"Eighteen hours of fuel remaining," Chief Engineer Valdez reported.

Captain Crai and I sat on opposite sides to him and his closest support. Sorrel sucked in a breath, knowing what was coming. Three other ship captains were on screen around the table, and in the center of the table was a rotating display. The fuel consumption data was highlighted in red. The math was solid, and it spelled out our death sentence in uncertain terms.

"Ring-14 is still six days away, even at minimum burn."

Captain Nkomo appeared via flickering hologram from the Void Walker, her image distorting with power fluctuations. "My ship's down to emergency reserves. Life support will fail in twelve hours."

Sorrel studied everything before her, her mind didn't stop working, automatically calculating survival probabilities. ninty-one patients in hibernation pods, their neural reconstruction suspended to conserve power. Each hour of delay meant more brain damage, and that meant less chance of full recovery.

"Options?" Crai asked, though they all knew there was only one.

"Tango-Twenty-Seven depot," Commander Voss confirmed from his ship. "Four days at current burn rate. Commercial refueling station in one of Braker's outer territories."

"Braker territory." Sorrel's voice was flat. "After what we just escaped from."

"This is an independent consortium," Valdez said, pulling up station schematics. "Officially it is neutral. They need paying customers more than they need to be owned by one company."

"The fuel we want though, is Braker owned. Crai traced the station's layout with her finger. "What are their defensive capabilities?"

"Standard commercial protection. But..." Mills' hologram flickered. "Long-range sensors show significant Braker military presence. Heavy cruiser Dominant, two escort frigates."

"They expect trouble," Voss added. "Three kitted out ships running emergency life support, passing through their territory? They're likely just curious."

Sorrel flicked her screen to check on her pods. She gazed past several, there has been nothing they could do for them. One of them the young woman who had shown such recovery promise lay peaceful. Her face visible through transparent aluminum. She had been dead for four days now, because they hadn't had fuel to keep her treatment systems running. "How long will it take to refuel all three ships?"

"Four hours minimum," Valdez replied. "Six if they decide to inspect our cargo."

"They'll inspect," Mills said grimly. "But they won't understand what they're looking at?"

"You think they'll want to know exactly what we're carrying?"

Crai stood, and they all watched her pace the room. "Then we don't give them time to organize. Fast dock, emergency refuel, boost out before they can get too inquisitive. I still have command codes from Tim."

"You're thinking Kepler's downfall hasn't gotten to them yet?"

"I am hoping not, yes. We could really do with a break."

"And if it has, and they try to stop us?" Sorrel asked.

"Then we might have to see how much fight these wounded ships have left."

The silence stretched. Everyone understood the mathematics—without fuel, they'd drift until life support failed.

"All in favor of attempting refuel at Tango-Twenty-Seven?" Crai asked.

Three hands rose. One holographic figure nodded.

"Motion carried. We make for Braker territory."

***

It wasn't sixteen hours later they approached Tango-Twenty-Seven. Sorrel stood nest to Crai in the Retribution's CIC. The fuel depot grew larger on the main screen. It looked much more like a military installation than a commercial station—defensive arrays, patrol craft, and the massive bulk of the Braker heavy cruiser the Dominant docked at berth seven.

"Clear for transmission, Captain."

"Tango-Twenty-Seven Control, this is convoy Delta-One-Oh-One requesting emergency refueling," Crai transmitted.

The response crackled through the comm: "Delta-One-Oh-One, this is Tango-Twenty-Seven Control. State the nature of your emergency and your cargo manifest."

"Control, we're carrying four hundred patients that require immediate medical transport to Coalition facilities," Crai replied. "Request priority docking for humanitarian medical mission."

A longer pause. Then: "Delta-One-Oh-One, you're cleared for docking at berths twelve through fourteen. Medical inspection required before fuel transfer authorization."

"Medical inspection?" Sorrel whispered.

"They want to see our patients," Crai replied quietly, then keyed the comm. "Control, our patients are in critical hibernation. Inspection protocols could compromise their stability."

"Understood, Delta-One-Oh-One. Our medical officer will conduct minimal-impact inspection. Dock in thirty minutes."

As they approached the station, Sorrel watched several patrol craft take flanking positions around their convoy. Not hostile, exactly, but clearly ready to respond if the situation changed.

"Captain," came Valdez's voice over the comm, "fuel reserves at critical minimum. We dock now, or we don't dock at all."

"We're docking, whether we like it or not," she said. Then nodded to helm. "Take us in, steady as she goes."

"Aye-Aye, steady in Captain."

"You sent them what they asked?" Crai asked her.

"I did, though it was only basics, I didn't go into any detail why these patients were all suffering severe neural damage.

