Chapter 11
SANTIAGO
The boardroom, situated alongside the bridge, where some of the fighting had spilled over, still reeked of blood and scorched metal.
Autobots slid and hissed along the ceilings, conducting repairs and cleanup.
The holo walls flickered with tactical overlays, grids of the ship, pulse readings, movement traces, and schematic blueprints, all crawling with glowing red alerts.
The Signet strong guard filtered in, hiding grimaces, each marked by the brawl.
Miral, ever watchful, flicked her gaze up as they entered, offering them a nod of quiet respect.
Zev’s knuckles were scraped raw and wrapped.
Kaal’s shoulder bore a sling where a blade had gone too deep.
Mak was quiet, his ever-moving jaw tight as he took a seat and rubbed his eyes.
Boaz moved stiffly, limping from a twisted ankle.
None of them complained.
They were still alive.
Silent and brooding, Santi crossed to the bar and pulled out a bottle of deep amber bourbon, its glass catching the lights.
He uncorked it with a quick twist and poured generous fingers into thick tumblers, the scent of charred oak and spice filling the room.
He slid the glasses across the table to his hermanos, who caught them without ceremony.
Lifting his own, he eyed them with intent and a touch of fury at what transpired earlier.
‘To breathing,’ Boaz muttered, a tired grin ghosting his lips.
‘To fokkin’ survival,’ Mak added, his rasp hoarse as he leaned in the doorway.
‘To the pack.’
Santi met each gaze in turn, the fire of vengeance already lit in his chest.
‘The Signet family will respond with scorching retribution for this cowardly attack,’ Santi growled.
His hermanos nodded, then knocked the bourbon back in a single, burning swallow.
No speeches. No theatrics. Just the quiet clink of glass on steel and the weight of shared resolve.
Santi rested against the long table, arms crossed over his torso.
His armored suit was unzipped to his waist, exposing his clavicle and the bruises, cuts, and injuries all over him.
‘Miral report,’ he murmured.
The Synth AI’s dermis flashed as it interfaced with multiple subsystems, her expression stony.
‘The attack was coordinated,’ she stated. ‘They masked their entry by piggybacking in on the dredgers.’
‘Fokk. The very same I had a gut feeling about?’ Santi rasped.
Miral nodded. ‘Once off the dredgers, they got in via the tertiary maintenance shafts above Deck 29. Only four access points lead to the bridge ventilation tunnels from there. Interestingly enough, the men who jumped Soleil were icemen. I haven’t had a chance to question them yet, but I won’t be surprised if they’re caught up in this shit as well. ’
Santi’s jaw flexed. ‘And no one thought to scan the dredgers for crew anomalies?’
‘I did, but they masked with shield harmonics that are new to me,’ Miral grimaced. ‘My apologies. They bypassed entry protocols using codes that tell me they had a high level of familiarity with them.’
She zoomed in on the shaft schematics, highlighting multiple pathways the assailants had taken with surgical precision.
‘They also moved so fast and without hesitation, using up-to-date maps and blueprints of The Sombra, meaning they had internal help.’
The room chilled.
Mak muttered under his breath, ‘Hell.’
‘Fokkin’ insider help?’ Santi rasped, rough with rising fury. ‘There’s no other way they would’ve known the right intervals to drop, the blind spots in the camera network, the override chain on the pressure locks.’
Kaal slammed a fist on the table. ‘So someone on board gave them access. Or sold them intel.’
Santi curled his lip. ‘Perhaps even both.’
The silence stretched, heavy with implications.
Boaz broke it. ‘Were the attackers Red Skulls?’
Miral’s avatar nodded. ‘Most likely. Several of the attackers had dermal etchings under their sleeves with matching RS iconography.’
Zev cursed. ‘They still came for us even after we quelled the prison uprising. Fokkers.’
‘They’re desperate,’ Santi said, voice quiet. ‘Since the jail yard shit, they’ve attempted to pick off some of our smaller operations. Hijacking supply freighters. Looks like they finally found a way to come for the big target, the bridge.’
Mak tapped the table. ‘The question again, cabrónes, is why? What is their end game?’
Santi took a deep inhale. ‘They were after the controls, to access some shit. What, though, remains a mystery.’
Miral turned to him. ‘Orders?’
Santi’s eyes flared. ‘All of us start digging? Talk to your CIs, informants, fleet, and flotilla contacts. Find out what the fokkin’ Red Skulls want from us.’
The strong guard grunted in assent.
‘Miral, lock The Sombra down. Scan every staff member, contractor, FIFO, and even me. Any comms, data packets, signals, anything suspicious, burn it. Track all metadata. I also want the engine rooms, command decks, and maintenance paths sealed unless authorized by biometric override from a Signet strong guard member.’
