Then, softer, sharper: “I removed variables.”
Rage flares, hot and useless.
“You’re a coward,” I spit.
Morazin laughs quietly. “Cowardice is thinking truth will save you.”
The transport shudders.
A dull thunk hits the hull—magnetic clamps.
My console flashes:
BOARDING ATTACHMENT DETECTED
My pulse spikes into my throat.
I reach for my bag instinctively, fingers brushing the hidden heat strips and the sealed drives. My dead-man timer ticks like a heartbeat in my head.
Morazin’s voice returns, calm as a lullaby.
“Power down,” he says. “If you make this difficult, I’ll have them break your hands. And I’d hate to damage such useful hands.”
I swallow, tasting bile.
I glance at the emergency beacon Lonari can decode—still in my pocket, still silent.
If I ping it now, do I save myself…
Or do I drag him into my capture?
My hands shake, and I force them still.
The hatch alarm chirps.
Pressure equalizing.
Locks disengaging.
Bootsteps thud against the outer hull, then echo through the docking collar as they breach.
The cabin door begins to open.
Morazin’s voice is the last thing in my ear before the physical world rushes in.
“This isn’t personal,” he says, almost kindly. “It’s just cleaner when witnesses become assets.”
The door slides open.
Armored figures fill the frame—private security, faces hidden, rifles held like punctuation.
I lift my chin anyway, because even if they take my body, they don’t get my spine for free.
And as the first hand reaches for me, I make a decision so cold it steadies my shaking breath:
If institutions won’t act…
Then I’ll make the truth act for me.