The docking bay wasn't the largest Sorrel had seen. It was capable of handling ships ten times the Retribution's size. As they settled onto the dock with a slight shudder, Braker Corporation personnel waited. Security teams, technicians, and a figure in medical whites, who looked rather opposing. Would they really let them fuel up and go? The way they stood, and with that look on their faces, Sorrel glanced to Captain Crai. "This isn't going to go well."

"I'm presuming that's their medical officer," Crai observed, studying the woman through the viewport.

"Dr. Elisabeth More, according to station records." Sorrel replied.

"Formerly attached to one of Braker's medical research divisions."

Sorrel's stomach flipped. "Research division. She might have been involved in—"

"We don't know that." Crai interrupted. "And right now, we need fuel more than we need moral certainty."

The airlock chimed, and Dr. More entered with two security guards. She was younger than Sorrel had expected, maybe thirty, and it was clear she was accustomed to high-stakes medical situations.

"Dr. Kosta," More said, consulting a tablet. "I've reviewed your medical transmissions. You have nearly four hundred patients in various stages of hibernation, and you hit issues with fuel consumption about ten days ago?"

"Yes, Doctor," she replied. "We've done everything we can to reach safety reducing need as we could."

"Lives lost?"

Sorrel swallowed. "Over the fleet, fourteen."

"Impressive work keeping them stable for this long, you're far from any major installations, but… well, you know that, hence, you are here."

It wasn't quite a scolding, but it had the implications. "Thank you," Sorrel replied carefully. "How soon can we complete refueling and be on our way?"

"That depends." More moved toward the medical bay. "As part of code I must verify patient conditions and ensure your treatment protocols truly do meet Coalition standards."

Crai and her exchanged a look again, but she nodded and they walked through to their hastily cleaned up medical bay. More examined several readouts with interest.

Only at Leon Chen's pod did she pause. "Neural pathway reconstruction using modified nanites. Fascinating approach. Where did you develop these protocols?"

Sorrel chose her words carefully. "Cali, specifically Dr. Chen at Ring-14 developed the base techniques. We've been improvising field applications with certain injuries."

"I've never seen injuries like this before. You've improvised quite successfully." More pulled up another patient's chart. "And you've managed to maintain neural stability in victims of multiple extraction attempts. That's... remarkable."

Something in her tone made Sorrel look closer. "You've seen consciousness extraction cases before?"

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More hesitated. "In my previous position, yes. The research was... theoretically focused on understanding neural patterns. I didn't realize the practical applications until it was too late."

"Too late for what?"

"To stop what they were doing." More's face paled and she visibly shook herself as if chasing demons that haunted her away. "You've come from Kepler Station. That much is clear. When I learned about their programs, I requested immediate transfer to this station."

"Neutral territory." Crai stated, though it was almost a whisper.

"But you stayed with Braker Corporation?" Sorrel asked.

"I didn't have any choice. Where else could I go? Coalition medical facilities won't hire former Braker researchers, regardless of their background, training or their circumstances. This station was the only place that would take me."

All of this surprised Sorrel, she hadn't expected anyone to be so open. Her instincts told her it could well be a trap. She studied her face, and saw something she recognized, the guilt that came with being part of a system that hurt people, instead of help them. Even if it was unintentional, it was against everything that made doctors, doctors. That she could understand more than anyone.

"Dr. More," came a voice over her comm. "Priority medical to docking bay twelve."

More's datapad chimed with an emergency alert. "Excuse me," she said, reading quickly. Her face went pale, but then she straightened herself out. "Dr. Sorrel, I have an unusual request."

"Which is?"

"We have injured personnel requiring immediate medical attention. Explosion in the station's mining operation. Seven casualties, three critical." More met her eyes. "Our medical facilities are limited. Your expertise with neural trauma could save their lives."

Her instincts were already kicking in as she held out her hand for the datapad. The moral trap was closing around her, "What kind of injuries?"

"Electromagnetic neural disruption from plasma exposure. We're seeing widespread synaptic firing irregularities, ion channel damage in the temporal and frontal regions. Similar patterns to what you've been treating, but acute rather than systematic hippocampal degradation from extraction trauma."

Crai stepped forward. "Dr. More, we appreciate your situation, but our patients require immediate transport to Ring-14."

"I understand." She said, "But if you help our injured personnel, I can authorize immediate fuel transfer at cost. No delays, no additional inspections." More paused. "And I can provide you with upgraded nanite supplies that would enhance your synaptic bridging protocols and improve neural scaffold stability for your patients' recovery."

More nites would seriously help them. The offer hung in the air. Fuel they desperately needed, medical supplies that could save their patients, in exchange for helping the enemy.

Sorrel waved them back the way they'd come and without hesitation Dr. More picked up the pace. "How many and how critical?"

"Over forty. Without immediate neural stabilization therapy, three will develop cascading synaptic failure within the hour. The others are showing progressive neuroinflammation that will cause permanent cognitive impairment."

"These patients aren't just normal station crew, are they?"

