Chapter 15 - Between the Stars

  This is going great, Darius thought sarcastically to himself as Echo did… whatever technological wizardry was required to hack into the terminal.

  The alarms shrieked in the background, a constant reminder that their window was closing fast. A small voice in his head whispered that security teams were probably already on the way, but he forced himself to stay focused on the progress bar crawling across the screen.

  “Are we close?” Lena demanded from the doorway, her tone sharp enough to cut steel.

  “Define close,” Darius muttered, eyes flicking between the terminal and the bypass kit Echo was connected to in his hand. “Because for all I know, this is either going to finish in thirty seconds, or blow us all sky-high. Fun game, right?”

  Lena glared at him, and Harlan’s quiet sigh was audible even over the wailing alarms.

  “Look,” he said defensively, “I told you – Echo is the one with the hacking protocol things. I have no idea what’s going on here.”

  “You said you could handle it,” Harlan snapped back. “That’s the only reason we stuck around.”

  “And look!” Darius gestured at the terminal, where lines of code were still racing across the screen. “It’s being handled! Presumably. I can’t make heads or tails of it.”

  He was about to deliver another quip – something pithy about VI’s stealing people’s jobs – when, without warning, the terminal went dark. Not just the terminal—the lights, the alarms, the hum of station systems. All of it.

  Silence. Suffocating, absolute silence.

  “What the hell did you do?” Lena snapped, rounding on him immediately.

  “Me?!” Darius’s voice jumped half an octave as he threw up his hands in protest. “I didn’t touch anything! I was just—”

  “No time!” barked Harlan, pulling a torch out of the inside pocket of his jacket and moving towards the exit. “We’re leaving. Now.”

  The three of them moved in tense silence, navigating their way out of the building in the dim, flickering emergency lights. When they finally stepped out into the open, Darius sucked in a sharp breath. The station’s usual neon glow was gone, replaced by eerie darkness punctuated by scattered, feeble glimmers from failing backup systems.

  “Okay,” Lena said slowly, turning in a small circle as if the sight would make sense the second time around. “I’m no expert, but this seems… bad. What did you do?”

  “It’s not him,” Harlan cut in, his voice clipped but deliberate. The man spun slowly on the spot, sharp eyes locking on to the faint glow of light off in the distance. “This isn’t local.”

  Lena paused mid-accusation, frowning as her hand fell to the sidearm on her hip. “You sure?”

  Harlan nodded once, grim. “Power failure like this? It’s sector-wide. That’s not something you can trigger from a random terminal.”

  “Could it be another Freeholder squad?” Darius asked, dreading the answer. While he didn’t get the impression that the Freeholders were the type to go this far, hitting infrastructure seemed like guerilla tactics 101.

  Fortunately for his nerves, Lena was already shaking her head decisively. “No way. This is… way too high-profile, not to mention pointless. You can bet any Imperial forces are on high alert right now – there’s no way we’d be able to sneak around and steal or destroy anything important. Besides, any important building would probably have its own backup system.”

  Darius wasn’t sure if he should feel comforted by the answer, or alarmed by how much thought had been put into the idea. He settled for feeling vaguely stressed.

  “Right then,” Harlan muttered, seeming somewhat at a loss for the first time since Darius had met him. “I suppose we’ll head back to base, regroup. Kallan, did you manage to retrieve any data at least?”

  Darius blinked, having completely forgotten the whole reason they were there in the first place. “Uh, good question. Echo?”

  {All essential requested data was retrieved successfully. Additional data was in the process of being retrieved when the power was cut. Some of it was corrupted and lost, but the majority should be salvageable.}

  Darius briefly considered the merits of conveying all of that information to Harlan before shrugging and settling for giving the man a thumbs up.

  Harlan rolled his eyes in exasperation but seemed pleased nonetheless. “Well, at least that’s a silver lining. God knows we need all the good news we can get.”

  “What does that mean?” Lena asked, tilting her head curiously.

  “Think about it,” the older man said bitterly, waving a hand to encompass the situation. “Somebody’s going to have to take the blame for this. It’s probably just a lack of maintenance that caused it, but that doesn’t sound good. Much easier to blame the ‘dangerous Freeholders’ and call it a day. If you kids have any errands to run, I’d suggest getting them done now. We’re going to be laying low for a while.”

  “Well, I got nothing I can’t put off,” Lena tried for a light tone and fell a little short.

  Her words hung in the still air, the unspoken tension pressing on them like the weight of the deadened sky overhead. Darius glanced between his two companions. Harlan was staring into the distance, his brow furrowed as though he was already calculating their next move, while Lena’s fingers twitched at her side, restless energy leaking through the cracks in her casual facade.

  “Guess that makes three of us,” Darius said, aiming for levity and landing squarely in awkward. “Not like I had plans to pick up groceries or anything.”

  Lena shot him a flat look, but there was no real bite behind it. “I don’t think I’ve seen you eat anything except for synth-coffee,” she said.

  “It’s a little sad that eating really is the proper verb for it,” Darius agreed, deliberately missing the point.

