Kael nods once. “I will not.”
He slams power forward, and the shuttle surges out from asteroid shadow as Alliance fighters tighten formation behind us, engines flaring bright against the dark.
The ambush is no longer theoretical.
It is here.
CHAPTER 18
KAEL
The shuttle bucks hard to port as I drive power into the lateral thrusters, debris scattering across the viewport in jagged silver streaks while Alliance fighters close in with disciplined precision. Their formation is too clean for improvisation, too tight for coincidence, and I taste the metallic edge of inevitability at the back of my throat as warning alarms pulse in sharp, insistent rhythms through the cramped cabin.
“Hold on,” I tell Elara, not because she looks unsteady but because saying it steadies me.
“I’m not the one piloting,” she shoots back, bracing one hand against the bulkhead while the other hovers near the console, ready to reroute whatever I need.
A flash blooms across the starboard shield as a disabling pulse glances off our defenses. The shuttle shudders, a violent vibration that rattles through my spine and into my teeth. The smell of overheated circuitry curls into the air.
“They’re pushing us out of cover,” Elara says, her voice tight but controlled as she watches the tactical overlay. “They’re not firing to kill.”
“No,” I answer, angling us toward a dense tumble of rock. “They want us intact.”
“For interrogation,” she says.
“For leverage,” I correct.
Another pulse slams into the shields, this one stronger. The console flickers. I reroute auxiliary power from life support to reinforce the forward barrier, sacrificing comfort for survival. The air cools immediately, the temperature drop sharp against my skin.
“Kael,” Elara says, leaning closer to the sensor display. “Scout vessel adjusting vector. They’re anticipating your turn.”
“I see it,” I reply, grinding my teeth as I reverse thrusters and roll the shuttle through a narrow corridor between two spinning asteroids. Stone scrapes the shields in a shower of light, and the entire craft screams in protest.
A fighter cuts across our path, sleek and silver, its Alliance insignia glaring bright against the dark. I fire a countermeasure burst, and the explosion of chaff blooms between us in a dazzling cloud.
“We can’t outrun three fighters in open space,” Elara says, her tone shifting from analysis to urgency. “We need extraction.”
“I have already signaled the cruiser,” I answer.
The words barely leave my mouth before the shuttle jolts violently. A grappling tether slams into the hull with a bone-rattling impact, the sound like a hammer striking iron.
“They’ve latched us,” Elara says, her fingers flying across the console as she attempts to scramble our signature.
“I will cut it,” I say, diverting power to the rear cannons.
The tether sparks under sustained fire but does not sever. Alliance engineering—predictable and stubborn.
“Boarding craft deploying,” Elara warns, her voice sharpening.
I do not respond. I am already calculating angles, assessing trajectories, judging whether I can spin the shuttle hard enoughto tear the tether without snapping our own hull. The answer is not favorable.
The hull reverberates again, this time with the unmistakable thud of magnetic clamps locking into place.
“They’re on us,” Elara says quietly.
“Yes,” I reply.
The first breach charge detonates near the aft compartment, the explosion muffled but forceful. Smoke curls through the ventilation system. I feel the shift in pressure.