"No," More said.

"And you know what you're asking of us."

More nodded and lowered her head. "My son is one of them," she said. "He doesn't know… everything."

"Son?"

"I look younger than I am," she smiled. "Though I did have him in my teens."

Sorrel looked at Crai, seeing her own moral conflict reflected in the captain's expression.

"Dr. Sorrel," came Mills' voice over the comm. "We're detecting power fluctuations in our hibernation systems. How much longer for refueling?"

"We're working on it," Crai replied, then turned to More. "If we help your people, how soon can we get fuel and departure clearance?"

"It will still take four hours for refueling. But you could be underway as soon as you're done."

"And if we refuse?"

"Standard inspection protocols." She held herself straight, but Sorrel could see her fears. "Six to eight hours, assuming no complications."

Their patients could survive four more hours in hibernation, but eight hours would mean more deaths.

"Take your casualties to Void Walker," Sorrel decided. "We will do what we can there."

More dipped her head, and tapped her comms to start moving her people.

"Do you need me?" Crai asked.

Sorrel shook her head. "Get the ships fueled as fast as you can. We leave as soon as they're fueled. Full burn."

She could see the pain in Crai's eye, but she smiled. "Yes, Doctor." And they parted ways. Sorrel making a mad dash for the Void Walker.

***

The Braker casualties arrived within minutes. She had no idea where to put them but they weren't staying, just being treated by the best with the best equipment they had and the best doctors.

The three critical and unconscious figures were segregated at the top end.

Sorrel got the scanners here working as fast as possible and stepped back to observe as the results came in.

Their neural activity monitors showed the erratic patterns Sorrel had become grimly familiar with. The plasma burns had damaged their brains in ways that mimicked consciousness extraction trauma, on one side it was horrific, but on the other side, this was something they could treat and treat well. They'd spent the last few weeks doing just that with those aboard.

"It really is similar," Sorrel compared the weakest of these patients to Leon Chen's results.

"Their injury patterns are the same, I wasn't a hundred percent sure." Dr. More observed as she pulled up the second patients' readings. "The neural reconstruction techniques you've developed can be directly applicable here."

The third patient was the worst. Sorrel clocked the name Mitch More. Without treatment, he'd die within minutes. With her modified nanites, he might recover completely.

"I need full access to your medical fabrication systems," she said it wasn't a request.

"Done." More replied.

Dr. Lorin stepped forward from Sorrel's medical team. "I can assist with the neural reconstruction procedures. He doesn't' have long."

Sorrel and Lorin began synthesizing nanite treatments, tailored for each patient. They found themselves working alongside Dr. More, and without need for asking specifics. The Braker doctor's knowledge of neural trauma was extensive, her surgical skills second to none.

"You're wasted here," Sorrel said.

Dr. More shrugged. "I'm doing what I can for those I can."

"You really didn't know what they were doing?" Lorin asked as they movd to and stabilized the second patient.

"I suspected," she replied quietly. "But I told myself it was all theoretical research. That it wasn't real that their practical applications would be used ethically." She paused only for a second. "I was naive. I see that now."

"So, you're helping us now, not just because of this incident, but—" Sorrel asked.

"Because this is the first chance I've had to use what I learned to actually save lives instead of destroying them."

"This explosion? It wasn't normal, right."

"No, but the research they are doing is for the right reasons."

"I'll accept that," Sorrel said.

They worked in silence for the next hour, stabilizing neural pathways and applying reconstructive nanites. The second patient—a woman in her forties—required emergency surgery to repair plasma damage to her brain stem.

It was complex surgery and Sorrel wished for a moment that Nyx or Lia were here. Instead of those two helping her, she had two of the most talented humans possible.

There was no way she could let More stay here… she had to be reassigned to Ring-14.

"She's stabilizing," More observed as they completed the procedure and finally got to stand up. "Your modification of the nanite delivery system is brilliant. Where did you learn to adapt them for acute trauma?"

"Trial and error." Sorrel admitted. "We lost six patients learning how to keep the others alive."

As they finished treating the last patient, her comms bipped. "Dr. More, this is Control. Priority transmission coming in on Coalition military frequencies. Requesting immediate relay to your medical convoy."

Sorrel and Dr. Maritnez exchanged glances. Coalition military transmissions while they were in Braker territory could only mean trouble. But not to Crai to them?

"Put it through," Sorrel said.

The holographic display activated to show not a human face, but the calm synthetic features of an AI. "Captain Crai. Dr. Kosta. I apologize for the unscheduled contact, but circumstances require our immediate coordination."

Sorrel's knees went weak.

"Go ahead, Nyx," Crai said.

"We have been monitoring Coalition command frequencies. The front-line situation has deteriorated significantly over the past forty-eight hours. Admiral Kuba's forces have suffered heavy casualties in three separate engagements."

