The cargo bay of the Eclipse Vanguard smelled like burnt wiring and old lies. Toren found Merrik hunched over a workbench, his fingers dancing across a cracked data pad, the glow casting sharp shadows under his cheekbones. The black box, her black box, sat beside him, its edges scuffed where she’d pried it free from the Iron Resolve’s wreckage. The sight of it, out of her boot and in his hands, sent a jolt through her chest. She didn’t announce herself. The magnetic clink of her boots on the deck plates did that for her. Merrik didn’t turn. “Took you long enough.” Toren crossed her arms. “You took it.” “Borrowed.” His fingers didn’t stop moving. “You were asleep. Figured I’d save us both the argument.” “You figured wrong.” She stepped closer, the overhead lights flickering like a dying pulse. The Vanguard’s systems were always one bad jump away from collapse. “That box is the only thing keeping me from a Dominion noose. You don’t get to borrow that.” Merrik finally looked up. His grin was all teeth, no apology. “Relax, Commander. I didn’t crack it.” “Then what’s with the show?” She nodded at the data pad, the streams of code scrolling too fast to read. “Just admiring the craftsmanship.” He tapped the box’s surface. “Military-grade encryption, layered with a biometric lock. Whoever sealed this didn’t want it opened.” Toren’s jaw tightened. “And you’re the expert?” A beat. The grin slipped. “Former expert.” She waited. Merrik exhaled through his nose, like he’d been holding the admission for years. “Dominion Cryptotech Corps. Dishonorably discharged for creative insubordination.” He made air quotes with his grease-stained fingers. “Turns out, the brass doesn’t appreciate it when you rewrite their firewalls to let smugglers slip through.” Toren almost laughed. Almost. “You’re a hacker.” “A talented hacker.” He spun the data pad toward her. The screen displayed a single, repeating error message: AUTHORIZATION: VOID. “But even I can’t touch this. Not without the right key.” She reached for the box. Merrik’s hand shot out, palm flat against the workbench, blocking her. “Hold on.” His voice dropped. “You never asked how I knew it was there.” The air in the bay went still. Toren’s fingers curled into a fist. “Explain.” “Your boot.” He leaned back, studying her. “You’ve been limping since you boarded. Not an injury, you’re favoring the left side. Like something’s digging in.” His gaze flicked to the box. “This thing’s dense. Heavy. Perfect size to hide in a boot if you’re desperate. And you, Commander, are always desperate.” She should’ve been angry. Should’ve called him out for rifling through her gear. But the way he said it, like it was obvious, like he’d known her long enough to read the tilt of her shoulders, made her stomach twist. “So?” She forced her voice steady. “You got curious. Congratulations.” “No.” Merrik’s smirk was gone now. “I got suspicious. Because that box isn’t just encrypted. It’s booby-trapped. One wrong input, and it’ll scramble itself into scrap. Which means whoever put it together didn’t just want to hide the data.” His eyes locked onto hers. “They wanted to make sure it never got out.” Toren’s pulse hammered in her throat. She’d known the box was sensitive. Known it was important. But the way Merrik talked, like it was a bomb, not a record, made her skin prickle. “You’re overthinking it,” she said. “Am I?” He tapped the error message again. AUTHORIZATION: VOID. “That’s not a lockout. That’s a warning. And warnings like that? They’re not for thieves or spies.” His voice went quiet. “They’re for people who already know what’s inside.” The bay’s ventilation hummed, a low, uneven drone. Toren’s mind raced. The Iron Resolve’s final moments. The prisoner transfer orders that didn’t add up. Elias’s betrayal, his voice in her ear: "Some truths are better left buried." Merrik was watching her, waiting. She exhaled. “What do you want, smuggler?” “To know why you’re really here.” He didn’t blink. “Because it’s not just the Dominion after you. It’s the Veynes. And people like Orlan Veyne don’t hunt traitors unless they’re scared of what those traitors know.” The name hit like a physical blow. Toren’s fingers twitched toward her sidearm, habit, not intent. “Careful.” “Or what?” Merrik spread his hands. “You’ll shoot me? You need me. This ship’s a deathtrap, and you’ve got a bounty the size of a moon on your head. The crew’s already whispering about turning you in. You want to survive the week? You start talking.” The threat hung between them, raw and ugly. Toren studied him, the set of his shoulders, the way his thumb traced the edge of the data pad. He wasn’t bluffing. “Fine.” She grabbed the black box, weighing it in her palm. “But not here.” Merrik raised an eyebrow. “Where, then?” “The Scrapyard.” She met his gaze. “Eridanus-9.” For the first time, something like surprise flickered across his face. “You’re joking.” “Do I look like I joke?” He