Chapter 13 #2
The entire front section had been destroyed on impact, the hull peeled back like the skin of a fruit.
She could see tangled wires and shattered components inside, coated with frost and debris.
The larger rear section containing the stasis chamber was relatively intact, though badly dented and covered in scratches.
Thorns surrounded part of the pod and she could see where they’d been torn away.
“The main computer is gone,” she said, circling the wreckage with a critical eye.
“But there should be a secondary core in the back. All pods have them—it’s a safety requirement.
They’re designed to survive impacts that would destroy the primary systems. The ship’s logs should have been transferred to it when the launch sequence was initiated. ”
“And if it’s damaged?”
“Then I’ll repair it.”
He gave her a skeptical look, but he didn’t argue. He simply moved to the back of the pod and began clearing away the snow and vine and debris that had piled against the access panel.
Once it was clear, she knelt beside him, examining the damaged metal. The panel was dented but still attached, and when she applied pressure to the manual release, it popped open with a groan of protest.
Inside, nested in a protective casing, was the secondary memory core.
Her heart leaped. The casing was cracked, and one corner showed signs of heat damage, but the core itself appeared intact. She pulled it free with trembling hands, turning it over to examine the connection ports.
“I need tools,” she said. “Something to pry open the casing. And if there’s any wire in your cabin—something I can use to bypass the damaged circuits—”
“I brought tools.” He opened his pack to reveal a collection of tools that would have made any salvage engineer weep with envy—pliers and wire cutters and screwdrivers in a dozen different sizes, all maintained with the kind of care that spoke of someone who understood the value of good equipment.
She reached out and put her hand on his arm. “Thank you. For bringing me here. For… all of it.”
Something flickered in his golden eyes—something warm and fierce and almost painful to witness. He didn’t speak. He simply nodded before she turned back to the memory core, cradling it in her lap like something precious.
Whatever’s on here, she thought, it will tell me the truth.
She wasn’t sure if she was ready for that truth. But she knew she needed it.
It took her four hours to repair the core.
The memory core had three damaged circuits, two corroded connection points, and a crack in the outer casing that had let moisture seep into the interior components.
Any one of those issues could have rendered the data inaccessible.
Together, they presented a puzzle that would have daunted someone with less determination.
But she had spent years reading technical manuals.
She’d memorized schematics and studied engineering principles and absorbed information about systems and circuits that most of her tutors had considered far too complex for a delicate young heiress.
But her father had encouraged her curiosity even when others hadn’t understood it.
A good leader knows how things work, he’d told her, and she knew how Duvain technology worked.
Now that knowledge was paying dividends.
She worked in focused silence, her fingers moving with growing confidence as she bypassed damaged circuits and cleaned corrosion and rigged temporary connections.
Rykan watched from a distance, close enough to help if needed but far enough to give her space.
She appreciated that more than she could say.
Finally, after what felt like an eternity, the core hummed to life.
“Got it,” she said triumphantly as the display flickered to life on the core’s tiny screen, and data began scrolling across it. “The logs are intact. All of them.”
She began navigating through the files, her heart pounding. Most of the data was routine—atmospheric readings, trajectory calculations, stasis protocols. But there, buried in the diagnostic records, she found what she was looking for.
System override initiated.
Fire suppression disabled.
Life support rerouted.
Authorization code: DV-7743-M.
She stared at the code, her blood turning to ice in her veins.
DV-7743-M.
She knew that code. She’d seen it a hundred times growing up, appended to memos and authorizations and corporate communications. It was a high-level access code—the kind that could override any system on any Duvain vessel.
It was Marina’s code.
Even though she’d suspected her aunt’s involvement, the proof almost drove her to her knees. For a moment, she couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think, couldn’t do anything except stare at those damning characters and feel the world crumble around her.
Marina.
Her aunt. Her guardian. Her father’s own sister.
The woman who had held her hand at her father’s funeral and promised to protect her.
The woman who had smiled and offered comfort and assured her that everything would be taken care of.
The woman who had tried to murder her.
“Ember.”
Rykan’s voice came from far away, filtered through a ringing in her ears. His hand rested on her shoulder, warm and grounding, but she couldn’t look away from the screen. She couldn’t stop reading those numbers over and over, as if staring at them long enough might change their meaning.
“Ember, talk to me.”
“It was Marina.” Her voice didn’t sound like her own. “My aunt. She’s the one who sabotaged the ship. She’s the one who killed my crew. She’s the one who tried to kill me.”
She heard his sharp intake of breath as his grip tightened on her shoulder. But she was already moving past the shock, her mind clicking into a cold, clear mode she barely recognized.
Of course it was Marina.
It made perfect sense, didn’t it? Her aunt had been temporary guardian of Duvain Enterprises since her father’s death.
But that guardianship ended when Ember turned twenty-one.
Two weeks ago the company had passed fully into her hands—or it would have done if she had been there.
Marina’s power would have evaporated, and all those years of waiting, of watching, of barely concealed ambition, would amount to nothing.
Unless Ember died first.
Marina was always going to try, she realized. The only question was when.
The trip to retrieve the jewels had been perfect.
A small ship, a skeleton crew, a remote destination.
An accident in deep space would be nearly impossible to investigate.
And even if someone suspected foul play, who would accuse Marina Duvain?
The grieving aunt, the devoted guardian, the woman who had sacrificed so much to care for her brother’s fragile daughter?
The cold clarity of understanding hurt worse than any physical wound.
She had known Marina was ambitious. She had suspected that her aunt resented playing second fiddle to a niece she considered weak and unworthy.
But she had never imagined this. Never believed that shared blood could mean so little.
Father trusted her, she thought, and the realization brought tears to her eyes for the first time. He trusted her to take care of me, and she tried to kill me.
She took a deep breath, then another. The tears didn’t fall. Instead, something harder took their place—a cold determination that settled into her bones like steel.
“I need to go back.”