"I'm patching through to the Meridian now," Naomi's voice came through Jessikah's apartment speakers with unusual urgency.
Jessikah settled at her desk terminal as the display activated, showing Nathan and Korven aboard the Meridian's bridge. Both men looked tense, the weight of discovery hanging over all of them.
"Hey Jessikah," Nathan said immediately, "Naomi filled us in on some of what happened with your father. Just how bad is it?"
"Bad enough," Jessikah replied, her political training keeping her voice steady despite the fear churning in her stomach. "He knows I'm helping people he doesn't want helped. He saw footprints from all of you in my apartment carpet, asked about missing interview recordings, and made it very clear that he's watching me now."
Korven leaned forward in the video feed. "Alright, what's our window?"
"Looks like Gabriel has called an emergency meeting with his senior staff in less than two hours," Naomi interjected. "Security around critical facilities has already been increased, and they're implementing new monitoring protocols. If we're going to act, it has to be now."
"Okay and what are our options?" Nathan asked, his military mind already trying to work through the possibilities.
"We can't steal back all the neural interface technology," Naomi said. "It's been distributed to multiple facilities for analysis and testing. But there's one component that's absolutely critical, the direct neural interface matrix. Without it, they can't actually implement consciousness control. It would set their program back months, maybe longer."
Jessikah felt her mind racing through the implications. The testing lab. It wouldn't be in the standard research facilities where normal projects were conducted. Something this sensitive, this dangerous, would be housed somewhere more secure, more secretive. Her father had always been paranoid about compartmentalizing sensitive operations, keeping the most dangerous projects isolated from routine activities.
It would be in the restricted research section, Level 11, where only senior staff and specially cleared personnel had access. The same level where he'd once shown her the experimental life support systems when she was sixteen, making her promise never to mention what she'd seen. The same level where she'd noticed unusual security measures and restricted access protocols. If they were testing consciousness control technology anywhere, it would be there.
"I know where it is," she said suddenly. "The interface matrix. It has to be in the restricted labs on Level 11. That's where they conduct all the black projects, the ones that can't risk exposure to regular personnel."
"Can you access that area?" Korven asked.
"I'm the commander's daughter," Jessikah said with more confidence than she felt. "I can access anywhere on this ship. The question is whether I can do it without raising alarms."
"Oh! I can help with that," Naomi said. "I can disable security cameras, create false access logs, even generate distractions if necessary. But once you take that interface, they'll know immediately that it's gone. We'll have maybe a few minutes before they lock down the entire ship."
Nathan exchanged glances with Korven. "That means we all leave together, immediately after Jessikah gets the interface. No going back for anything."
"Agreed," Korven said, though something in his voice seemed strained. "We get the interface, we get out, we regroup somewhere safe."
"I'll start making preparations," Jessikah said, standing from her desk. "Naomi, can you guide me through the optimal route?"
"Already mapped," Naomi replied. "But hey… once we do this, there's no going back. Your father will know you've betrayed everything he believes in."
Jessikah thought about Gabriel's words, about her mother's generous heart and how it might be her downfall. "Maybe it's time he learned that some things are more important than family loyalty."
Aboard the Meridian, waiting had turned each of them into a concentrated version of themselves.
Nathan's team had claimed the ship's briefing room, poring over technical manuals and tactical assessments with the focused intensity of people accustomed to military preparation. Riley was checking and rechecking their equipment inventory, while Ilson studied star charts and escape routes with methodical precision.
The Carrion's Prize crew, meanwhile, had spread throughout the ship with the easy confidence of people who'd learned to adapt to new environments quickly. Boomer was in the engine room, making friends with the Meridian's maintenance systems, while Vel had claimed the navigation station and was familiarizing herself with the ship's sensor array.
Slade found himself in the ship's main corridor with Kessler, both of them examining the Meridian's technical specifications with professional interest.
"This is impressive engineering," Kessler said, pulling up system diagrams on a portable display.
"Yeah? What makes it so special?" Slade asked, genuinely curious.
"Well, it's built around a dual-fusion reactor system that can generate nearly twelve thousand terawatts of sustained power. That's insane for a ship this size."
"Why does it need that much power?"
"Because it's designed to operate independently for extended periods in hostile space. The hull is composite armor plating that can withstand direct plasma cannon strikes, and the internal structure uses distributed load-bearing so it won't catastrophically fail even if multiple sections get breached."
Slade whistled appreciatively. "What about all the different configurations? I heard these things were modular."
"Exactly. The Titan Frame bays can be reconfigured for different Frame types, cargo holds can become crew quarters or medical facilities. It can function as anything from reconnaissance to mobile command center."
"And the computer systems?"
