The air in the orbital spire tasted like burnt copper and ozone. Captain Liora Kael adjusted the filtration mask over her nose, her gloved fingers brushing the scar that ran from her temple to her jaw—a souvenir from the last time she’d crossed the Syndicate. Her black-and-crimson tactical suit, lined with reactive nano-fibers, clung to her wiry frame, its surface shimmering faintly under the neon glow of the docking bay. She hated this place. Too many blind spots.
"You’re late," a voice hissed from the shadows. A figure emerged, draped in the silver robes of a Void Cartel envoy. His face was obscured by a holographic veil, shifting between human and something... less so.
"Traffic over the Pacific Ruins was hell," Liora deadpanned. She tapped the holo-bracer on her wrist, and a three-dimensional schematic of the spire’s core flickered to life. "The payload?"
The envoy gestured to a floating cargo pod, its surface etched with forbidden glyphs. "The last surviving fragment of the Eschaton Codex. The Syndicate wants it buried. Permanently."
Liora’s pulse spiked. The Codex wasn’t just a relic—it was a weapon. One that could rewrite the fabric of artificial gravity. "Why me?" she muttered.
"Because you’re disposable." The envoy’s veil flickered. "And because you owe them."
Six Hours Earlier
Liora had been drowning her regrets in synth-whiskey at a dive bar on the lower decks when the alert chimed. Her younger sister, Nessa, blinked onto her retinal display, her face gaunt under the fluorescent lights of a med-bay. "They’re coming for you, Lia. The Syndicate knows you stole the gravity schematics. Run."
The screen cut to static. Liora’s glass shattered in her grip. Nessa was supposed to be safe—hidden on a farming orbital after the coup. But the Syndicate didn’t forget. And they didn’t forgive.
Now
The spire shuddered as Liora sprinted through the maintenance corridors, the Codex pod magnetically locked to her back. Alarms wailed. Behind her, the envoy’s body smoldered—she’d left him leaking coolant after he’d tried to double-cross her. Classic Cartel.
Her comms crackled. "Captain Kael, this is Control. We’ve got a lock on your sister’s signal. She’s aboard the Syndicate dreadnought Harbinger. They’re prepping for a fold-space jump."
Liora gritted her teeth. The Harbinger was a ghost ship, a floating tomb for traitors. Nessa wouldn’t last an hour there. She slapped the holo-bracer again. "Reroute all power to the spire’s grav-drive. If they want the Codex, they’ll have to pry it from the wreckage."
The Trap
The docking bay doors exploded inward. Syndicate enforcers in obsidian exo-suits advanced, pulse rifles humming. Liora crouched behind a shattered cargo loader, her fingers dancing over the Codex’s activation sequence. The glyphs flared red.
"You’re outmatched, Kael," their commander barked. "Hand it over, and we’ll make your sister’s death quick."
Liora smirked. "Funny. I was about to say the same thing." She slammed her palm onto the pod. The spire’s gravity inverted.
Ceiling became floor. The enforcers screamed as they plummeted upward, crashing into the bay’s steel rafters. Liora’s suit compensated, its nano-fibers anchoring her to the ground-that-was-now-sky. She sprinted for the Harbinger’s docking umbilical, the Codex’s energy singing in her veins.
Some debts couldn’t be repaid. But vengeance? That was a language the Syndicate understood.
End of Part One
Liora’s story continues in the next installment, where the secrets of the Eschaton Codex unravel—and the true cost of defiance against the Syndicate is revealed.
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