Arthur paces, boots thudding in a slow rhythm against the deck. The ship’s low hum vibrates beneath every step.

  Anna watches him.

  “What is it?”

  Arthur stops. Looks her in the eyes.

  “The Tribunal.”

  The words land like a weight.

  Anna exhales, sinking back.

  “How are we supposed to get them from there? They have an entire regiment.”

  She buries her face in her hands.

  Arthur steps closer, rests his hands gently on her shoulders.

  “—and a warship.”

  She shakes her head.

  “What are we going to do?”

  “We go and get them.” He smiles — tired, but certain. “But we need a few things first.”

  —

  The Anubis breaks from the gatechain, blue lightning gripping the hull as it slides toward a pale station drifting in the dark.

  It glides into the docking ring. Hydraulic clamps engage with a metallic chew.

  The hatch opens.

  Ten armed men wait.

  Arthur steps forward with calm purpose. Anna stays close.

  Not surprised by the welcoming party, Arthur says,

  “I’m here to see Rygar Corbin.”

  From the back of the chamber, a tall, thin man approaches — well dressed, wide-brimmed hat, rings and earrings gleaming. He walks with a cane like it’s more prop than necessity.

  “I’m Rygar,” he says. “Do I know you?”

  Anna answers before Arthur can.

  “No.”

  Rygar’s eyes slide to her — cold.

  “I wasn’t speaking to you, woman.”

  He turns back to Arthur.

  “Do I know you?”

  Arthur stiffens — subtle but unmistakable. His voice drops half a register.

  “Don’t speak to her. Speak to me.”

  The guards shift uneasily.

  The narrative has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

  Arthur takes a step forward.

  “Not personally,” he says evenly. “I knew your grandfather.”

  Rygar scoffs.

  “Wallace Corbin’s been dead thirty years.”

  His men tighten their grips.

  “Wallace Corbin,” Arthur says. “A great man. A leader.”

  Rygar’s expression cracks — just for a moment — as the name registers. He looks aside, remembering something private.

  Then he turns back.

  “What is it I can help you with?”

  Arthur smiles faintly.

  “Your grandfather said if I ever needed something, I could ask the Corbins.”

  Rygar studies him more closely.

  “Arthur Hammond… would be your name? Eh?”

  “That’s right.”

  Arthur nods. “I saved your grandfather’s life.”

  A beat.

  “Twice, actually.”

  Rygar laughs — loud, genuine.

  “To hear him tell it, it was a million times.”

  “He and my father said if you ever showed up, I must help.

  That I must tell my son to do the same.”

  Arthur softens.

  “He believed in honor. Is Tayban still alive?”

  Rygar’s shoulders fall.

  “No. Father died last year.”

  Arthur nods slowly.

  “He was a good kid. Your dad.”

  Rygar smiles at the memory.

  “So… how can I help the man who cannot die?”

  His gaze shifts to Anna — curious now, not dismissive.

  “And who is this woman?”

  Arthur’s tone goes cold.

  “The woman is my sister.”

  He steps closer.

  “And we need ammo.”

  Anna adds, unfazed,

  “Lots of ammo.”

  “That,” Rygar says, grinning, “I can do. For you, I charge only cost.”

  Arthur offers a genuine, weary smile.

  “Thank you, Rygar.”

  “No,” Rygar replies. “Thank you, Arthur Hammond. I wouldn’t be here without you.”

  He taps his cane lightly.

  “But our debt is paid.”

  Arthur nods — accepting the terms.

  —

  Hours pass.

  The Anubis is fully armed now. The gatechain hums around the hull — blue fire licking the metal like a living thing.

  Anna paces, agitated.

  Arthur talks through the plan, hands moving, his voice calm even though the situation is anything but.

  Anna stops mid-stride.

  Unsure. Afraid. Angry at herself for being afraid.

  “The plan isn’t… that bad?” she says, dripping sarcasm.

  Arthur chuckles softly.

  “I know it’s bad. It’s lunacy — but it works.”

  Anna crosses her arms.

