Boots.
Two sets.
Close.
Too close.
I turn just as they round the bulkhead—fully armored, visors lit, Coalition insignia glinting in the low light.
“Hands where I can see them,” one barks.
My fingers twitch.
I could reach for the blade in my boot. I could dive. Scramble. Claw.
But they’d expect that.
So I don’t fight.
I lift my hands, slowly. Step away from the terminal.
“Easy,” I say, keeping my voice light. “I’m just here to recalibrate relay logs. You know how fussy they get.”
The taller one sneers. “This relay’s been off-grid for cycles.”
“Well,” I quip, “maybe that’s the problem.”
They move in.
I take a step back, letting them think they’ve got me cornered. One circles left, the other right, trying to box me in against the rail.
Just a little more time.
The file transfer is still active. I can’t let them shut it down yet.
I stall.
“How’d you two pull cluster duty?” I ask. “Lose a bet?”
“Shut up,” the short one snaps.
Touchy.
I keep talking. “Because I’ve seen where the rest of the squads are headed. Emergency routes, active sweep zones. And they stuckyouin the dead wing?”
I see the flicker of doubt pass between them.
I’m winning. Slowly.
But not fast enough.
Because the tall one taps his comm.
“Control, we’ve got a breach?—”
The words don’t finish.
The world shifts.
