"Engines online," Riley called out from the pilot's seat, her hands dancing across the Meridian's controls with practiced efficiency.
"Navigation confirmed," Ilson added, his voice tight with concentration. "Course plotted for minimum sensor exposure."
"Life support nominal," Kessler reported from her station. "All compartments pressurized and ready."
Nathan gripped the command chair's armrests as the Meridian began to pull away from the Hope of Acer's docking bay. Around him, his mixed crew worked with professional focus, but the tension was thick enough to cut. The Carrion's Prize crew stood clustered near the rear of the bridge, watching their temporary refuge disappear behind them.
"They're acquiring target locks," Vel said suddenly, her eyes on the sensor display. "Multiple ships. They're not letting us just walk away."
Nathan felt his stomach drop. "How many?"
"Six... no, eight ships turning to intercept. Santos isn't taking any chances."
Korven stepped forward, his weathered face grim. "We need to give them something else to worry about."
"I can still access the Prize's systems remotely from here," Naomi's voice came through the ship's speakers. "The connection's weak, but I can—"
"Do it," Korven said before she could finish. His voice carried the weight of a man making an impossible choice.
Through the viewports, they watched as the Carrion's Prize suddenly came alive. Her engines flared, and she fired a wild shot across the bow of the nearest Liberation Front vessel.
The response was immediate and overwhelming. Eight ships opened fire on the Carrion's Prize simultaneously, their combined firepower turning the salvage vessel into expanding debris in seconds.
Vel's breath caught in her throat. Boomer closed his eyes and turned away from the viewport. Slade stood perfectly still, watching the pieces of their ship tumble through space like fallen stars.
"She's gone," Korven said quietly, his voice barely audible above the hum of the Meridian's engines.
For a moment, nobody moved. Nobody spoke. They all just stared at the debris field that had, seconds before, been home.
"Signal contacts are moving to investigate the debris field," Riley reported, her voice carefully professional. "We're clear for now."
Naomi felt the last tendrils of her connection to the Carrion's Prize snap as the ship died, but the loss was immediately overwhelmed by something else entirely: power.
The Meridian's systems opened before her like a vast digital landscape. Where the Prize had been cramped corridors and jury-rigged connections, this was a cathedral of information. Military-grade processors hummed with capability she'd only dreamed of. Sensor arrays that could peer across light-years. Communication systems that could slice through interference like a blade.
And the engines, she gasped as she touched their control systems. These weren't just engines; they were miracles of engineering that bent space around them. With the right adjustments, they could travel virtually undetected, sliding between sensor sweeps like a ghost.
The defensive systems were even more impressive. Adaptive stealth plating that could mimic the background radiation signature of empty space. Countermeasure suites that could confuse targeting systems and scatter sensor pings. She could make them invisible.
For the first time since her transformation, Naomi felt truly free. Not trapped in dying systems or hiding in the corners of someone else's ship. This was power she could use. Power she could—
"Naomi," Slade's voice cut through her digital euphoria, flat and empty. "Are we safe now?"
She reluctantly pulled her consciousness back to the bridge speakers. "Yes. We're clear of their sensor range, and I can keep us hidden. We're safe."
Slade turned slowly to face Korven, his movements deliberate and controlled in a way that made Nathan's combat instincts flare.
"Fifteen years," Slade said quietly.
Korven met his engineer's gaze steadily. "Owen, I—"
Slade's fist connected with Korven's jaw before he could finish the sentence.
The older man went down hard, sprawling across the deck plates. Nathan started forward, but Vel caught his arm, shaking her head grimly. Boomer folded his arms and watched with cold satisfaction.
Slade stood over Korven, his whole body shaking with rage. "Fifteen years," he snarled. "Fifteen fucking years I kept that ship running. She was everything I had left, and you just—" His voice broke.
Korven didn't try to get up. He didn't defend himself when Slade dropped onto him, fists flying. Blood ran from his nose, his lip split, and still he just lay there and took it.
"Stop it!" Jessikah stepped forward, her voice cracking with emotion. She'd been silent since boarding the Meridian, clutching the neural interface against her chest like a talisman. Now the weight of what her rescue had cost seemed to hit her all at once. "Please, stop! This is because of me! I should have been stronger, should have found another way—"
Slade shrugged her off without looking away from Korven. He landed one more vicious punch before standing up, breathing hard. He looked down at Korven's battered face, then around at the assembled crew.
"And you all just followed him," he said, his voice hollow with loss. "Right into this mess." He wiped blood from his knuckles and walked toward the bridge's exit. "Fifteen fucking years we were a family."
