Thoryn
Three hours had passed. The alarm on Maris’s datapad beeped.
I stood. The world tilted. I waited for it to stop. It didn’t.
My internal assessment was grim. The plasma burn on my shoulder was infected. The vibro-blade wound in my side was worse. Fresh blood had soaked through the synth-skin during our earlier activities.
Activities. That was one word for it.
The bond hummed in the back of my head. Steady. Present. Maris’s determination bled through the connection, sharp and focused.
Six on the pain scale. Down from twenty. The conditioning had been broken, but the physical damage remained.
I could work with six.
“Ready?” Maris asked.
“Mm.”
She’d pulled her hair back. Checked her weapons. The Inventory Queen was fully operational, cataloging threats and resources in that relentless way she had.
I’d missed watching her work.
We moved into the tunnel. She took point. I followed, my hand on the wall to steady myself when the dizziness hit.
The bond let me feel her awareness. Not her thoughts. Just her presence. Her focus. The way she tracked every sound, every shadow.
We’d fought together before. Two years of missions, back when we were just mercenaries, fighting side-by-side. We’d been good then.
Now we were better.
The bond made the difference. I knew where she was without looking. Knew when she was about to move before she moved. The connection ran deeper than conscious thought.
The scientists had spent eight years trying to weaponize the Tamzari bond. They’d failed because they’d only had one half of the equation.
Turned out, the bond was already a weapon. Just not the kind they’d wanted.
We reached the first checkpoint. Two guards. Maris raised her hand. Two fingers left, one finger right.
I moved left. She moved right.
The guard heard me coming. Turned. Too slow. I hit him in the throat, pulled the strike so I only collapsed his windpipe partially instead of crushing it completely, caught him as he fell.
Maris’s guard was already down. Clean nerve strike.
She really was magnificent.
My side wound tore. Fresh blood. Wet heat. The pain spiked from six to seven.
Still manageable.
We kept moving. Up through the maintenance levels. Past dormant server rooms and forgotten storage bays.
The bond hummed. I felt Maris’s constant assessment. Counting exits. Tracking patrol patterns. Building backup plans for the backup plans.
She’d built this empire from nothing. Knew every tunnel, every access point, every weakness in her own security.
Now she was using that knowledge to take it back.
The second checkpoint had four guards. Professional mercenaries, based on their gear and positioning.
Maris pulled me into a side passage. We pressed against opposite walls. The narrow space meant proximity. The bond pain climbed to eight.
Worth it.
The guards passed. Their boots rang on the metal grating.
Maris looked at me. Gray eyes assessing. She’d felt the pain spike.
“I’m fine,” I said.
“You’re bleeding.”
“I’m always bleeding.”
She made that sound. The one that meant she was frustrated and scared and refusing to show either.
I loved that sound.
We continued up. The ventilation shaft Maris had mapped out appeared ahead. She pried open the panel.
“After you,” I said.
She climbed in. I followed.
The shaft was narrow. My shoulders scraped the sides. Every movement pulled at the wounds. The copper taste in my mouth got stronger.
But we were close. The Fortress was just ahead.
We reached the grating. Maris positioned herself below it. I braced my feet and pushed.
The grating popped free. Too loud. We both froze.
No alarms. No shouts.
She pulled herself through. I squeezed after her, my shoulder screaming as I forced it through the gap.
We dropped into The Fortress.
The command core was exactly as she’d described. Circular room. Dormant servers. Glass walls overlooking a dark cavern. Single terminal in the center.
Cache three.
The bond hummed. I felt Maris’s spike of satisfaction. Almost there.
She crossed to the terminal. Started working. Her fingers moved fast, certain. She knew these systems. She’d built them.
I positioned myself by the door. Listened. Watched the glass walls.
Movement outside. Multiple hostiles converging on our position.
“Maris,” I said. “Thirty seconds.”
“I need sixty.”
“You have thirty.”
Her fingers moved faster.
I counted hostiles through the glass. Twelve. Armed. Moving in coordinated pairs.
Maris’s subordinate had trained them well.
The door burst open. Two mercs came through, weapons raised.
I moved.
The bond let me anticipate Maris’s position without looking. Let me know exactly where she was, where she’d be in the next second.
I put myself between her and the door.
The first merc fired. I dodged left. The plasma bolt hit the wall behind me. I closed the distance, disarmed him, used his body as a shield when the second merc fired.
The shot hit the first merc in the chest. He dropped.
I threw him at the second merc. They both went down. I stomped on the second merc’s weapon hand. Bones crunched.
My side wound tore completely. Blood ran hot down my hip. The pain hit nine.
Still functional.
“Done,” Maris said.
She held up the data chip. All three caches. Complete.
The alarm screamed.
Of course.
More hostiles poured through the door. I counted six. Too many in my current condition.
Maris pulled me toward the glass wall. “Emergency exit.”
“How far down?”
“Very.”
She hit the release. The glass panel blew out. Wind howled in.
We jumped.
The fall was long. Dark. Cold.
We hit water. I sank, disoriented. The temperature shock locked my scales. My wounds screamed. Blood clouded the water around me.
Strong arms grabbed me. Maris. Pulling me up.
We surfaced. I coughed. Tasted blood and chemicals.
“Swim,” she said.
I swam. Sort of. She did most of the work, dragging us both to a maintenance platform.
We collapsed on the metal grating. Above us, lights flashed at the broken window. Voices shouted.
But they’d lost us.
Maris stood. Helped me up. “The hangar’s this way.”
The tunnel was dark. Narrow. The walls were rough-hewn rock, slick with condensation.
We moved through it. My side wound was bad now. Very bad. The water had washed away the remaining synth-skin. Blood ran freely.
Eight hours to systemic failure. Maybe six.
But we had the data. All three caches.
