17. Kalev
KALEV
At one point, before the Centuries War, Vantuun was a paradise. A jewel of the galaxy.
Now, Vantuun air chokes thick with sulfur and grit, every breath like sandpaper down my throat.
The skyline’s a lattice of shattered spires and heat-warped alloy, all shadow and rust. Coalition territory, industrial ruins left to rot after the League’s orbital strike two cycles back. Perfect place to hide someone important if you don’t care who burns when they’re found.
We land fast and dirty—stealth transport dropping us just past curfew grid 17.
“Kalev,” Kuron drawls, checking his plasma slicer like he’s polishing a trophy, “you always this grim before we paint the walls?”
“Only when it matters.”
Kuron grins wide, teeth sharp and polished. “It always matters.”
He’s Vakutan like me, but where I wear silence like a skin, he dresses in chaos—ornate braids, custom armor with gleaming glyphs, a tribal crest scorched into one pauldron. Every movement says: Look at me. Every word: Survive or don’t—just bleed bright doing it.
We advance through the husk of a refinery tower, boots silent on scorched mesh. Kuron hums a war hymn under his breath.
“Target’s in the west control annex,” I murmur into the comm.
“Multiple heat sigs. Could be bodyguards.”
“Could be shadows. Don’t trust thermal here. Vantuun’s bleeding radiation through every crack.”
He makes a pleased sound. “I love guessing games.”
We breach through an old waste chute—stealth inserts, tight quarters, stale air that reeks of coolant and old blood. The corridor’s dark, save for flickering strips of emergency blue. Paint peels in long, curling strips from the walls.
“Showtime,” Kuron mutters.
We split at the junction.
I move left.
Two sentries.
One coughs.
I shoot him in the neck—plasma round muffled by a zero-grit sleeve. The other turns, too slow.
Snap. My blade punches through his visor.
Blood mists across the panel behind him in a crimson arc.
I drag both bodies into the crawl recess.
Kuron’s voice crackles: “Right flank cleared. Target confirmed in primary chamber. Civilians unaccounted.”
That’s odd. Civvies don’t belong on a secure tier.
I override the chamber lock, motion Kuron into cover, and we breach.
Flash. Smoke. Screams.
The target is already running.
And that’s when I see them—two kids.
Human. Unarmed. Mid-teens, huddled behind an old server stack. Their eyes are too big, too aware. Civilians. Non-combatants. Not part of this.
“Hold,” I bark.
Kuron spins, gun raised. “They saw us.”
“They’re kids.”
“Witnesses.”
He fires.
I tackle him.
The shot sears the server stack instead, ricochets.
“They’re not the mission!” I snarl, pinning his arm.
He glares at me like I’ve lost my mind. “They’ll ID us.”
“They won’t get the chance.”
The target’s gone.
Footsteps echo—metal on metal.
I chase.
Turn a corner?—
And it’s over.
The target’s dropped by another squad from Alpha insertion. Gun still warm in his hand.
Behind me, I hear a single shot ring out.
One kid’s body hits the floor.
The other screams.
I don’t turn back.
I can’t.
The grim business continues until the job is done. At least, the extraction’s quiet.
Too quiet.
Even Kuron doesn’t brag.
He rides beside me on the evac cruiser, head tipped back, boots crossed, but his grin’s gone.
No debrief banter. No kill counts.
Only silence.
The air smells like ozone and cauterized guilt.
Alliance Command beams in live.
“Efficient work,” the operative says. A face like marble. No eyes—just synth implants that scan and blink in rhythm.
“Target neutralized. Upload confirms location triangulation accurate. Minimal resistance.”
“No mention of the civilian,” I say.
A pause.
Then: “Collateral incurred. Within parameters.”
Kuron says nothing. Just cracks his knuckles.
I close the feed.
Hard.
Later, in the locker, I sit alone on the bench, head bowed.
My hands still tremble.
Not from adrenaline.
From knowing I let that happen.
Because I didn’t stop it.
Not fast enough.
Because somewhere out there, Leah’s alive, waiting, trusting me to come back?—
And I’m losing pieces of myself in rooms like this.
I tap out a message.
Encrypted triple-burst. Priority lock.
Only she’ll recognize the modulation.
Leah.
The stars mean nothing without you.
I’m not lost if I know where to return.
I stare at it for a long moment.
Then I send it.
I file my reassignment within the hour.
Not just out of rotation.
Back to Spuel.
Back to her.
The request routes through Black Anchor. No objections. No delays.
Approval comes in eight minutes.
Too fast.
Kuron catches me at the lift.
“Back to your little comms cave, huh?” he asks.
“Something like that.”
He studies me. “You think they let you go because you’re clean?”
I meet his eyes. “No.”
“Then why’d they approve it?”
“Because they know I’ll come back if they need me.”
His smile returns. Just a flicker. “You’re a bastard, Kalev.”
“So are you.”
“Yeah, but at least I sleep at night.”
I don’t answer.
I just step into the lift.
Because the truth is?—
I don’t sleep.
Not anymore.
But if I can make it back to her?—
Maybe I will.