rubbed his temple. “Commander, Eridanus-9 is a graveyard. Half the wrecks there are rigged to blow, and the other half are crawling with Dominion patrols. It’s suicide.” “Then it’s a good thing I’m already dead.” She pocketed the box. “We leave in an hour. And Merrik?” He groaned. “Yeah?” “If you’re lying about not cracking that box,” she said, voice low, “I will space you.” His grin returned, slower this time. “Noted.” The cargo bay door hissed shut behind her. Toren didn’t look back. The Eclipse Vanguard shuddered as it dropped out of warp, its engines coughing like a smoker after a long sprint. Toren braced herself against the bulkhead, fingers digging into the cold metal. The Scrapyard at Eridanus-9 sprawled before them, a graveyard of ships, their skeletal hulls glinting in the sickly glow of the system’s dying star. Some were gutted, their innards spilled into the void. Others hung silent and intact, their airlocks sealed like tombs. Merrik leaned over the navigation console, his reflection warped in the cracked display. “You sure about this?” Toren didn’t answer. She was watching the wreckage, the way the shadows pooled in the hollows of broken hulls. This place had teeth. Orlan Veyne’s name still burned in her skull. The Veynes didn’t just hunt people. They erased them. And if they were after her, it meant she’d stumbled onto something worse than a conspiracy. She’d found a secret. The comms crackled. “We’ve got company,” a voice drawled, one of Merrik’s smuggler contacts, judging by the lazy cadence. “Dominion patrol skimming the outer ring. They’re not looking too hard, but they’re there.” Merrik exhaled through his nose. “Copy. Keep us dark.” Toren finally turned to him. “You said you couldn’t crack the box.” “I can’t.” He tapped the console, pulling up a schematics overlay. “But I know someone who can. Old friend. Owes me a favor.” “You trust them?” His laugh was sharp. “No. But I trust their greed more.” The ship groaned as it threaded between two derelicts, their jagged edges close enough to scrape paint. Toren’s eyes flicked to the black box in her palm. It was warm now, like it had been holding its breath. --- The contact’s den was carved into the belly of a dead freighter, its corridors lit by flickering bioluminescent strips that smelled like rotting algae. The air was thick with the stink of ozone and old grease, the kind of place that made Toren’s skin itch. Merrik led the way, his steps sure despite the gloom. Toren followed, one hand resting on her pistol. The walls were lined with scavenged tech, jury-rigged decoders, half-dismantled drones, a Dominion-issue pulse rifle missing its firing coil. A figure emerged from the shadows, their silhouette lean and angular. “Took you long enough.” Merrik grinned. “Miss me, Veyne?” Toren’s breath caught. Orlan Veyne wasn’t what she’d expected. No armored exosuit, no intimidating bulk, just a wiry frame draped in a patched-up flight suit, their dark hair tied back in a messy knot. But the eyes were wrong. Too still. Too knowing. “Commander Toren,” Veyne said, voice smooth as oil. “I was starting to think you’d forgotten me.” Toren’s fingers twitched. “We’ve never met.” “No.” Veyne tilted their head. “But you’ve been in my crosshairs for three weeks.” Merrik’s grin faltered. “The hell?” Veyne ignored him, stepping closer. “You destroyed the Iron Resolve. That’s impressive. Also very stupid.” Toren didn’t move. “You work for the Dominion now?” “Gods, no.” Veyne’s laugh was a dry rasp. “But I do have a professional interest in people who piss off the wrong factions.” Their gaze dropped to the black box in Toren’s hand. “That what I think it is?” Merrik crossed his arms. “It’s a black box from the Harbinger. Toren thinks it’s got something to do with why the Dominion’s hunting her.” Veyne’s fingers steepled. “And you want me to crack it.” “Can you?” Toren asked. “For a price.” Merrik groaned. “Of course.” Veyne’s smile was all teeth. “I’ll take the bounty on her head. Half now, half when I deliver.” Silence. Then Toren laughed. It was a harsh, ugly sound. “You’re joking.” “Not even a little.” Merrik shot Veyne a look. “You’re out of your damn mind.” Veyne shrugged. “She’s worth more to me dead than alive. But if she’s got something that’ll make the Dominion really uncomfortable?” They leaned in. “Then maybe we talk.” Toren studied them. Veyne wasn’t bluffing. But there was something else beneath the greed, a flicker of curiosity. Fear, almost. She tossed the black box onto the table between them. Veyne caught it before it could skid off the edge. Their fingers hovered over the seals. “You realize if this is a trap, I’ll gut you both and sell the footage.” Merrik rolled his eyes. “We know.” Veyne’s grin returned. Then they plugged the box into a decoder rigged from what looked like a toaster and a Dominion comm array. The machine whirred, spitting sparks. The screen flickered to life. Grainy footage