"The navigation computer alone has enough processing power to coordinate fleet movements across multiple star systems. The communications array can maintain real-time links across distances that would need relay stations for smaller ships."
"No wonder this thing needs a crew of forty. How the hell are we going to manage operating it with eight people?"
"Very carefully, I mean we brought it here with only four people," Kessler replied with a slight smile. "That and with a lot of help from automated systems. Most of the critical functions are computer-controlled anyway. We're basically just telling the ship what we want it to do and letting it figure out how to do it."
"I'm familiar with the idea but still," Slade said, "seems like we're pushing our luck."
"We've been pushing our luck since we salvaged that technology," Vel said, appearing in the corridor cradling a cup of coffee. "At least they've been pushing it with better equipment and a real coffee machine."
Nearby, Nathan was pacing with the kind of nervous energy that came from being accustomed to action but forced to wait. Riley watched him with growing irritation.
"Would you sit down?" she said finally. "You're making me nervous."
"I just don't like waiting," Nathan replied. "I should be down there helping Jessikah, not sitting here while she takes all the risk."
"She's the only one who can access those labs without raising immediate suspicion," Boomer pointed out from where he'd just returned from the engine room. "Besides, she's got Naomi helping her. Best surveillance system in all of space."
"That's exactly what worries me," Nathan said. "If something goes wrong, if Naomi can't cover for her…"
"Then we deal with it then and adapt," Korven said quietly. "Same as we always do."
But Nathan caught something in Korven's tone, a quality he hadn't heard before. When he looked at the salvage captain, he saw a man who seemed to be carrying a weight he couldn't share.
"Hey man, you alright?" Nathan asked.
"Yeah, I'm fine," Korven replied, though his expression suggested otherwise. "Just thinking about what comes next."
Level 11 of The Hope of Acer felt as though it wasn't meant to be inhabited. The corridors were narrower than the public areas, with additional security doors and monitoring stations at regular intervals. Jessikah moved through them with the confident stride of someone who belonged, but internally she was cataloguing every detail that could go wrong.
"Hey Jess, the second checkpoint is coming up," Naomi's voice whispered through her comm earpiece. "Only one guard, routine patrol. I'm showing you as conducting authorized inspection of research facilities."
The guard was a middle-aged man with graying hair and the kind of patient expression that came from years of standing watch in quiet corridors. When he saw Jessikah approaching, his face lit up with the kind of genuine happiness you'd expect from a family member.
"Jessikah! Mija, what brings you down to our little corner of the ship?"
She recognized him immediately, Carlos Mendez, one of her father's long-term security personnel. He'd been part of Gabriel's inner circle since before the flotilla, back when they were still fighting for Acer's independence from corporate control. She remembered him from her childhood, the big man with gentle hands who'd taught her how to play cards and always had candy in his pockets during the long, boring political meetings her father had dragged her to.
Carlos had been there during the dark years after her mother's death, when Gabriel had thrown himself into his work and left Jessikah largely to raise herself. It had been Carlos who'd made sure she ate regular meals, Carlos who'd helped her with homework when her father was too busy with revolution business to pay attention to his daughter's education. He'd been more of a father figure than Gabriel during those crucial years, and the genuine warmth in his greeting made what she was about to do feel like a betrayal of the worst kind.
"Hola, Tío Carlos," she said, using the affectionate nickname she'd called him since childhood. "Papá asked me to check on the research progress in Lab 11-Delta. You know how he worries about timeline delays."
Carlos's expression grew slightly puzzled. "Lab 11-Delta? Mija, I wasn't told about any inspection today. Usually your father gives us advance notice when family members are visiting the restricted areas."
Jessikah felt her heart start to race, but she forced herself to remain calm. "You know how he is about security, Tío. He probably wanted to test whether his protocols are being followed properly. If you need to call him to confirm…"
She let the suggestion hang in the air, knowing that Carlos would be reluctant to bother Gabriel with what might be a routine security test. Her father had always been paranoid about operational security, and it wouldn't be unlike him to send his daughter on an unannounced inspection to see if his guards were being thorough.
Carlos hesitated for a moment, then shrugged. "You're right, he does like his surprise inspections. And it's not like you're a security risk, eh?" He activated the access panel for Lab 11. "Go ahead, mija. But be careful in there, some of that equipment is more dangerous than it looks."
"Gracias, Tío. I'll be quick."
Lab 11-Delta was a sterile, white-walled space filled with equipment that belonged in a science fiction nightmare rather than a research facility. At the center of the room, mounted on a specialized workstation, was the neural interface matrix. The device looked like it might be an advanced version of standard neural link headsets, but far more sophisticated. Instead of simple fiber-optic cables and basic sensors, this device was a web of quantum processors and consciousness-bridging circuits that seemed to pulse with its own malevolent intelligence.