  Harlan clapped his hands together, the sharp sound echoing through the air. “Alright, save it for the base. We’ll take the long way back. Keep quiet, stay sharp.”

  With that, he turned on his heel and started down the shadowed street, his gait as purposeful as ever. Lena followed without comment, leaving Darius to bring up the rear. He sighed and fell into step, his boots scuffing against the uneven pavement.

  The sector was unnervingly silent. Even with the hum of the city gone, Darius had expected… something. The sounds of people, distant shouts, the metallic whir of drones—anything to remind him they weren’t alone in the dark. But the emptiness pressed in like a heavy fog, the only sounds their footsteps and the faint whistle of wind threading through the narrow streets.

  You might be reading a stolen copy. Visit Royal Road for the authentic version.

  Above, the stars pierced the smog with a clarity that felt almost mocking. It was a rare sight – even though the atmosphere was thin enough to make stargazing easy without optics, the light pollution alone was enough to render the tiny points of light invisible. A pity, really – the uneven orbit of the planet meant that Exeter station technically had a night that lasted for seventeen of the twenty-four hours that constituted a standard galactic day.

  All he knew was that it played merry hell on his sleep schedule.

  Darius found himself stealing glances upward despite himself, the cold points of light tugging at something in the back of his mind.

  But he didn’t want to think about it. Didn’t want to remember how, as a kid, he used to stare at the stars and dream of escape. Before he’d learned that escape was for people who had the right name, the right bank balance, the right everything.

  Back then, he’d thought the stars were waiting for him. That if he worked hard enough, if he was clever enough, he’d find his way out there. He’d pored over old holo-vids of exploration ships, memorised the names of the colonies in far-flung systems, even tried to teach himself some ancient celestial navigation techniques for fun.

  “You’re too old to be daydreaming, Darius,” his father had said, his voice heavy with the weariness of a man who’d spent his life working the same orbital refinery. “The stars are for the privileged, the people who’ve already won. We work down here. That’s reality.”

  And that had been that. No discussion. No debate. Just reality.

  Reality had felt small ever since.

  “You alright back there?” Harlan’s voice cut through the quiet, startling him out of his thoughts.

  “Fine,” Darius said quickly, pulling his gaze back to the street in front of him.

  Back to reality.

  – – –

  Voss somehow looked like she hadn’t slept for a week, despite being perfectly fine the last time Darius had seen her, which was… this morning?

  He reflected for a moment that his own sense of time was clearly not keeping up with his hectic new schedule.

  “Give me some good news,” she ordered tiredly, almost pleadingly.

  Darius shrugged, doing his best to look nonchalant despite the exhaustion tugging at his limbs. “Well, technically, we got the data. So... partial win?”

  “I’ll take it,” she said, more to herself than them, rubbing a hand across her temple. “Hell, it’s the best news I’ve gotten all day.”

  “That bad?” Darius ventured.

  “Worse,” she responded. “A sector-wide blackout like this? Every Imperial officer from here to the core worlds will be salivating at the chance to pin it on us. You can already hear the propaganda, can’t you? ‘The dangerous Freeholders, sabotaging the hardworking citizens of the Empire.’” She let out a sharp, humourless laugh. “Never mind that we’d never hit infrastructure. Not like this.”

  Harlan cleared his throat pointedly.

  “Right, yes. I’m sure you’re looking forward to taking a break. Can you transfer the data to this?” Voss asked, rummaging around and pulling out a dataslate.

  Darius pulled the bypass kit from his jacket pocket and looked at it uncertainly. “Uh… yes?” he said, holding it up and tapping it in the hopes that something would happen.

  {Data transfer ready,} Echo’s voice announced crisply in his ear.

  “Right, thanks,” he muttered, embarrassed. “Do your thing.”

  The lights on the bypass kit blinked as the transfer began, a stream of files flooding onto the dataslate. Voss leaned forward, tapping the screen a few times, the faint lines of tension in her face easing as the first files loaded.

  “Good,” she murmured, her voice soft as she scanned the contents. “This will help.”

  The transfer bar in the corner of her slate crawled upward, taking longer than Darius had expected. He shifted awkwardly on his feet, exchanging a glance with Harlan. Voss, however, seemed oblivious to the delay, her focus entirely on the slate in her hands.

  “I’ll admit,” she said absently, flicking through the files, “I didn’t expect this much... Or, well, this kind of...” Her words slowed as her eyes stayed glued to the slate, her fingers swiping through the files with increasingly deliberate motions. “It’s… more than I thought, and—”

  Her voice faded into silence, her lips moving slightly as though trying to form the next word. But it didn’t come.

  Darius shifted awkwardly, the air in the room feeling heavier with each passing second. The low hum of the bypass kit finally signalled the end of the transfer, but Voss didn’t seem to notice. Her expression tightened as she scrolled, her eyes darting across the screen, taking in something that was clearly not what she had expected.

  “You alright?” Darius asked, his voice coming out more tentative than he’d intended.