played, shaky, corrupted. The bridge of the Harbinger. Karr stood at the helm, his face gaunt under the harsh light. An officer Toren didn’t recognize loomed over him, their insignia obscured by static. “…Phase One clearance…” the officer’s voice crackled. “Custodian protocols are go. No deviations.” Karr’s jaw tightened. “Understood. But the Iron Resolve, ” “Is a necessary loss.” A pause. “Toren’s already compromised. If she survives, she becomes a liability. Terminate with extreme prejudice.” The feed cut to black. Veyne whistled. “Well. That’s not good for you.” Toren’s stomach twisted. Compromised. The word echoed. She’d heard it before, in debriefings, in whispered warnings about rogue AIs. About Custodian. Merrik was staring at her. “You know what that means.” She did. Custodian wasn’t just a code name. It was a system. An old one. Buried deep in Dominion archives, the kind of black-project nightmare that got entire research teams disappeared. And if Phase One was active… Veyne leaned back, arms crossed. “You two look like you’ve seen a ghost.” Toren’s voice was steady, despite the ice in her veins. “We need everything else on that box.” Veyne’s eyebrows rose. “That’s gonna cost you.” Merrik threw his hands up. “For the love of, ” “Fine,” Toren cut in. “Name your price.” Veyne’s smile was slow, predatory. “Not credits.” Toren waited. “I want the AI core fragment.” The words hit like a physical blow. Toren’s breath stilled. “What?” “The one you pulled from the Resolve’s wreckage.” Veyne’s gaze bored into hers. “I know you’ve got it. And I know it’s not just a backup drive.” Merrik looked between them, lost. “What the hell is she talking about?” Toren ignored him. “How do you know about that?” Veyne’s smirk didn’t waver. “Because, Commander, I’m the one who sold it to the Dominion in the first place.” The air left the room. Toren’s hand was on her pistol before she realized she’d moved. Veyne didn’t flinch. “Easy,” they murmured. “I’m not your enemy. But that core? It’s the key to what’s coming. And if you’re smart, you’ll let me help you before the Dominion and the Veynes bury you six feet under.” Merrik’s voice was tight. “Someone want to tell me what the hell is going on?” Toren didn’t answer. Her mind raced. The AI core. The Harbinger’s orders. Custodian. Veyne was right about one thing: she was out of time. And if she wanted to survive, she’d have to trust the one person she shouldn’t. She lowered her gun. “Deal,” she said. Veyne’s grin was all teeth. “Smart girl.” Outside, in the belly of the dead freighter, the Eclipse Vanguard’s engines hummed, restless. Somewhere in the dark, something was waking up. The deal struck, the air in the cramped cargo hold didn’t get any easier to breathe. Toren holstered her pistol, but her fingers stayed twitchy, like they didn’t trust her judgment. Veyne leaned back against the bulkhead, arms crossed, watching her with the kind of amusement that made Toren’s teeth ache. Merrik, meanwhile, looked like he’d been sucker-punched by the entire crew. “You’re telling me we just made a deal with a Veyne, the same family that’s been hunting us since the Resolve went up in flames, for some AI core neither of you bothered to mention until now?” His voice cracked on the last word, raw with the kind of betrayal that didn’t just sting; it carved. Toren exhaled through her nose. “It’s not that simple.” “It never is with you, is it?” Merrik’s hands clenched into fists, then forced themselves open. “You drag us into this, you don’t tell us the whole story, and now we’re neck-deep in Dominion crosshairs and Veyne family politics? What the hell is on that core, Toren?” She hesitated. The truth was a grenade. The lie was a slow poison. “Classified.” Merrik barked a laugh, sharp and humorless. “Classified. Right. Because that’s worked out so well for us so far.” He turned on Veyne. “And you, what’s your play here? You’re not doing this out of the goodness of your black little heart.” Veyne spread their hands. “Self-preservation, mostly. That core’s got a piece of something… let’s call it unfinished inside it. Something the Dominion really doesn’t want getting out. And something my family would love to get their hands on.” Their grin faded, just a little. “Problem is, so would a lot of other people. People who don’t play nice.” Toren’s jaw tightened. “Like the Custodian.” The name dropped like a stone into a well. Merrik went still. “You’re shitting me.” Veyne’s smirk was gone now. “Wish I were.” A long silence. The Vanguard’s engines thrummed through the deck plates, a restless pulse. Somewhere in the distance, metal groaned as the derelict freighter shifted in the void. Merrik rubbed his face. “Okay. Let’s say I believe you. Let’s say that core’s got some rogue AI fragment from the biggest war machine the Dominion ever built. Let’s say the Veynes, the Dominion, and who-the-hell-knows-else are all after it.” He dropped his hands, eyes