The Synth scuttlebutt inclined her head. ‘Understood.’
Santi pushed off from the table. ‘I’m heading to the clinic. Followed by the mess to check in with our injured and the rest of the crew. .’
Kaal rose beside him. ‘Want company?’
‘Sante, pero nada, hermano,’ Santi muttered. ‘I also need some air so I can think of our next move. Also, team, not a word to the CO. Let him and his woman enjoy their honeymoon in peace.’
Minutes later, Santi prowled into the med deck, his boots echoing against the metal flooring.
The corridor lights had been dimmed to recovery mode, a muted blue hue that made the blood stains and hastily patched wall seams seem even starker.
He paused just inside the threshold, eyes scanning, his neural node getting up-to-date data on the patients and their health.
He noted the beds flanking both walls, as triage overflowed from the infirmary proper. Most were occupied with the injured.
Thank fokk the crew had suffered no fatalities.
A few heads turned and caught sight of him.
The medics straightened and saluted, and a few of the injured, too, sitting up in their cots.
‘Commander,’ muttered Rena Koss, a science officer who’d taken shrapnel to the thigh but had still carried her bunk mate through two decks before collapsing.
Santi moved toward her and crouched beside the bed, clasping her shoulder with quiet strength.
‘You dragged Jerel out of that breach zone,’ he said. ‘That saved his life.’
She scoffed, but her eyes gleamed. ‘He’s heavier than he looks.’
‘I’ll tell him to skip dessert,’ Santi murmured.
Further down, he stopped by Corporal Tamasi, whose arm was in a foam brace, and his ribs had taken a punishing slam during the impact.
Tamasi sat up straighter as he approached.
‘You put the fire suppression override on Cargo Bay Two. That cut the damage in half. You’ll receive a commendation, soldier,’ Santi rasped.
Tamasi blinked. ‘Just did what needed doing, sir.’
Santi clasped the younger man’s uninjured hand. ‘Twelve others made it out in time because you did.’
Santi saluted him and moved on, pausing by each bed, no grand speeches, no performative flattery; just his presence, gratitude, and murmured comfort.
When he reached the mess, he found a dozen exhausted medics mingling with the night crew.
From the looks of things, they hadn’t slept since the incident and were running on fumes, adrenaline, and cups of steaming black kahawa.
A couple sat slumped over ration trays, while others leaned back in their chairs like worn-out warriors.
Santi made a note to authorize days off for everyone and to add a bonus to their pay for their effort and loyalty.
He checked in on everyone, then turned and strode toward the lift.
He prowled to the one place he called his sanctuary.
To his cabin. To her.
He wasn’t sure what pulled harder, the quiet luxuries of his home or the serene allure of the woman waiting inside.
One who embodied a softness he never knew he craved, until now.
SOLEIL
Soleil spent the day letting the serenity of the lake settle into her bones.
She wandered down the stone path that curved along the lake’s edge.
The sunlight was gentle on her skin, filtering through high clouds that glowed peach at the edges.
The air was clean and sweet, with the scent of pine and freshwater.
A scent so different from the recirculated sterility of the lower decks that it made her chest ache with unfamiliar joy.
She kicked off her shoes and sat on the soft curve of the lagoon’s beach, letting her bare toes sink into the cool, silty sand.
The water lapped against her feet, crystalline and just cold enough to jolt the last of the lingering fever from her skin.
For a while, she just stared at the waves and let her mind go still.
When her stomach rumbled, she reached into her coat pocket and pulled out a folded bundle.
In it were two fig bars, a delicious croissant, and a wedge of cheese.
She ate with slow satisfaction, as tiny waterbirds skipped over the shallows and ripples marred the mirrored surface of the lake.
No one else came by.
The privacy was a rare gift.
When her limbs grew heavy, and her eyes fluttered, heavy with grogginess, she stood with some effort and moved back up the garden steps into the house.
Her legs trembled, her balance wobbly, and she realized she was still weaker than she thought.
She scarcely made it to the guest bed before sleep claimed her.
Some time later, a sound, a crack, brief, distant, like gunfire, broke through her slumber.
She jerked half-awake, heart thudding, eyes scanning the room.
The house was silent. The lake beyond her window was undisturbed.
Just a dream, she told herself groggily. Or a power surge.
Maybe even someone testing engines at the loading docks.
She turned over and curled into the bedding and sank back into sleep, this time deeper, without dreams or distractions.
When she woke, it was dusk.
She rose, splashed water on her face in the bathroom, wandered into the living area, and checked the terrace.
The house was quiet, still warmed by the day’s sun.