Naomi watched through the ship's internal cameras as Slade made his way to an empty compartment and closed the door behind him. Her new sensors even picked up the heat signature of tears on his face.
The bridge fell silent except for Korven's labored breathing. After a long moment, Riley and Ilson moved to help him to his feet.
"Medical bay," Naomi said softly through the speakers. "I'll guide you there."
The world swam in and out of focus as they half-carried him through the ship's corridors. Korven's right eye was already swelling shut, and he could taste blood every time he swallowed. His ribs ached where Slade's knees had found their mark.
The medical bay was more advanced than anything they'd had on the Prize. Robot arms extended from the examination table as they laid him down, scanning his injuries with cool efficiency. A needle found his arm, and blessed numbness began to spread through his system.
"Mild concussion," the medical system announced in a calm female voice. "Facial contusions, possible fracture of the left orbital bone. Three cracked ribs. Administering pain medication and beginning treatment."
The drugs pulled him under, and in that grey space between consciousness and sleep, memories rose like ghosts.
Fifteen years ago, Naval Station Crestfall...
"Korven, Reese Michael. Service number 8849-Delta-Omega." He stood at attention in front of the discharge board, his dress uniform pressed and spotless despite everything that had happened.
"You understand the charges, Lieutenant Korven?" The reviewing officer's voice was tired, bored even.
"Yes, sir. Insubordination and failure to follow lawful orders during combat operations."
"You were serving as logistics officer aboard the UNSC Resolute during the Kepler evacuation. Your commanding officer ordered you to prioritize corporate personnel and equipment over civilian evacuees. You refused that order."
Korven kept his eyes forward. "He ordered us to abandon three thousand civilians to save corporate executives and their equipment, sir. I couldn't allow that to happen."
"The reviewing board has determined that while your actions may have prevented civilian casualties, you violated the chain of command during combat operations. You're hereby discharged under Other Than Honorable conditions. You will forfeit all benefits and veteran's preferences."
The gavel came down like thunder.
Three hours later, Korven sat in a dive bar two blocks from the station, staring at the bottom of his fourth beer. His service record, his pension, his whole future—gone. All because he couldn't watch innocent people die for corporate profit margins.
"You look like a man who needs a job."
Korven looked up to find a thin, wiry man with sharp eyes and grease under his fingernails sliding into the opposite booth. The stranger wore coveralls marked with the logo of an independent salvage operation.
"Owen Slade," the man said, extending a calloused hand. "I own a little salvage ship called the Carrion's Prize. Heard what happened at your board hearing."
"Word travels fast."
"Faster when you do the right thing for the wrong reasons." Slade signaled the bartender for two more beers. "UNSC's loss is my gain, if you're interested."
"I don't know anything about salvage."
"But you know about loyalty. About standing up when things get hard." Slade leaned forward. "I need a first mate who won't fold when the going gets tough. Someone who'll make the hard choices."
Korven studied the man's face. There was something in Slade's eyes, a weariness that spoke of his own hard choices, his own sacrifices.
"What's the pay?"
"Shit. The hours are worse. But it's honest work, and nobody tells you to abandon civilians for corporate profits." Slade raised his beer. "I've had the Prize for eight years now. She's a good ship, but she needs a crew that understands what matters."
For the first time in days, Korven smiled. "When do we ship out?"
Ten years ago, Epsilon Station...
The Carrion's Prize creaked and groaned as they docked, her aging hull protesting the maneuver. Korven had just finished securing the salvage when Slade called him to the airlock.
"Got someone I want you to meet," Slade said.
A young woman waited in the docking bay, maybe twenty-five, with the kind of refined bearing that spoke of expensive education and comfortable living. She looked completely out of place among the grease stains and industrial noise.
"This is Vel," Slade said. "Velasco Chen. She's looking for work."
"I can contribute to operational costs," she said quickly, producing a credit chip. "And I have navigation training. But I'm hoping you might be able to take on some salvage work in the Kepler-442b system."
Korven looked her over, expensive clothes, soft hands, nervous energy. "You running from something?"
"Someone," she corrected. "My parents."
"Family dispute?"
Her laugh was bitter. "You could say that. They work for the Colonial Administration Bureau. Legal department. They spent the last six months crafting legislation to strip mining rights from independent operators." Her voice hardened. "Including operations in the Kepler-442b asteroid belt."
"That's rough country," Korven said. "Lot of good people trying to make an honest living out there."
"I know," Vel said quietly. "I'm hoping to help some of them salvage what they can before the corporate takeover becomes official. If you're willing to take the work."