Dr. More looked between them and Sorrel could see her mind working. "Admiral Kuba? He's the Coalition fleet commander, right?"

"Losses?"

"Seventeen ships lost. Including two heavy cruisers and a support carrier," Nyx said. "But that isn't the worst of it."

"What is?" Sorrel asked, fear gripping her insides.

"More concerning are the reports of advanced neural weapons deployment."

Dr. Lorin gasped.

"They are targeting entire ship crews simultaneously. Rendering vessels combat-ineffective without destroying hull structure."

Sorrel looked around at their hibernation patients, imagining entire fleets suffering the same fate.

"I've orders to redeploy immediately to Admiral Kuba's position, and to bring Dr. Kosta, and Dr. Lorin with me." Nyx said. "I request permission to transfer to your convoy and rendezvous with Captain Tachim's fleet as soon as possible."

"Where is Sigma-Seven?" More asked quietly.

"Eight weeks at maximum burn from our current position." Crai said.

The number hit Sorrel hard. Eight weeks of travel would require fuel reserves far beyond what they could carry, even with a full refuel.

Dr. More stepped forward. "Eight weeks? Will that even make a difference?"

"That is the only option we have," Nyx said.

"I have emergency fuel authorization and supply coordinates," Crai said, "If we can transfer our patients..."

Nyx cocked his head to one side. "Premium fuel… recalculating."

It seemed to take him a while, but he was far beyond the best for that. "If we take the Retribution, we can cut that down with several jumps to four weeks."

"Crai," Sorrel asked, more pleading than she thought possible.

"What's the tactical assessment if we don't rendezvous?" Crai asked.

"Captain Tachim's fleet lacks AI coordination sufficient to counter advanced neural weapons. Mission success probability drops to thirty-seven percent."

"Lia?"

"Is compromised."

It was Sorrel's turn to gasp this time.

"And crew survival?"

Nyx paused. "Less than 20%."

"We're refueling right this minute," Crai said. "I'm forwarding you co-ordinates and codes to a station near Ring-14. Get the best ship and pilot you can there, and meet us in…

"It will still take me a full week to reach you." Nyx said. "Organizing merc recon now."

Dr. More looked between them with growing understanding. "Your medical convoy isn't just carrying patients, is it? You're connected to whatever's happening on the front lines."

Sorrel met her eyes. "I don't know exactly what is going on the front lines, but our friend and my partner are heading there."

"Then you need to get to Ring-14 as quickly as possible," More said.

"Stop refueling now, back pump it out." She ordered into comms. Swap tanks as soon as possible." She paused listening. "I don't care about the cost. Do it."

Sorrel was confused.

"I can provide you with premium-grade fuel—the same mixture Braker military uses for rapid deployment. It'll cut your travel time to Ring-14 from six days to eighteen hours."

"You have that here? Braker's premium fuel?" Crai asked.

"Yes, consider it payment for saving my son." More paused. "And for showing me it's possible to use what I learned to help instead of harm."

Sorrel's chest felt lighter. "Our patients can handle transfer and eighteen hours in hibernation. They'll make it to Ring-14 easily."

"More than that," More continued. "I'm transmitting upgraded nanite formulations to your fabrication systems. These should improve your patients' recovery rates significantly once they reach Dr. Chen's facility."

"Nyx, confirm our new timeline to Ring-14," Crai asked.

"Confirmed. With premium fuel and enhanced burn rate, arrival at Ring-14 in seventeen hours, forty-three minutes. Dr. Chen's facility will be prepared for immediate patient transfer."

Sorrel looked around the medical bay at the Braker casualties they'd just saved, then at their own hibernation patients. For the first time in days, she felt hope instead of desperation.

"Nyx, what about rendezvous with Captain Tachim's fleet?"

"I will coordinate with Admiral Kuba for emergency fuel supplies. Once your patients are safely delivered to Ring-14, we can pursue Captain Tachim with similar premium fuel capabilities. Estimated catch-up time: four days instead of eight weeks."

Dr. More was still coordinating fuel transfer protocols. "The premium fuel mixture requires engine recalibration," she said. "But my technical teams can handle the modifications during transfer."

"Thank you," Sorrel said quietly.

"Thank you," More replied. "Today you reminded me why I became a doctor in the first place."

"You should come with us," Dr. Lorin said. "We could really do with your expertise."

More paused. "If I leave here, this station won't be as neutral," she glanced to her son. "Can—will—"

"He can come with us, then to Ring-14."

More nodded and held her hand out. "Then I'm in, Front lines it is."

"Where we can make a difference," Crai added.

"Good to have you aboard." Sorrel shook her hand firmly. "Captain Nkomo, we'll transfer patients over now, while the new fuel and your engines get an upgrade."

"We'll make room." Nkomo said.

"What else might we need?" More said.

Dr. Lorin took her arm. "I have some ideas."

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