engaged as I landed silently on the hull of our target vessel.

"Hull access panel should be... here," I said, finding the maintenance port exactly where military specs said it would be. The standardization of the Federation shuttle design made our job almost too easy.

My hands shook slightly as I worked the manual override—the tremor was worse in zero-g. Mac pretended not to notice, busying himself with keeping watch. I appreciated the courtesy.

<<Security drone patrol shifting to conservation mode. Window open,>> Lia announced.

"That's why no one has been in," I said. "Triple action sequence at the door."

"Can you crack it?"

"Give me a minute," I replied.

"That's all you've got. We need to be inside before those drones come back online."

"Tell me something I don't know."

It wasn't a hard sequence to figure out, but it did take me that full minute. It finally yielded with a reluctant groan of metal. "I'm in," I whispered.

The shuttle's interior was a gutted shell, stripped for parts. Emergency lighting strips had long since died, leaving us in darkness save for our helmet lamps. We pulled ourselves through the weightless corridor toward the aft engineering section.

"How much does one of these cores weigh in gravity?" Mac asked as we reached the sealed engine room.

"About 200 kilos," I replied, "but it's our lucky day. No gravity to fight."

"Just inertia," he reminded me. "Still a pain to maneuver."

I worked the engineering bay door, another manual override that protested after years of disuse. Inside, the fusion core sat nestled in its housing, untouched by salvagers who likely lacked the clearance to safely extract it.

"Beautiful," I breathed. The sphere gleamed dully under our lights, its tempered alloy shell marred by carbon scoring but otherwise intact. "Lia, diagnostics?"

<<Micro-fusion core appears dormant but intact. Containment field at 92% integrity. Estimated output capacity: 4.1 megawatts. Fuel cells at 39% capacity.>>

"More than enough to jump-start Ring-14," I said.

Mac was already preparing the extraction tools. "Let's not celebrate until this is back on our skiff."

We worked methodically, disconnecting coolant lines and power couplings. Decades-old fasteners required precise application of torque, and twice I had to stop to let the tremor in my left hand subside. Military engineering made things modular by design, for field repairs under fire, but that didn't make it quick work.

"Drone approaching on unscheduled patrol," Lev's voice cut in. "You've got company."

I froze. "Time to intercept?"

"Two minutes, maybe less."

Mac cursed under his breath, already securing the last coupling. "We need three more minutes."

<<Calculating options,>> Lia interjected. <<Recommend EMT protocol.>>

"EMT?" Mac asked.

"Emergency Maintenance Transmission," I explained, pulling a small device from my tool belt. "Lia's idea. Old trick. Broadcast a priority maintenance alert on standard frequencies. Should divert the drone to investigate."

I activated the device, and it began emitting a distress beacon calibrated to draw automated responders. "Let's hope it still has its original programming."

We resumed work on the core, my fingers moving with renewed urgency. The final housing bolt refused to budge, forcing me to apply a cutting torch to the frozen metal.

"Drone is changing course," Lev confirmed. "Your trick worked. But hurry, the yard supervisor will notice the alert."

With the last connection severed, the fusion core floated free from its housing. Mac attached the magnetic tether to the sphere, and we began the delicate process of maneuvering it through the ship's narrow corridors.

"This thing is worth more than three jobs combined," Mac muttered as we carefully guided the core through the access hatch and back into open space.

"And weighs about as much," I grunted, feeling the mass resist our attempts to change its direction.

We'd almost reached the skiff when the alert came.

"Multiple drones activating," Lev warned. "They're running a yard-wide scan. Get that core on board now!"

We pushed the sphere with renewed urgency, our suit thrusters straining against the inertia of the massive device. The skiff's cargo bay yawned open before us, ready to receive our prize.

With one final effort, we guided the fusion core into the bay. I secured it with cargo netting while Mac rushed to the cockpit.

"Powering up," he announced. "Prepared for rapid departure."

"Wait," I cautioned, running a quick diagnostic on our stolen prize. "If we activate the engines too close to the core before it's properly shielded, we risk—"

"Catastrophic containment failure," Mac finished. "Got it. Manual thrust only until we're clear."

Using only maneuvering jets, we eased away from the salvage yard, keeping our emissions profile low. The drones continued their sweep behind us, not yet alerted to the theft.

"We're clear," Lev confirmed after ten tense minutes. "No pursuit. You can bring our new battery home."

I exhaled slowly, feeling the adrenaline begin to ebb. My hands stopped shaking, just for a moment. "That's phase one," I said.

Mac glanced at the fusion sphere secured in our cargo bay, then back at me with a grin. "One stolen power source, ready for delivery. Ring-14 won't know what hit it."

Trait Progression: Shadow Network Protocol – 67% ↑

Trigger: Completing first criminal transaction and escalating to theft

Function: Operating in illegal networks while maintaining mission justification

Risk: Slippery slope toward full criminal enterprise; moral degradation acceleration

<<Probability of successful core integration: 79%,>> Lia calculated. <<A significant improvement from previous estimates.>>

I nodded, already planning the installation sequence, we'd done it. "Let's get this back to base. We've got a dead ring to resurrect."

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