16. Rhykor #3
As we barrel through the last stretch of access road, a comm signal pierces the static on the military intelligence frequency—encrypted, routed through three proxy channels, Nysera's signature masked so deep in the packet header that only someone trained by her would recognize it.
The transmission decrypts across the transport’s display panel, accompanied by a compressed data file containing regional command logs. Nysera’s voice carries a rare, tight urgency through the cabin speakers.
"Twelve hours, Rhykor. Stay alive. I've intercepted the real operational telemetry.
The regional infection levels are completely stable; the contamination data presented to the assembly was deliberately inflated to force a legislative override.
High command is executing this purge to wipe out political dissidents in the outer settlements under the guise of an emergency. The threat is a manufactured pretext."
The text file vanishes from the dashboard screen a second later, a self-deleting script erasing her tracking footprint from the frequency.
"Dessik," I say, leaning forward between the front seats, "open the compound frequency across all channels."
Dessik's teal-green fingers fly across the comm panel. Static crackles, clears, and the line opens with a hiss that fills the transport's cabin.
"This is Commander Rhykor." The transmission punches across patrol units and the hidden relay stations I've built over months of evacuations and supply drops.
"Kraaj regional command has authorized a containment purge of District Seventeen.
All civilian sectors within the district boundary are targeted for orbital sterilization.
This order is politically motivated and based on manufactured intelligence to eliminate civilian populations under the cover of Legion containment. "
I pause as the transport bounces over a shattered section of roadway, and I grip the overhead rail to keep from slamming into the wall.
"I have refused the order, leading General Daxos to brand me a traitor and strip me of my command.
Kraaj soldiers will be arriving to enforce the purge and seize the district by force.
" Another pause, and then the comm hisses.
"I know what I'm asking. But four thousand people are going to burn because a general decided their lives cost less than his career, and I am done following orders from men who've never bled for anything except their own promotions. "
I release the transmit key.
Varrik watches me from beside the rear hatch, his eyes holding everything he's thinking. Then he reaches forward and squeezes my shoulder—once, hard fingers digging in with resolve born from decades of following officers into worse odds and never once looking back.
"Well," he grunts, settling against the bench seat as the compound gates come into view. "Guess we're at war."
Going at full speed, we make it back in record timing. The compound gates open, and I see them before the transport fully stops.
Cassia stands at the freight bay entrance, her med-pack slung over one shoulder, pulse pistol visible inside her jacket—an aggressive display entirely new in all the time I’ve known her.
The broadcast reached her. She heard the words, and she's still here, standing in the doorway of a compound that became enemy territory, waiting for me to come back.
Britt flanks her left side, her shaved head gleaming under the freight bay lights, her forearms stiff, and her features pulled into that alert, predatory stillness that sets when she's already running defensive scenarios.
Behind them, Garrow leans against a support column with his granddaughter on his hip, the old merchant's face gray and exhausted but his chin lifted—watching the gate, watching me, still trusting the alien who knelt in front of him and promised shelter.
Elias pushes through the crowd, a wrench still in one hand like he grabbed the closest solid object within reach when the broadcast hit.
He's pale, his healing leg stiff beneath him, but he limps straight to the perimeter of the loading dock and watches me climb out of the transport with eyes too old for nineteen.
Beyond them, the freight bay is awake. Over a hundred civilians on their feet—humans and Kraaj standing side by side, drawn out of their pallets and their exhaustion by a transmission that told them their own military wants them dead.
Some of them are terrified while others are furious. However, all of them are looking at me.
Cassia storms the distance between the bay door and the transport in six strides before grabbing the front of my vest with both fists, her eyes blazing, her voice low enough for me alone.
"Tell me the plan."
I cover her hands with mine and look past her at the faces filling the freight bay.
Britt is already organizing perimeter positions while Elias hobbles back toward the generator room.
Nearby, Garrow lowers his granddaughter into a neighbor's arms and rolls up his sleeves.
These people who should hate me are choosing to stand here anyway because surviving together became more important than surviving apart.
"We hold the district," I tell her firmly. "Together."