Korven studied her for a long moment, then looked at Slade. The older man shrugged.
"She checks out," Slade said. "And the Kepler run could be profitable."
"All right," Korven said finally. "But you pull your weight. This isn't a passenger cruise."
"I wouldn't expect it to be."
Eight years ago, Kepler-442b asteroid belt...
The refugee transport was a beaten-up hauler that had seen better decades, but it was the only ship willing to carry the displaced miners away from their former claims. The corporate lawyers had been thorough and completely legal in their destruction of an entire way of life.
"I need to see him," Vel said as they docked with the transport. Her voice was tight with an emotion Korven couldn't quite place. "Dimitri Petrov. He's... someone I tried to help."
"Family?" Slade asked.
"Someone who lost everything because of my family."
They made their way through the transport's cramped corridors, past families carrying what few possessions they could manage. Children clung to parents who looked like they'd lost everything that mattered. The air was thick with despair and the smell of too many people in too small a space, the air recyclers working overtime to keep up with the demand.
They found Dimitri Petrov in the cargo hold, sitting alone on a crate that probably contained everything he owned. He was stocky, with calloused hands and eyes that held too much anger for someone who couldn't have been much older than Vel.
"Dimitri?" Vel's voice was barely above a whisper.
He looked up, and Korven watched his expression cycle through surprise, recognition, and something that might have been hope.
"Velasco Chen," he said slowly, standing. "I remember you. From the hearings."
"I'm so sorry," Vel said, tears already starting. "About your family's claim. About what my parents did. I tried to fight it, but—"
"You were the only one who treated us like people," Dimitri interrupted, and to Korven's surprise, he pulled Vel into a fierce hug. "My babushka, she told me to remember your name. Said you were different from the others."
"I brought something for you," Vel said when they separated. She handed him a small container with shaking hands. "Soil from your family's original claim. I saved it before the corporate surveyors arrived."
Dimitri opened the container with reverent care and breathed in the scent. For a moment, his anger melted away, replaced by something that looked like grief.
"The old homestead," he said quietly. "Great-grandfather cleared that land by hand. Built the first hab-dome himself." He looked up at Vel. "Three generations of Petrovs worked that claim. And they took it with a piece of paper."
"What will you do now?" Vel asked.
Dimitri's expression hardened again. "Find work, I guess. Someone told me there might be mining jobs in the outer systems. Lot of big companies looking for experienced miners."
"Working for the same corporate types who stole your land?" Slade asked.
"You got a better idea?"
Korven stepped forward. "Actually, we might. We do salvage work. Independent operation. We could use someone with mining experience, someone who knows how to work with volatile materials."
"Salvage work?"
"We help people who need help," Korven said. "Recover what's lost, sometimes from places the big companies can't or won't go. Pay's not great, but it's honest work."
Dimitri looked around the cargo hold at his fellow refugees, then back at Korven. "What's the catch?"
"No catch. Just hard work and probably more danger than you're used to. But nobody tells you to abandon what's right for corporate profits."
"And," Vel added with a slight smile that was still shaky with tears, "you'd probably get to blow things up when the situation calls for it."
For the first time since they'd found him, Dimitri smiled. It transformed his face, chasing away some of the anger and revealing the person he'd been before the corporate machines ground him down.
"I do like making things go boom," he admitted. "Always did, even as a kid. Used to drive my parents crazy with my chemistry experiments."
"Lost the mining equipment when they took the claim?" Slade asked.
"Lost everything. Tools, machines, the whole operation." Dimitri's voice grew bitter again. "But I know explosives. How to make them, how to use them safely, how to clear rock without bringing down the whole tunnel."
"Could be useful in salvage work," Korven said.
"You serious about this?" Dimitri asked, looking between the three of them. "You really want me on your crew?"
"We want someone who understands what it's like to lose everything to people with more lawyers than conscience," Korven replied. "Someone who won't fold when things get complicated."
Dimitri was quiet for a long moment, considering. Around them, the refugee transport hummed with the sound of displacement and loss. Finally, he nodded.
"All right," he said. "But I go by Boomer now. Dimitri Petrov died when they took our land. And if I'm joining your crew, I want to know I'm not the only one who's lost something to the corporate machine."
Slade smiled grimly. "Kid, we've all lost something. That's why we're here."
That's when Korven knew they'd found their family. All of them, lost in different ways, finding a place where they belonged.
The memories faded as the medical system's anesthesia pulled him deeper under. His last conscious thought was of Slade's broken expression as their ship died in fire and vacuum.
Fifteen years we were family, Korven thought as darkness claimed him. All gone.