第3章 The Bounty

The nebula was a vast cloud of gas and dust, its colors shifting from deep violet to angry red as the Rust Rabbit plunged into its depths. Gravitational interference rippled through the void, distorting space and time in ways that made Kael's stomach churn. "Orla, are the Coalition vessels still behind us?" "Affirmative," Orla replied. "However, the nebula's interference is masking our signature. They are searching, but they cannot pinpoint our location." Kael exhaled slowly. "Good. How long before they figure it out?" "Approximately two hours. After that, they will deploy sensor drones, and our position will be compromised." "Then we need to move. Where can we go?" "There is a derelict station at the nebula's edge," Orla said. "It was built by a minor trade consortium three centuries ago. It has been abandoned for two hundred years, but its systems are still functional." "Plot a course." The Rust Rabbit slipped through the nebula's swirling clouds, its hull groaning under the gravitational stress. Kael kept his eyes on the sensors, watching for any sign of pursuit. The nebula was beautiful in a terrifying way—vast tendrils of ionized gas stretching across light-years, lit from within by the birth of new stars. And then he saw it. The station was a massive ring, easily five kilometers in diameter, rotating slowly in the void. Its surface was pocked with impact craters, and sections of its outer hull had collapsed, exposing the interior to the vacuum. But the lights were still on—faint, flickering, but present. "Orla, can we dock there?" "Affirmative. The station's docking bay is intact, and its atmospheric systems are functional. It is the safest harbor we will find for light-years." The Rust Rabbit approached the docking bay, its engines whispering as it settled into the landing pad. Kael powered down the systems and sat in the pilot's seat, his mind racing. "We're not safe for long," he said. "The Coalition will find us." "Not if we can find allies," Orla replied. "The station may have survivors. People who have been hiding here for centuries, waiting for the right moment to strike back." Kael looked at her, surprised. "You think there are people here?" "I think," Orla said carefully, "that the Aethelgard Empire was not the only victim of the Coalition's purge. There were many civilizations that were erased, many peoples who were enslaved, many truths that were buried. And some of them may have found refuge here." Kael stood up and grabbed his weapon—a plasma rifle he had salvaged from a derelict warship and modified for maximum power. "Let's go find out." --- They set down in the station's outer docking bay, the Rust Rabbit's landing gear groaning as it locked against the corroded deck. Kael cycled the airlock twice before trusting the atmosphere, then stepped out with his plasma rifle held low but ready. The bay was a cathedral of rust and silence. Fallen gantries leaned against the walls like the ribs of a dead animal. Somewhere overhead, a malfunctioning light strobed in slow, mournful intervals. "Orla, scan for life signs." "Faint signatures. Confined. Nineteen, maybe twenty individuals, held in the lower habitat ring. They have been here a long time, Kael. Generations, by the degradation of their equipment." He moved through the station's gutted corridors, every shadow a potential threat. When he reached the habitat ring, he found them: gaunt figures wrapped in layers of salvaged insulation, eyes wide at the sight of a stranger. A woman stepped forward, her posture more command than fear. "Who are you," she said, "and why does the throne's resonance follow you like a shadow?" Kael lowered his weapon. "I'm Kael Vesper. The throne chose me. I'm looking for anyone who remembers the Aethelgard Empire, because the Coalition is still hunting its heirs." The woman's name was Lira. She had been a child when the purge came, hidden by parents who did not live to see her grow. For three centuries her people had drifted through the station's dead halls, preserving what they could of a civilization the galaxy had been told never existed. "You are not what I expected of an emperor," she said. "I'm not an emperor," Kael answered. "I'm a salvage pilot who found the wrong star. But if you've been waiting for someone to stand against the Coalition, I'm the closest thing you're going to get." Lira studied him, then laughed — a short, surprised sound, almost the first genuine one the station had heard in years. "Then perhaps," she said, "we have been waiting for exactly the wrong kind of person." The docking bay received them with a groan of settling metal. Kael kept the rifle lowered but ready, every sense straining against the silence. The station's interior was a cathedral of abandonment — collapsed gantries, frozen conveyors, the occasional flicker of a light that had outlasted its purpose. "Life signs?" he murmured. "Confined and faint," Orla replied. "A cluster, lower decks. They have been here a long time, Kael. Generations, by the wear on their surroundings." He moved through the corridors with the careful tread of someone who had spent seven years expecting ambush in every shadow. What he found instead, in the habitat ring, was worse than an ambush: people. Gaunt, watchful, wrapped in layers of salvaged insulation, they regarded the stranger with the wariness of those who had learned that hope was the most expensive thing they owned. A woman stepped forward. Not young, not old, with the kind of stillness that comes from having buried everyone she once knew. "You carry the resonance," she said. It was not a question. Kael lowered the weapon completely. "I'm Kael Vesper. The throne chose me. I'm looking for anyone who remembers the Aethelgard, because the Coalition is still hunting what's left of it." The woman's name was Lira. She had been a child when the purge came, hidden by parents who did not live to see her grow. For three centuries her people had drifted through these dead halls, keeping what little of the old songs they could. She looked at him for a long moment, then laughed — a short, surprised sound, almost the first genuine one the station had heard in years.