  Voss blinked, snapping out of whatever trance she’d been in. Her gaze darted to him, and she quickly schooled her expression into something more neutral. “Yes,” she said quickly, her tone brisk as she locked the screen and set the slate down with deliberate care, her fingers clutching tighter than seemed necessary. “Good work. This is… good work.”

  Darius raised an eyebrow. “You’re welcome?”

  She gave him a tight smile, a little too quick and a little too forced. “Thank you, Darius. Really.” Her tone softened, just for a moment, before her eyes darted to Harlan. “Harlan, stay. There are a few things we need to discuss.”

  Darius hesitated, feeling like he’d missed something important but having no idea what it could be. The silence in the room suddenly felt heavier, and though Voss’s expression had smoothed back into neutrality, something in the way she avoided looking at him set his nerves on edge.

  “Oh, by the way, your friend Finn showed up,” she added with deliberate casualness. “Do me a favour and go talk to him before he’s in here asking about you again.”

  Darius perked up, hastily stuffing the bypass kit back into his jacket. “Right. Uh, glad I could help,” he said, already halfway out the door.

  Darius let the door slide shut behind him with a faint hiss, the muffled sound of Voss and Harlan’s conversation immediately fading into the background hum of the corridor. He took a moment to exhale, letting the lingering tension of the room drain out of him. Whatever had been on that slate, it wasn’t his problem anymore—at least not for now.

  As he made his way toward the common room, the distant sound of voices filtered through the air, growing clearer with every step. One voice, in particular, stood out, animated and familiar. Finn.

  Darius slowed his pace as he reached the edge of the hallway, leaning against the wall just out of sight. Finn’s voice was lighter than he’d expected, almost cheerful, though there was an edge of nervous energy beneath it.

  “I’m just saying,” Finn was saying, his tone pitched with mock exasperation, “if you’re going to call that slop a stew, you could at least make it… I don’t know, edible.”

  “That’s rich, coming from the guy who once tried to cook instant noodles and set off the fire suppression system,” Corin shot back dryly, the faint scrape of a chair audible as he adjusted his position.

  “I didn’t know the burner was that sensitive!” Finn protested.

  “Uh-huh,” Corin replied, unconvinced.

  Despite himself, Darius felt the corners of his mouth twitch upward. He hadn’t realised how much he’d missed hearing Finn’s voice until now, the familiar cadence pulling him back to something less chaotic than the last few days had been.

  For a brief moment, he stood there, his fingers brushing idly against the seam of his jacket pocket. Relief flickered through him, small but undeniable. Finn was here, alive, apparently unharmed—and still managing to talk his way into trouble.

  The faint twist in his chest caught him off guard, but he pushed it aside, smoothing his expression into something more casual. Taking a steadying breath, he stepped into the doorway and leaned against the frame, his usual smirk sliding into place.

  “Wow,” he drawled, “they’re letting anyone in here now, aren’t they?”

  Finn’s head whipped around, his eyes widening slightly before narrowing in mock indignation. “Well, look who finally decided to show up! Was starting to think you’d forgotten about me.”

  Darius shrugged lazily, pushing off the doorframe as he crossed the room. “Oh, you know me. Busy schedule. Hacking terminals, dodging alarms, stealing Imperial secrets. Real nine-to-five stuff.”

  “Yeah, yeah, you’re a big deal now,” Finn replied, rolling his eyes but unable to keep the grin off his face. “And yet, somehow, you’re still the same pain in the ass you’ve always been.”

  “Consistency is key,” Darius said with a smirk, reaching out to clap Finn on the shoulder.

  For a split second, the banter faltered, replaced by something quieter, unspoken. The weight of the last few days hung between them, and Darius tightened his grip just slightly before letting go, as if to say, You’re okay. We’re okay.

  Finn seemed to catch it, his expression softening just enough to betray the relief beneath his grin. “You alright?” he asked, his voice dropping just enough to be heard only by Darius.

  “Better now,” Darius replied lightly, though the words carried a little more truth than he intended. He gestured toward the seat across from Corin. “So, what’s the hot topic of conversation? Politics? Philosophy? The finer points of terrible stew?”

  “Pretty much,” Finn said, sliding back into his usual rhythm. “Corin here was just explaining how he somehow managed to screw up instant noodles.”

  Darius didn’t need to have overheard their conversation to know that Finn was full of it. “Like anyone would believe that,” he scoffed. “You think I’ve forgotten how many times you nearly burned down my apartment?

  “Some people just complain about everything,” Corin said mockingly, his lips twitching with the faintest hint of amusement as he immediately took advantage of the opportunity to gang up on Finn. “Can’t manage basic life skills yourself, but you have the nerve to diss my delicious stew. ”

  “Right, because there’s nothing else worth complaining about right now,” Finn shot back, but there was less sting in his words than usual.

  Darius let their banter wash over him, content to let the conversation flow as he settled into the chair next to Finn. For the first time in what felt like forever, the world outside the room seemed a little less pressing.

  Finn was here. They were both still standing. For now, that was enough.