Legitimacy is a fragile thing. It’s built out of small choices that look boring until they aren’t.
I keep walking toward the bridge. “Any civilian collateral reports?”
Renn shakes his head. “Minimal. Your penalties are working.”
“Good,” I say. “Fear makes idiots. Penalties make structure.”
We pass two guards outside containment bay three. Their hands are on their weapons, eyes hard, posture rigid. Inside, Morazin’s voice punches the air like he thinks volume equals authority.
“—YOU THINK YOU CAN HOLD ME?—!”
I don’t stop. I don’t give him the satisfaction. But I do glance at the door panel, watching the biometric locks scroll green status.
Renn murmurs, “He offered bribes.”
“Of course,” I say. “He thinks money is a skeleton key.”
“He also keeps saying he’ll be martyred,” Renn adds.
I snort. “Martyrs don’t usually beg to be alive.”
We hit the bridge.
The forward viewport is a slab of black scattered with stars. Terranus V is behind us now, shrinking into a bruise in the distance. The ship’s interior lights are dimmed—combat posture still. Tactical overlays float above stations like ghosts.
Jessa is at boarding control, helmet off, hair damp with sweat, eyes bright. Mira’s fingers are still moving, refining signal intercepts. A procurement runner is arguing quietly with a logistics chief about resupply vectors. It smells like adrenaline and hot metal.
I step into the center of it, and the room tightens into attention.
“Status,” I snap.
Mira answers first. “Jordan’s stream is still propagating. Civilian nodes are replicating proof packages faster than corporate scrubbers can catch. Markets are in emergency halt cycles. Alliance and IHC emergency sessions are active.”
“Good,” I say.
Jessa lifts her chin. “Terranus V teams are all aboard. Minor injuries. No deaths.”
“Good,” I repeat.
Renn steps closer. “External comms are pinging us. Alliance wants custody. IHC wants custody. Both are using polite words.”
“Polite words mean they’re scared,” I reply.
A captain on comms—off-screen—pipes in, nervous. “Boss, if we don’t hand him over, we’re going to have both institutions labeling us an armed criminal fleet?—”
“We already are an armed criminal fleet,” I cut in. “The difference is now we’re an armed criminal fleet holding a monster on record.”
Renn watches me, cautious. “We can’t keep him forever.”
“No,” I agree. “We keep him long enough to force terms.”
Mira’s eyes flick up. “Terms?”
I turn, letting the bridge see my face. “Chain-of-custody and public visibility. He doesn’t disappear into a back room. He doesn’t die in transit. He doesn’t get ‘lost’ in a jurisdictional argument.”
Renn nods. “So what’s the play?”
I let the answer land clean.
