Then he inhales sharply. “Yield,” he says at last.
The drones flare brighter as the broadcast transmits the outcome.
I step back, lowering my blade.
The clans have their answer.
When I return to the cruiser, Rethan meets me at the docking hatch.
“You kept leadership,” he says.
“Yes.”
“At cost.”
“Yes.”
He studies my face. “And now?”
“Now,” I say, moving toward the war room, “we retrieve her.”
The strategy chamber is alive with movement. Officers reposition fleets along contested corridors. Supply ships shift into defensive clusters. Long-range scanners pulse toward Alliance territory.
“Show me patrol gaps,” I say.
An officer brings up the overlay immediately. “Alliance repositioned after the ambush,” she reports. “Tribunal broadcast node likely within secure orbit.”
“Identify it,” I say.
She isolates a cluster of fortified installations near the border of Alliance-controlled space.
“There,” she says. “Signal density spike consistent with media infrastructure.”
Rethan studies it. “Heavy defenses.”
“Yes,” I agree.
“High-risk assault.”
“Yes.”
Rethan folds his arms. “If we breach that node, there is no stepping back.”
“There is no stepping back already,” I reply.
I issue commands.
“Mobilize strike group three,” I say. “Fastest ships. Minimal signatures. We hit hard and precise.”
“And if Alliance fleets intercept?” Rethan asks.
“They will,” I say.
“Then war ignites.”
I look at the expanding map of fleets moving into position—Alliance formations tightening along trade routes, Badlands vessels clustering defensively in response.
The galaxy feels like a taut wire pulled to breaking.