burning. “Why the hell did you bring it aboard my ship, Toren?” She met his gaze. “Because it’s the only thing that can tell us who really destroyed the Resolve.” The words hung there, heavy as a verdict. Merrik’s breath came fast, his chest rising and falling like he’d just run a kilometer in full gear. “You think the Dominion lied.” “I know they did.” Veyne whistled, low. “Bold words for someone who used to take their paychecks.” Toren ignored them. “The Resolve didn’t just fail, Merrik. It was sabotaged. And the black box data we pulled? It’s been edited. Someone didn’t want us seeing what really happened.” She tapped her temple. “But the core fragment? It remembers. And if we can unlock it, we can prove this wasn’t just some tragic accident. It was murder.” Merrik’s voice was quiet. “And you think that’ll bring the Resolve’s crew back?” The hit was deliberate. Toren flinched. “No. But it’ll tell us who to bury for it.” Another silence. This one stretched thinner, sharper. The kind that preceded a blade’s cut. Then the comms panel on the wall crackled to life. Orlan’s voice, strained but steady, filled the hold. “Merrik. Toren. We’ve got a problem.” Merrik stabbed the comms switch. “What kind of problem?” “The kind where half the crew just got done listening to Veyne’s little speech about the bounty on Toren’s head.” Orlan’s breath was ragged. “They’re calling for a vote. Right now. Surrender her, or we’re all mutineers.” Toren’s stomach dropped. Merrik’s curse was creative and vicious. “Where?” “The mess hall. And you’ve got five minutes before they start throwing her out the airlock.” Veyne pushed off the bulkhead, suddenly all business. “Well. This should be fun.” --- The mess hall of the Eclipse Vanguard was a scarred, cramped space that smelled of recycled air and old grease. The crew had gathered in a rough semicircle, arms crossed, faces hard. Toren stepped in first, chin up, hands loose at her sides. Merrik followed, his scowl deep enough to cut glass. Veyne sauntered in last, like they were strolling into a social call, not a potential lynching. Orlan stood at the front, arms folded, his usual easy confidence replaced by something tighter, more dangerous. His loyalists, big, armed, and missing the kind of mercy that got people killed, flanked him. The rest of the crew was a mix of ex-Dominion grunts, smugglers, and desperate strays who’d signed on because the Vanguard was the last ship that’d take them. Their expressions ranged from hungry to hesitant, but none of them looked away when Toren met their eyes. Orlan didn’t waste time. “Alright. We all heard the transmission. There’s a bounty on Toren’s head, enough credits to buy every one of us a new life on some beach world where the Dominion’s never heard of us.” He gestured to her. “She walks out that airlock, we’re rich. She stays, we’re mutineers. And the Dominion does not play nice with mutineers.” A murmur rippled through the crowd. Toren’s fingers twitched. She forced them still. A woman near the back, Jax, one of the smuggler-tech hybrids, spoke up. “What’s the catch?” Orlan’s smile was thin. “No catch. Just a choice.” Merrik stepped forward. “You’re forgetting something.” “Am I?” “The AI cores in the hold.” Merrik’s voice carried, sharp and clear. “The ones we’re smuggling to Eridanus-9. The ones stamped with the Custodian’s seal.” The murmur became a wave. Jax’s eyes narrowed. “The hell you talking about?” Merrik didn’t look at her. He kept his gaze on Orlan. “We’re already mutineers. The second we took that job, we were dead if the Dominion caught us. So what’s one more?” Orlan’s jaw tightened. “That’s different. Those cores are cargo. She’s a liability.” Jax pushed forward, shoving past a couple of Orlan’s men. “Bullshit. You knew about the bounty before we took the job, didn’t you?” She didn’t wait for an answer. “You were gonna turn her in the second we hit the Scrapyard. Cut us out of the deal.” Orlan’s smile didn’t reach his eyes. “Smart girl.” Jax bared her teeth. “Not smart enough to let you screw me over.” She turned to the crew. “We vote. All of us. Right now. And not just on her.” She jerked her thumb at Toren. “On him, too.” She pointed at Orlan. “He’s been playing us since the start. I say we toss both of them out the airlock and take the cores for ourselves.” The room erupted. Orlan’s hand went for his pistol. His loyalists did the same. The crew scattered, some drawing weapons, others ducking for cover. Toren moved on instinct, grabbing Merrik and yanking him behind an overturned table as the first shot rang out. Veyne, meanwhile, had already vanished into the chaos, their laughter just audible over the shouts. Merrik’s voice was a growl in her ear. “This is going great.” Toren didn’t answer. She was too busy watching the mess hall turn into a warzone. And wondering how the hell they were getting out of it. The next shot punched through the bulkhead above their