And if it passes through Alliance filters, it must be preprocessed.
Preprocessing requires AI.
Shackled AI.
Shackled AI can be manipulated.
I smile faintly in the sterile white light.
“Let’s see how much stability you can manage,” I whisper.
Outside the cell, boots echo faintly down the corridor.
Inside, my mind sharpens into something deliberate and dangerous.
He wants spectacle.
I will give him spectacle.
Just not the kind he scripted.
CHAPTER 20
KAEL
The war room smells like heated alloy and old decisions.
I stand at the central holotable while Badlands space rotates above it in cold blue light, trade lanes flickering like fragile veins between asteroid clusters and dying suns. The engines beneath the deck hum low and steady, but the vibration has changed over the last few hours—less patrol, more anticipation. The cruiser knows when we prepare for violence. Systems tighten. Power grids hum sharper.
Rethan stands opposite me, arms folded across his chest, bone spurs catching the dim overhead lighting.
“They will broadcast the tribunal within a standard cycle,” he says. “Alliance command is pushing it across open frequencies.”
“I know,” I reply, not looking at him.
My jaw aches from clenching. I loosen it deliberately.
“She has twenty-four hours,” Rethan continues.
“Yes.”
“And you intend to spend them how?” he asks.
I shift the projection, expanding Alliance territory overlays. “We trace the detention facility,” I say. “Energy signatures. Transit logs. Patrol vectors following the ambush.”
“You assume they kept her within sector,” Rethan says.
“No,” I answer. “I assume Valen wants proximity.”
Rethan tilts his head. “Explain.”
“He wants leverage,” I say. “If he relocates her deep into Alliance interior, the rescue becomes symbolic, not practical. He keeps her close enough to tempt me.”
Rethan studies the map for a moment. “So he expects you to come.”
“Yes.”
“And you will.”