The mission was almost complete.
The bond hummed, but the signal from Maris changed. The exhaustion was gone, replaced by a cold, sharp spike of focus. Pure, controlled fury. She’d already run the numbers. Already seen the outcome. I knew what we’d find before I saw it.
The tunnel opened into a massive cavern. Natural rock walls. A ship sat in the center, sleek and predatory. Dark plating. Angular design. Built for speed and violence.
Maris’s personal ship.
And standing between us and the ship was Vashil.
She wasn’t alone. Five mercs flanked her. All armed. All positioned to cover the approaches.
“Maris,” Vashil said. Her voice carried across the cavern. “I was hoping you’d come here.”
I felt Maris go cold. Not afraid. Just utterly, completely focused.
“Vashil,” Maris said. Her voice was flat. Empty. The same voice she used on people who owed her money and refused to pay.
I’d heard that voice before. The people it was aimed at rarely walked away intact.
“You sold me out,” Maris said.
“I made a business decision.” Vashil shrugged. “The Consortium offered more than you could.”
“How much?”
“Does it matter?”
“No.” Maris started walking forward. Slow. Deliberate. “I’m just curious what my life was worth.”
I stayed one step behind her. My hand on my weapon. My scales darkening to their protective gray.
The bond let me feel her cold fury. Her absolute certainty.
Vashil was dead. She just didn’t know it yet.
“Two million credits,” Vashil said. “Plus territorial rights to Sectors Four and Seven.”
“That’s all?” Maris kept walking. “I’m insulted.”
“Nothing personal.”
“It’s very personal.” Maris stopped twenty feet from Vashil. “You worked for me for six years. I trusted you.”
“That was your mistake.”
“Yes. It was.”
The cavern went silent. The kind of silence that comes before violence.
I watched Maris. Not Vashil. Not the mercs. Just Maris.
She stood perfectly still. Hands loose at her sides. Weight balanced. Ready.
This was the woman who’d built an empire from grief. Who’d turned loneliness into armor. Who’d survived alone at the top because she was smarter, meaner, and more ruthless than everyone else.
She was beautiful when she was angry.
“Last chance,” Maris said. “Walk away. Take your mercs. Leave the station. I’ll let you live.”
Vashil laughed. “You’re bleeding, unarmed, and outnumbered six to two. You’re not in a position to make demands.”
“I’m not making a demand.” Maris’s voice dropped lower. Colder. “I’m making an offer. It expires in five seconds.”
Vashil raised her weapon. “Kill them.”
The mercs opened fire.
Maris moved.
The bond let me move with her. I knew where she’d be. Knew when she’d dodge left. Knew when she’d drop and roll.
We flowed around the plasma fire. Two bodies moving as one.
I closed on the nearest merc. Disarmed him. Broke his arm. Used him as a shield when the next merc fired.
Maris fired twice and two mercs dropped.
Three down. Three to go.
My side wound was on fire. Blood soaked my pants. The pain was at ten and climbing.
But the bond hummed. Maris’s presence in my head, sharp and focused. Her determination bleeding into mine.
I moved to the next merc. He was better trained. Faster. He dodged my first strike, countered, caught me in the wounded side.
I roared. The pain spiked to eleven. I grabbed his arm, twisted, and threw him into the cavern wall. He hit hard. Didn’t get up.
Two left. Plus Vashil.
Maris had one of them pinned behind cover. She was advancing, firing in controlled bursts, herding him into a kill zone.
The last merc turned his weapon on me. I was too slow. Too wounded. Too exhausted.
The shot would hit.
Maris’s shot hit first. The merc dropped.
She looked at me across the cavern. Gray eyes meeting mine. The bond hummed. Concern and fury and relief all tangled together.
I nodded. Still functional.
Vashil was the only one left. She’d backed toward the ship, her weapon raised.
“This doesn’t change anything,” she said. “The Consortium still wants you. The bounty’s still active.”
“I know.” Maris walked toward her. Calm. Relentless. “But you won’t collect it.”
Vashil fired.
Maris dodged. The shot went wide. She closed the distance, knocked the weapon away, grabbed Vashil by the throat.
“You took my empire,” Maris said. Her voice was conversational. Almost pleasant. “You took my crew. You tried to take my life.”
Vashil clawed at Maris’s hand. Couldn’t break the grip.
“But you made one mistake,” Maris said. “You didn’t kill me when you had the chance.”
She threw Vashil to the ground. Stood over her.
I watched. Said nothing. This was Maris’s fight. Maris’s betrayal. Maris’s justice.
The Smuggler Queen looked down at her former lieutenant. Cold. Ruthless. Absolutely in control.
“Run,” Maris said. “Take whatever ship you can steal. Get off this station. Because if I ever see you again, I’ll kill you.”
Vashil scrambled to her feet. Ran.
Maris watched her go. The fury in the bond slowly faded, replaced by exhaustion.
“Why let her live?” I asked.
“Because killing her would be a mercy.” Maris turned to face me. “This way, she has to live with the fact that she failed. That she sold me out for nothing. That she’ll spend the rest of her life looking over her shoulder, wondering when I’ll change my mind.”
My mate’s version of revenge. Cold. Deliberate. Perfect.
I loved her so much it hurt.
“Ship,” I said.
“Right.”
We moved toward the ship. The boarding ramp was down. Maris climbed up. I followed, my vision swimming.
The interior was clean. Functional. The cockpit had two seats. Pilot and co-pilot.
“Sit,” Maris said. “Handle weapons and shields.”
I sat. The co-pilot station lit up under my hands. Weapons systems. Shield controls. Comms.
I could do this. Probably.
Maris dropped into the pilot seat, her hands a blur as the ship hummed to life. Engines spinning up. Systems coming online.
“Strap in,” she ordered, and I was happy to comply.