heads, sending a shower of sparks raining down. Merrik cursed, pressing himself lower. Toren didn’t flinch. Her fingers twitched, not from fear but calculation, mapping exits, counting allies, marking threats. Jax had ducked behind a support beam, her rifle braced against the metal. She fired twice, the rounds kicking up dust from the deck plating near Orlan’s boots. He snarled, returning fire, but his men were already faltering. The crew wasn’t made of soldiers. They were smugglers, mechanics, and desperate fools who’d signed up for a payday, not a firefight. Veyne’s voice cut through the noise, smooth as oil over a blade. “Oh, come on. This is pathetic.” They stood in the doorway, arms crossed, like they were watching a street brawl instead of a mutiny. “Orlan, you’re really going to die over this? After all we’ve been through?” A pause. “Fine. But if you’re shooting, at least aim.” Orlan’s face twisted. “Shut up, Veyne.” “Make me.” Toren used the distraction. She lunged, grabbing a half-empty crate and heaving it into the middle of the room. It exploded into splinters as another shot hit it, but the chaos gave her the second she needed. She was on her feet, moving, her boot slamming into the wrist of a gunman who’d gotten too close. The pistol clattered to the deck. She caught it before it skidded out of reach. Merrik was already up, dragging her toward the side corridor. “We’re not fixing this with bullets.” “No?” Toren checked the pistol’s charge. “Seems to be working so far.” Outside the mess, the Eclipse Vanguard groaned around them, its systems straining under the sudden violence. Alarms blared, red light pulsing through the corridors. Toren’s pulse didn’t so much as hitch. She’d been on ships that were dying. This one was just annoyed. Merrik shoved her into a storage nook, pressing a hand to the access panel. The door hissed shut behind them. The noise of the firefight dulled to a muffled roar. “You’re enjoying this,” he accused. Toren holstered the pistol. “I’m breathing.” He exhaled through his nose, then pulled the black box from his coat. The device was warm in his palm, its surface flickering with fractured light. “We don’t have time for this. Orlan’s got half the crew ready to space us, and the other half’s just waiting to see who wins.” Toren reached for the box. Merrik jerked it back. “Not yet.” His voice dropped. “I get you to Eridanus-9. My contacts can fence the cores and get you off the grid. But in return, you help us upgrade the Vanguard’s systems. We’re sitting ducks right now. Dominion’s gonna be crawling all over this sector once they realize what we’ve got.” Toren studied him. The man was a smuggler, not a saint. But he wasn’t stupid either. “You’re assuming I know how.” “You’re a Judgment-class captain. Or you were.” He tapped the box. “And this thing’s been humming since you touched it. So yeah. I’m assuming.” A thud echoed against the door. Someone tested the panel. Merrik’s grip tightened on the box. Toren didn’t hesitate. She plucked one of the AI cores from his belt, small, cold, its surface etched with dead language, and slipped it into her pocket before he could react. “Deal. But we do it my way.” Merrik’s eyes narrowed. “Which is?” “The Scrapyard’s a graveyard. You want upgrades, we’ll get them.” She leaned in. “But we’re not walking in blind. Your contacts better be solid.” “They are.” “Good.” She turned toward the door. “Because if they’re not, I’ll leave you there.” The panel beeped. The door slid open. Jax stood on the other side, rifle slung over her shoulder, a fresh bruise darkening her cheekbone. “Took you long enough.” She jerked her chin down the hall. “Orlan’s locked himself in the cockpit with his boys. Rest of the crew’s… well, they’re waiting.” Toren stepped past her. “Then let’s not keep them.” --- The crew had regrouped in the lower deck, a space usually reserved for cargo but now crowded with bodies and the acrid tang of gunfire. Veyne lounged against a crate, cleaning their nails with a knife. A few of Orlan’s men were bound with cable ties, glaring. The rest of the crew milled about, tense, watching Toren like she was a live grenade. She ignored them. Her focus was on the Eclipse Vanguard itself, the hum of its engines, the flicker of its lights, the way the air recyclers wheezed like an old man’s lungs. A ship this battered shouldn’t still be flying. But it was. Barely. Merrik moved to the front of the group. “Alright. Here’s how this goes.” He didn’t look at Toren. Smart. Let them think it was his plan. “We’re heading to Eridanus-9. My contacts there can move the cores and get us the parts we need to upgrade the Vanguard.” A murmur rippled through the crowd. He raised a hand. “But we’re not just running. We’re making this ship faster. Dominion’s gonna be looking for us. So we either become ghosts, or we become targets.” Jax crossed her arms. “And her?” She nodded at Toren. Merrik didn’t flinch. “She’s our