Chapter 16
APEX STOOD in the narrow corridor with his palm pressed to the bulkhead, feeling the hum of the new ship thrum through bone and skin.
The vibration sat lower than the one he had carried in his body for years, a different register that made the hull sound like a living thing trying out its voice.
The air smelled clean and faintly ionized.
Every so often the vents gave a soft hiss that came a breath late, like a lung learning to keep pace.
The others said they hardly noticed. Apex noticed everything.
A ship told its stories in rhythm, in the way lights warmed and cooled, in the timing of doors, in the whisper of the recycler. This one had not learned them yet.
He told himself it was nothing. They had bought the craft fast, stripped from a decommissioned line and refit in the field. A vessel needed time to learn a crew and a crew needed time to learn a vessel. He had taught warriors the same thing about each other. That was all.
He moved down the corridor. The lights pulsed to a soft brightness ahead of his steps and dimmed behind.
Voices drifted from the galley. Locus laughed under his breath at something Hannah said.
Jo’Nay’s tone ran quiet and sure as he coaxed Winn through slow sips from a cup.
Lume’s small chirrups braided through the clink of utensils and the soft thud of cabinet doors, and for a moment the sound of home replaced the sound of war.
He paused in the doorway to mark the faces that mattered.
Hannah sat wrapped in a thermal blanket with a bruise fading along her cheek and one hand resting protectively over her stomach, the small unconscious motion that betrayed what only she and Locus knew—she carried new life.
Locus crouched beside her, spoon in hand, scowling without heat every time she teased him about his hovering, his eyes softening when they dropped to the faint curve under her palm.
Across from them, Jo’Nay adjusted the sling at Winn’s ribs and checked her pulse with the pads of his fingers.
She mirrored Hannah’s gesture without thinking, fingers splaying briefly across the visible swell that marked the promise of another life saved from the laboratories of Keth-9.
The size of his hand made the gesture look delicate and careful, like a giant cupping a bird.
Winn met his gaze. Her lips shaped a single word, barely more than breath. Thanks. Jo’Nay didn’t smile often. The tight shift of his mouth looked like a fault line trying to soften.
Emmy stood by the ration heater with her hair pulled back in a rough knot and a smudge of grease on her wrist. When she sensed him in the doorway she lifted her head and found him. The small, tired curve of her smile struck him like light after rain.
“Everything working?” she asked.
“For now.” He stepped inside. “The ventilation timing is off. It will stabilize.”
Lume hovered near the ceiling. Her fur had dimmed to a dusty pink and her wings beat in slow uneven pulses that brushed a breath of moving air over the table.
Apex tipped his head. “You do not like this ship, my friend?”
Lume chirped once, uncertain, and her eyes slid away. Her color shifted toward gray.
“She’ll adjust,” Emmy said. Her voice carried a confidence that didn’t quite reach her eyes. “Maybe it’s the recycled air. Or all the new tech Core had to integrate.”
At the mention of Core the ship’s AI shimmered across the galley console. The voice filled the room in a tone that never rose. “Systems nominal. Environmental levels within standard range. Power distribution stable.”
Apex nodded. “Good. Monitor and log variances. We will begin the debrief in one cycle.”
“Acknowledged.” The light folded itself back into the panel and the console returned to a simple status grid.
They all ate together. Quiet sat with them like a person who had earned a seat. After weeks of captivity and battle, silence became a mercy. Hannah leaned into Locus’s shoulder and told him to stop scowling or his face would stick that way.
Winn’s voice came thin but present as she tried to joke that the food was better than anything on Keth-9, and the sound pulled every head toward her. Her throat still caught on words, the damage not yet healed, but the effort showed energy instead of fragility.
Jo’Nay’s answer was quiet pride, one hand resting at her back as she leaned into him, exhausted but talking again. She managed a few more sentences before her eyes drooped and drifted closed against Jo’Nay’s side, and he adjusted his stance to carry her weight without waking her.
Emmy stretched her legs until her knee brushed Apex’s. He didn’t move away. He let his hand fall under the table and found her fingers, tracing the lines of her palm where the faint shimmer of her Valenmark glowed under skin. The contact steadied him in ways command never had.
For a few heartbeats there was nothing else. Breath, warmth, food. The sound of life returning.