  “I know we’re hard to kill, but you’re a madman. I’m glad Thomas doesn’t come up with plans like this.”

  Arthur smiles.

  “You know we’re the same person, right?”

  He pauses, amused.

  “He has these same ideas — he just lets me say them out loud.”

  The joke lands — but Anna’s expression holds something deeper: fear, love, and trust tangled together.

  She exhales.

  “Let’s go get our family.”

  Arthur nods, steady.

  “We will.”

  ---

  Thomas slumps to the floor, blood seeping from his nose and ears.

  Doctors move like ghosts beyond the glass — silent, efficient, indifferent.

  The guard by the control switch powers the weapon down.

  “You enjoying the suffering?”

  Thomas spits a mouthful of blood, barely able to form the words.

  “It’s not a party until someone gets neural damage.”

  The guard slams the switch again.

  VVVNNNNNNT!

  Pain tears through Thomas. His body convulses, slamming him back to his knees.

  Through gritted teeth, he groans, “There we go.”

  The guard releases the button, shaking his head.

  “Hit the button again,” Thomas demands.

  The guard glances toward Sarah.

  “Sarah — tell your husband if he keeps this up, I’ll leave it on.”

  Thomas’s eyes widen, delighted through the agony.

  “Now that sounds like a blast.”

  “Stop, Arthur. Just stop,” Sarah pleads across the corridor. “There’s no reason for all the extra pain.”

  She meets his eyes — steady, pained, knowing.

  The plan they discussed feels cruel.

  But it’s the only chance.

  If an opportunity to break free comes, it will come through the pain of the sonic weapon.

  —

  Back inside chainspace, the Anubis glides from gate to gate.

  Energy builds — and the ship bursts free of the gatechain, bathed in blue fire and electrical arcing.

  Hull plates hum under the strain.

  Arthur sits at the comm station, fingers steady over the keys.

  He presses transmit.

  “Gero Shipyard, come in.”

  “This is Gero Shipyard. How can we help you today?”

  “I’m looking to buy two small ships. Shuttles, really.”

  “I think we can handle that. Do they need to be gate-capable?”

  “Yeah,” Arthur says. “Just in case.”

  “It’s worth the extra credits for the peace of mind. Good choice.”

  Specs flicker onto Arthur’s display.

  “Check and see if these meet your needs.”

  Arthur scrolls through the data, studying each line.

  “Yeah. These will do fine.”

  “One other thing.”

  Arthur sends a schematic across the link.

  A pause — then:

  “Oh… beautiful. That’s an old model. Really old. But the lines are fantastic.”

  “Can you build it?” Arthur asks.

  “Can we build it?” the voice repeats, amused. “Of course we can.”

  The confidence wavers — just a little.

  “The hardest parts will be the woodwork and the gates.”

  “When will it be ready for pickup?”

  Keyboard clicks carry faintly over the line. Pages shift.

  “We’re at a two-month wait time. So let’s say three, for good measure.”

  “Works for me,” Arthur replies. “Where’s the invoice?”

  “It’s on its way.”

  Arthur presses his thumb to the scanner, keys a code.

  A transaction confirms with a soft chime.

  “Payment up front,” the shipyard worker says, pleased. “Fantastic. If you open your cargo bay, we’ll autopilot the shuttles onboard.”

  “Thanks, Gero.”

  “Pleasure is ours. If you need anything else, don’t hesitate.”

  The comm clicks off.

  Moments later, the new shuttles slide smoothly into the cargo bay.

  The Anubis slips back into the gatechain — blue flame washing across the hull, the gate-hum carrying them away.

  Anna steps onto the deck, sliding a utility pack into place.

  “One more stop and we’re ready.”

  Arthur smiles.

  “We just need some gear.”

  “Tactical vests?” Anna asks.

  Arthur laughs faintly — mostly to hide the storm tightening in his chest.

  “Tactical spacesuits, a parachute, and a few other small items.”

  A beat.

  “You know… normal stuff.”

  Anna smiles — small, tired, but pleased.

  “Yeah. Just the essentials.”

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