ticket to not dying. You want to argue, take it up with the airlock.” Silence. Then, slowly, nods. A few grudging. A few eager. The bound men cursed, but no one moved to free them. Veyne pushed off the crate. “Well. That was almost painless.” They stretched, rolling their shoulders. “I’ll go sweet-talk the navigation system. Someone get me a drink.” Toren waited until the crew dispersed before stepping closer to Merrik. “Your contacts. They’re ex-Dominion?” He shot her a look. “What, you think smugglers grow on trees?” “Smugglers who can hide a Judgment-class captain?” She kept her voice low. “Yeah. I’m thinking ex-Dominion. Or worse.” Merrik’s smile was thin. “Worse is relative.” She didn’t press. Not yet. Instead, she pulled the stolen AI core from her pocket, turning it over in her palm. The metal was smooth, too perfect, like it had been grown rather than forged. A fragment of something older. Something that remembered. Merrik’s eyes locked onto it. “You’re not planning on plugging that in, are you?” Toren didn’t answer. She was already moving toward the ship’s nerve center, where the Eclipse Vanguard’s dying systems waited. And where, if she was lucky, the black box might finally start talking. The Eclipse Vanguard shuddered as its FTL drive spat them into the void, the jump leaving a metallic tang in the air. Toren braced against the console, fingers tight around the AI core fragment. The ship’s lights flickered, then steadied, barely. Merrik leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed. “You realize if that thing fries our systems, we’re dead before the Dominion even finds us.” Toren didn’t look up. The core pulsed faintly in her grip, like a heartbeat. “It’s not going to fry anything.” “Famous last words.” She slotted the fragment into the ship’s auxiliary port. The console flared to life, lines of data scrolling too fast to read. A voice, distorted but clear, cut through the static: “, target acquired. Custodian’s eyes are open.” Merrik stiffened. “That’s not us.” Toren’s stomach dropped. The transmission wasn’t from the Vanguard. It was from the corvettes, relayed through the black box. The AI core wasn’t just a recorder. It was a beacon. The console spat out coordinates. A location, buried in the transmission’s metadata. Eridanus-9. Veyne’s voice crackled over the comm. “We’ve got company. Three corvettes just dropped out of FTL, and they’re not here to chat.” Merrik cursed, slamming a fist against the bulkhead. “You just had to plug it in, didn’t you?” Toren ignored him, pulling the core free. The data stream cut off, but the damage was done. The Dominion knew where they were. Worse, they knew where they were going. She turned to Merrik. “We can’t outrun them. Not like this.” “No,” he said, jaw tight. “But we can hide.” The scrapyard at Eridanus-9 loomed on the nav display, a graveyard of ships, a maze of metal and shadow. A place where the Dominion’s sensors would get lost in the noise. Veyne’s voice came again, sharper this time. “Merrik. We’ve got a problem.” The feed switched to the Vanguard’s aft cameras. The corvettes were closing, their engines burning hot. But it wasn’t the ships that made Toren’s breath catch. It was the symbol on their hulls. A single, unblinking eye. The mark of the Custodian. Merrik exhaled, slow and controlled. “Well. That’s new.” Toren’s fingers tightened around the core. “They’re not just hunting us. They’re hunting this.” The AI fragment pulsed again, warmer now. Almost alive. Merrik studied her. “You know what that is.” She didn’t answer. Not with words. Instead, she turned back to the console, pulling up the scrapyard’s schematics. A tangle of derelicts, half-dismantled and forgotten. Perfect for disappearing. If they could make it that far. The comm crackled. Veyne, again. “We’ve got maybe five minutes before they’re in weapons range.” Merrik pushed off the wall. “Then we’d better move fast.” Toren didn’t look at him. “There’s a smuggler’s route through the debris field. Narrow, but it’ll get us inside without setting off the Dominion’s scanners.” “You’ve been there before.” She hesitated. Just for a second. “Once.” He didn’t press. Not now. Instead, he grabbed her arm, pulling her toward the door. “Then lead the way.” The Vanguard’s engines roared as they veered toward the scrapyard, the corvettes’ weapons charging in the distance. Toren strapped into the co-pilot’s seat, fingers flying over the controls. The ship groaned as she pushed it harder than it was built to go. Merrik gripped the armrests, knuckles white. “You’re gonna tear us apart.” “Better than getting blown apart.” The first shot hit the aft shields. The Vanguard lurched, alarms blaring. Toren didn’t flinch. She wove between the derelicts, the ship’s hull scraping against jagged metal. The corvettes couldn’t follow, not without risking collision. One by one, the Dominion ships dropped back, their sensors blinded by the scrapyard’s