The Hive morphs fell in a storm of plasma and symbiote steel. When the final creature lay twitching at Julius's boots, its obsidian shell cracked open like a broken promise, and leaking biomass pooled at his feet.
Vara stood in the center of the chamber, chest heaving, Seraphel's tendrils drifting like living smoke around her shoulders. Brinley pressed her back against the wall, rifle still in hand but empty of rounds.
Silence reigned for a heartbeat—then Echelon's voice cut through. "All hostiles neutralized. Structural integrity compromised—bulkhead breach imminent."
Julius exhaled hard. He wiped a smear of acidic ichor from his blade-arm. "Let's not stick around for round three."
They gathered in the flickering light, surveying the wreckage. The corridor beyond was collapsing—cracks racing along the ceiling, sparks raining like radioactive fireflies.
Vara pressed a hand to the wall, voice low. "That last lieutenant was carrying encrypted coordinates—his neural node jammed them into our kill logs." She hacked at a console, the screen sputtering to life.
Lines of data scrolled: orbital waypoints, supply caches, and a signal strength reading tied to a small moon in the Hegira Cluster. "This is where Vorr will regroup," she said. "He's reassembling Hive forces for something big."
Brinley stepped forward, loading a fresh energy cell into her sidearm. "Then we hit him before he wakes everything there."
Julius nodded, eyes distant. "But we'll need allies. Hive spine fleets aren't taken down by two mercs and a suit."
An unexpected ping sounded from the console. Echelon highlighted a secure channel—an old Vesper Pact frequency. It blinked green.
"Incoming transmission," the AI announced.
A flickering holo appeared: grey-haired, stern-faced, wrapped in a cloak of tattered sigils. The woman's eyes were sharp beneath a hood.
"Vara Nyx?" she said, voice crackling. "Or who you were."
Vara's jaw clenched. "Captain Orla Vey. You're alive."
Orla inclined her head. "Barely. But I still command the Vesper remnants. I intercepted your beacon. The Pact stands with you—but not on this world."
"How many?" Brinley asked.
"Five hundred souls on Asheron's Reach," Orla replied. "Hunters and scholars, all bonded or bonded-tolerant. We control the smuggling lanes through the spiral arm."
Julius stepped forward. "We need everything you've got. Vorr's fleet is nearly operational. If he hits the Hegira Cluster, he'll cut off every free colony in this sector."
Orla's face hardened. "Then we burn him out first. Assemble at Waypoint Delta-7. I'll send you the coordinates."
The holo sputtered and died. The console blinked back to wreckage.
Vara exhaled. "The Pact still lives."
Julius placed a hand on Seraphel's armored shoulder. "And now we have strength in numbers." He turned to Brinley. "Plot a course to Asheron's Reach. We'll need to rest, resupply, and rally the Vesper fleet."
Brinley tapped at the holo-map. "Already on it."
Echelon's voice rang calm through the comms. "All systems nominal. Tactical network expanded to include Vesper nodes."
The corridor walls shuddered again—final echoes of Hive corrupting metal. Julius led the way toward the shattered bulkhead. Light from the wrecked station trailed behind them like dying stars.
Outside, the blackness of space yawned. Ahead lay Asheron's Reach—a bastion of hope in a galaxy drowning in Hive shadows.
And together, bonded by steel and symbiote, they would answer its call.