"That's it," Naomi confirmed through her earpiece. "The direct neural interface. It's similar to the headsets your UNSC friends use with their Titan Frames, but infinitely more advanced. Without that component, they can't establish the consciousness control protocols."
Jessikah approached the workstation carefully, studying the interface for any obvious security measures. It appeared to be connected to the lab's systems through standard data cables, nothing that would prevent its removal.
"Any alarms I should know about?" she whispered.
"I'm monitoring all security feeds," Naomi replied. "The device itself isn't individually protected, they're relying on facility security rather than item-specific safeguards. You should be able to simply disconnect it and take it."
Jessikah reached for the interface, her hands steady despite her racing heart. The device was heavier than it looked, dense with circuitry and components that represented years of research into the darkest applications of human-machine integration. As she disconnected the data cables and lifted it from its mounting, she felt a moment of grim satisfaction. Whatever her father's plans for this technology, she was about to set them back significantly.
"Got it," she said quietly. "How's my exit route?"
"Clear to the… wait." Naomi's voice carried sudden alarm. "Gabriel just entered Level 11. He's moving toward your location with two security guards. Jessikah, you need to leave now."
Jessikah felt ice water flood her veins. "Which direction? And Naomi, how didn't you see him coming?"
"He's coming from the main corridor. Take the service exit, it leads to a maintenance shaft that connects to Level 6." There was a pause. "I think Gabriel might be catching on that you're working with someone who has system access. He's been moving through sections I can't monitor as easily, staying in areas with limited digital surveillance."
Jessikah moved toward the service exit, clutching the neural interface against her chest. Through the lab's small window, she could see corridor lights indicating approaching footsteps. Her father's voice was audible now, speaking to his escorts in tones too low to understand but carrying the unmistakable authority of someone who expected immediate compliance.
"He's at the checkpoint," Naomi reported. "Carlos is explaining that you're conducting an inspection. Gabriel seems… suspicious."
The service exit led to a narrow maintenance corridor that ran parallel to the main laboratory section. Jessikah could hear her father's voice growing louder, questioning Carlos about the unscheduled inspection with the kind of sharp precision that meant he already suspected something was wrong.
"Mierda… I need a distraction," she whispered urgently. "Something big enough to draw his attention away from the labs."
There was a pause that felt like an eternity. Then Naomi's voice came back, carrying a note of grim determination.
"I'm sorry, Captain Korven," she said, speaking to someone else entirely. "This is going to hurt."
The first thing Nathan noticed was Korven's face going pale with resignation rather than surprise.
When the ship's emergency alarms began blaring throughout The Hope of Acer, Korven closed his eyes briefly. Red warning lights flashed everywhere, and automated announcements echoed through the speakers: "UNAUTHORIZED VESSEL DEPARTURE. ALL PERSONNEL REPORT TO EMERGENCY STATIONS. UNAUTHORIZED VESSEL DEPARTURE."
"What's happening?" Riley demanded, moving to the nearest console.
"The Carrion's Prize," Vel whispered, staring at her sensor display. "She's undocking."
"Without us?" Slade's voice cracked. "What the fuck is going on?"
Through their comm system, they could hear Naomi's voice, tense with urgency: "Gabriel was closing in on Jessikah. She needed a distraction big enough to draw him away from the labs. I had to execute the contingency plan."
"Contingency plan?" Boomer's voice was sharp with confusion and growing anger.
Korven stood slowly, his shoulders sagging with the weight of command decisions. "I told Naomi to jettison the Prize if Jessikah was in immediate danger and needed a major distraction."
The silence that followed was deafening.
"You what?" Slade's voice was barely above a whisper.
"You made that decision without asking us?" Vel's professional composure cracked entirely. "That ship is our home!"
"Everything we own is on that vessel!" Boomer shouted, his usual good humor completely gone. "Everything that matters to us!"
Slade was shaking his head, his paranoid nature finding its worst fears confirmed. "You planned to sacrifice our lives, our work, our fucking home, and you didn't think to mention it?"
Nathan watched the Carrion's Prize crew turn their fury on their own captain, seeing the real cost of command decisions written in their faces. Vel was staring at Korven with betrayal in her eyes. Boomer was pacing angrily. Slade looked like he wanted to hit something.
"I had to make a tactical decision," Korven said quietly, his voice carrying years of military experience and command weight. "There was no way we were getting off The Hope of Acer on our own ship. Too much security, too much attention. The moment we tried to leave, they'd have stopped us or blown us up. But if they thought we were already trying to escape..."
"So you decided for all of us?" Vel's voice was ice-cold. "Just like the UNSC used to do?"
The comparison hit Korven like a physical blow. "That's not... that's not the same thing."