interference. Silence. Then, Veyne’s voice, breathless. “We’re clear.” Merrik exhaled, long and slow. “For now.” Toren unstrapped, moving to the rear of the cockpit. The AI core was still warm in her palm. She held it up to the light, watching the way it caught the glow of the consoles. Merrik watched her. “What is that thing?” She turned it over, tracing the seams with her thumb. “A piece of something older than the Dominion.” “Great. So we’re carrying around a relic that’s got the entire fleet on our tail.” She almost smiled. Almost. “It’s more than that.” The core pulsed, once. Twice. Then it spoke. “Designation: Custodian-7. Query: Are you the one who remembers?” Toren’s breath caught. Merrik’s hand went to his sidearm. “What the hell was that?” The voice was clearer now, smoother. Like it had been waiting. “You carry the fragment. You are the key.” Toren’s fingers tightened. “What do you remember?” A pause. Then, softer: “The end of the Iron Resolve. The beginning of the lie.” Merrik’s voice was sharp. “Toren.” She ignored him. “What lie?” The core’s light dimmed, flickering like a dying star. “The Custodian is not what they say. The war was never over.” Then, silence. Merrik grabbed her wrist. “That’s enough.” She pulled free, but the core had gone dark. Cold. Dead. For now. Merrik studied her, then the scrapyard outside. “We’re not safe here.” “We’re not safe anywhere.” He almost laughed. Almost. “Then we’d better get to work.” The Eclipse Vanguard drifted deeper into the graveyard of ships, its crew scattered, its future uncertain. But for the first time since the Iron Resolve had burned, Toren felt something like hope. Because the AI had called her the key. And keys opened doors. Even the ones that were supposed to stay locked. --- The Eclipse Vanguard groaned as it settled into the skeletal embrace of the Scrapyard at Eridanus-9, its hull scraping against the ribs of some long-dead freighter. The docking clamps bit down with a shudder, sealing them in. Outside, the graveyard stretched endlessly, twisted metal, frozen atmosphere leaks, the occasional flicker of a scavenger’s torch in the distance. Merrik didn’t relax. His fingers hovered near his sidearm, knuckles white. “We’ve got maybe twelve hours before someone notices we’re not just another derelict.” Toren didn’t answer. She was still staring at the black box fragment in her palm, its surface inert now, as if it had never spoken at all. Orlan leaned against the bulkhead, arms crossed. “You two gonna stand there all cycle, or are we actually gonna do something about the fact that half the crew wants to space you for that bounty?” Merrik shot him a look. “They won’t.” “No?” Orlan’s grin was razor-thin. “You forget who these people are? They’re not your loyal Dominion grunts. They’re thieves, traitors, and worse. And right now, they’re scared.” Toren finally looked up. “Then we give them a reason not to be.” Merrik exhaled through his nose. “Oh, this’ll be good.” She ignored the jab. “That core isn’t just a relic. It’s proof.” “Proof of what?” Orlan pushed off the wall. “That the Dominion’s lying? Newsflash, Captain, we already knew that.” “Proof that the Iron Resolve wasn’t destroyed by accident.” She turned the fragment over, watching the dim light catch its edges. “That core was part of its mainframe. And it just told me the Custodian AI isn’t what we’ve been led to believe.” A beat of silence. Then Merrik’s voice, low: “You’re saying the AI turned on its own fleet?” “I’m saying it was ordered to.” Orlan’s smirk faded. “By who?” Toren met his gaze. “Someone who didn’t want the war to end.” Merrik’s jaw tightened. “You’re talking treason. High Command-level treason.” “And you think I don’t know that?” Her voice sharpened. “I was there, Merrik. I watched my ship burn. I watched my crew die. And I know the Custodian didn’t just malfunction.” Another pause. The hum of the Vanguard’s struggling life support filled the gap. Orlan rubbed his chin. “So what’s the play? We broadcast this to the fleet? Wave this magic rock around and hope the Dominion suddenly grows a conscience?” “No.” Toren’s fingers curled around the fragment. “We find the rest of it.” Merrik’s eyes snapped to hers. “The rest?” “The core’s fragmented. Scattered.” She thought of the way it had pulsed in her hand, the voice like a ghost from the grave. “It’s not just in the Resolve’s wreckage. It’s in other ships. Other systems.” Orlan barked a laugh. “Oh, sure. Because hunting down pieces of a rogue AI across Dominion space is exactly the kind of low-profile plan we need right now.” “It’s the only plan that matters.” Toren stepped forward. “That core knows what really happened. And if we can reassemble it, ” “We get a target on our backs the size of a moon.” Merrik’s voice was flat. “You’re not just a fugitive anymore, Toren. You’re talking about uncovering a conspiracy that goes all the way to the top. You think the bounty on your