Later they gathered in the command room.
A holomap floated above the table in pale layers of light.
Core projected the positions of Intergalactic Warriors whose signals still pinged the registry.
The map looked like a night sky turned inside out and filled with spearpoints.
So many fractured lights. So many that refused to go out now that they had the choice between Final Flight and apples.
Locus leaned forward with his forearms braced on his thighs. “We bring them home. Every last Intergalactic Warrior.”
Jo’Nay traced a line through a cluster where three signals lay close. “These three traveled together once. If we reach the first, the others follow.”
“If the Council learns what we did on Keth-9 they will brand us traitors,” Jo’Nay said. He didn’t make it sound like fear. He made it sound like weather.
“They already did,” Apex replied. He kept his voice level. He didn’t need to raise it to be heard. He glanced at Emmy. “But they will not dictate the story.”
“They’ll try,” Emmy argued, and the shadow that crossed her face burned off as she set her hand to the control ring. “Play the vid, Core.”
The map winked out. Static crawled. Then Lume’s world rose from the mist of interference, silver and blue and green, a planet that looked like it had been made out of song. The vid came from a Council drone by the angle of the frame and the cold distance of the lens.
Apex’s breath caught even before the first descent burned a forest to ash.
The ship hung in orbit like a knife. It’s drive flared white, falling to cutting altitude, and fired.
Fields of bioluminescent trees lit like a sea of torches.
Every living thing in them lit as well. Rivers boiled dark.
The camera swept. The city below lay shaking with heat.
Bodies lay in the streets with fur dimmed to ash-gray and wings fallen open like broken fans.
Lume drifted into the light and trembled. Her colors fractured into sickly bands, her glow falling and rising, falling again. She put her tiny paws on the edge of the table and leaned toward the image as if she could lift it and fix it by will.
Emmy reached up and steadied her, pressing fingers to soft fur. “It’s all right,” she whispered. “We saw. We know.”
But it wasn’t all right. The feed cut to a second transmission without transition, a Council news banner with Apex’s image layered over smoke and ruin, his armor scorched.
A headline scrolled. Commander Apex Vettar charged in connection with destruction of Echo Light; confirmed deceased following unauthorized mission.
The announcer’s voice came out smooth and solemn.
“Apex Vettar led the unlawful assault on Echo Light.” The announcer continued, the voice sharpening like a blade.
“Under his command, planetary defenses were shattered, civilian structures annihilated, and millions of lives extinguished. He perished in the chaos he unleashed—a fallen commander responsible for genocide masquerading as heroism. The Council condemns his actions and vows to erase his stain from the record.” The phrasing had the substance of carved stone and the rot of falsehood all the way through it.
Locus hit the side of his fist against the table with a short sound, more restraint than rage.
“They killed you on record,” he said, then looked at the others.
“They’re lying about everything. They blame you to distract from what they did to Echo Light.
To bury their own massacre and make you their villain. ”
“They did it to bury Keth-9,” Jo’Nay said. His eyes did not leave the screen. “Bury Echo Light. Bury the warriors they sold.”
Apex let the lie settle in his chest and change into something useful. He turned his hand palm up for Emmy. She placed her hand in his and the mark under her skin flamed.
“They wanted me dead so they could keep doing this, continue their slaughter and exploitation of Echo Light and the other worlds they were plundering for profit.” He looked at Lume. “They wanted your world stripped.”
Lume made a broken sound. The color at her throat bled to pale blue and then slipped away.
Emmy tightened her fingers. “Then show them you are not dead.”
“We will,” Apex said. He closed his hand around hers, sensing the steadiness of her. “We will show them what command looks like when it does not serve itself.”
The room held the words without spilling a drop.
“Core,” Emmy said, softer. “Is there a way to tag the vid with proof of date and source, then broadcast it to every frequency the old Council cannot choke?”
“I can authenticate timestamps and embed chain of custody records,” Core said. “I can route through civilian nets the Council does not monitor well. It will not take long.”
“Do it,” Apex said. “Time is what they expect us not to have. Especially since they think I am dead.”
“Working.”
“Jo’Nay, when the broadcast hits, some will move to stop it. Draw up a path that keeps us in open corridors and out of their choke points.”