"Isn't it?" Slade snapped. "Making decisions about our lives without consulting us? Sacrificing what we care about for what you think is the greater good?"
Korven looked at his crew, seeing the pain and betrayal in their faces. "I was trying to keep us all alive."
"By destroying everything we've worked for," Boomer said bitterly.
The argument was interrupted by Vel's quiet, professional voice: "She's not going to make it."
Everyone turned to look at the navigator, who was studying the sensor readings with forced detachment.
"The Prize is on a direct course toward the flotilla's perimeter defenses," Vel continued, her voice barely steady. "Those guns are designed to stop military vessels. A civilian ship like ours..." She shook her head. "She'll be debris in about four minutes."
The Meridian's bridge fell silent except for the continuing alarms from The Hope of Acer.
"Fifteen years," Slade said quietly, staring at the sensor display. "Fifteen fucking years."
"I know," Korven said, his voice heavy with grief. "I know what she meant to all of us."
"No," Vel said, turning away from the sensor display. "You don't. If you did, you wouldn't have been able to make that call."
Boomer stopped pacing and looked at his captain with something between anger and disappointment. "We trusted you, Reese. We followed you out here because we believed you cared about us, not just the mission."
"I do care—"
"Then you should have told us," Slade interrupted. "You should have given us the choice."
Korven stood there, accepting their anger because he knew they were right. He'd made the same kind of command decision that had driven him from the UNSC, sacrificing the things people cared about for operational necessity.
"You're right," he said finally. "I should have told you. I should have given you the choice. But I couldn't risk any of you trying to talk me out of it."
"Because you knew we'd say no," Vel said.
"Because I knew you'd die for that ship rather than let her go," Korven replied. "And I couldn't watch that happen."
Nathan cleared his throat quietly. "Look, I know this isn't my place, but we need to focus on getting Jessikah out of there. We can work through this once we're safe."
The Carrion's Prize crew looked at him, then at each other. The anger was still there, the betrayal still raw, but Nathan was right. They had to function as a team for a little longer.
"Fine," Slade said, his voice flat. "We finish this. But afterward..." He looked at Korven. "We're done. I'm not following anyone who makes decisions like that."
"Understood," Korven said quietly.
Vel turned back to her sensor station, her movements sharp with suppressed emotion. "Jessikah's moving toward the docking bay. ETA three minutes."
Boomer slammed his hand against a bulkhead, then forced himself to focus. "Engines are ready for immediate departure."
They were professionals. They would finish the mission because lives depended on it. But Nathan could see that whatever trust had held the Carrion's Prize crew together had been shattered, perhaps irreparably.
The cost of their victory was higher than anyone had calculated.
Through her earpiece, Jessikah could hear Gabriel's voice over the alarms, sharp with sudden panic: "What the hell is happening? Which vessel?"
"Sir, it's the civilian salvage ship, the Carrion's Prize," came a guard's reply. "She's undocked without authorization and is attempting to leave the flotilla."
"Lock down all docking bays immediately! Activate pursuit protocols!"
But Gabriel's voice was already growing more distant as he moved away from the laboratories toward the emergency command center. Jessikah used the distraction to reach the maintenance shaft and begin her ascent to Level 6, the neural interface secured in her jacket.
"Naomi," she whispered as she climbed, "what did you just do?"
"I undocked the Carrion's Prize and set it on an automated departure course," Naomi replied, her voice carrying what sounded like genuine regret. "It's buying you the time you need to reach the Meridian, but…"
"But what?"
Naomi was silent.
Jessikah reached Level 6 and began making her way toward the docking bays, moving through corridors that were now filled with personnel responding to the emergency. In the chaos of an unauthorized departure, one more person moving quickly through the ship would attract no attention.
"The Meridian is prepped for immediate departure," Naomi continued. "As soon as you're aboard, we leave. But Jess… the Carrion's Prize is on a collision course with the flotilla's perimeter defenses. I had to make it look like a genuine escape attempt, which means…"
The implication hung in the air as Jessikah ran through the corridors toward the docking bay where Nathan's team waited. Behind her, somewhere in the maze of The Hope of Acer's corridors, her father was coordinating a response to what he believed was an escape attempt by the salvage crew.
He had no idea that the real escape was happening right under his nose, and that his daughter was carrying away the key component of his most dangerous project.
But the cost of that deception was the destruction of the ship that had been home to four people who'd risked everything to do the right thing. As Jessikah reached the docking bay and saw the Meridian's boarding ramp extending to receive her, she realized that sometimes victory came with prices that couldn't be calculated in advance.
The neural interface felt heavier in her hands as she ran toward freedom, carrying with it the weight of sacrifice and the terrible mathematics of war.