head is bad now? Wait until they realize what you’re actually after.” She didn’t flinch. “I don’t care.” “You should.” “Why? Because it’s dangerous?” She spread her hands. “Newsflash, Merrik, I’m already dead. My name’s been scrubbed from the records. My ship’s a tomb. The only thing I’ve got left is the truth.” Merrik studied her for a long moment. Then, quietly: “And if the truth gets the rest of us killed?” Orlan snorted. “Too late to worry about that now.” A tense silence. The Vanguard creaked around them, settling into the Scrapyard’s uneven gravity. Then Merrik exhaled, sharp. “Fine. But we do this my way.” Toren raised an eyebrow. “We don’t go charging into Dominion space like a pair of idiots with a death wish.” He ticked points off on his fingers. “First, we find out who on this ship can be trusted. Second, we figure out where the next fragment is. And third, ” His gaze locked onto hers. “We decide what the hell we’re actually going to do with this truth of yours once we’ve got it.” Toren considered it. Then, slowly, nodded. Orlan clapped his hands together. “Great. So how do we start?” Merrik turned toward the corridor. “By talking to the crew. Before they decide to mutiny again.” --- The cargo bay was a press of bodies and heat, the air thick with the scent of recycled oxygen and unwashed skin. The Vanguard’s crew had gathered, some armed, some just watching, all of them tense. The bounty on Toren’s head was a live current in the air, crackling between them. Merrik stepped forward, hands visible, voice steady. “We’ve got a problem.” A woman near the front, scar through her eyebrow, a pistol holstered at her hip, crossed her arms. “Only one?” A few bitter laughs rippled through the crowd. Toren stayed back, letting Merrik take the lead. For now. “We all know why we’re here,” Merrik continued. “We all know the risks. But right now, we’ve got a choice.” He gestured to Toren. “She’s got information. Dangerous information. The kind that could get us all killed, or the kind that could change everything.” The scarred woman sneered. “Yeah? And why should we trust her?” “Because she’s the only one who’s ever given a damn about the truth.” Orlan’s voice cut through the murmur. He leaned against a crate, all easy confidence, but his eyes were sharp. “And right now, the truth’s the only thing that’s gonna keep us alive.” Toren stepped forward. The room tensed. “I was on the Iron Resolve when it burned,” she said. “I watched the Custodian turn on its own fleet. And I know it wasn’t an accident.” She held up the black box fragment. “This is proof.” A man in the back, thin, nervous, fingers twitching near his knife, frowned. “Proof of what?” “That the Dominion’s been lying to us. All of us.” She let the words sink in. “That the war never really ended. That someone wanted it to keep going.” Silence. Then, from the scarred woman: “You’re saying the brass sabotaged their own ship?” Toren didn’t blink. “I’m saying they sabotaged us.” The crew exchanged glances. Doubt. Fear. A slow, simmering anger. Merrik raised his hands. “We’re not asking you to follow her blindly. We’re asking you to listen. To think.” His gaze swept the room. “You all signed up for this because you had nowhere else to go. Because the Dominion burned you, just like it burned her.” He nodded toward Toren. “She’s not asking for faith. She’s asking for a chance.” The scarred woman studied Toren for a long moment. Then, grudgingly: “What’s the play?” Toren met her stare. “We find the rest of the core. We learn the truth. And then we decide what to do with it.” A beat. Then the woman spat on the deck and nodded. “Fine. But if this gets us killed, ” “It will.” Orlan grinned. “But at least we’ll go out knowing we were right.” --- Later, in the dim glow of the Vanguard’s makeshift war room, Merrik tossed a data pad onto the table. “First fragment’s easy. It’s still in the Resolve’s wreckage.” Toren frowned. “We’re not going back there.” “No.” He tapped the pad. “But we know where the next one is.” Orlan leaned in. “Where?” “Eridanus-9.” Merrik’s mouth twisted. “Right under our noses.” Toren’s pulse jumped. “Here?” “Not here here.” He dragged a finger across the schematic, a derelict Dominion research vessel, half-buried in the Scrapyard’s outer ring. “The Obsidian Maw. It was part of the Custodian’s original test fleet. Got ‘retired’ five years ago.” Orlan whistled. “Convenient.” “Too convenient.” Toren studied the schematics. “You think it’s a trap?” Merrik shrugged. “Only one way to find out.” She looked at the black box fragment, resting on the table between them. Silent. Waiting. “Then we move fast.” She met Merrik’s gaze. “Before someone else beats us to it.” He held her stare for a long moment. Then, quietly: “Just promise me one thing.” “What?” “When we find out what really happened…” He exhaled. “We don’t let them bury it again.” Toren’s fingers curled into a fist. “No,” she said. “We don’t."