Datumcore: Echoes of the Null Vector

– Med-bay secure. Station personnel unlikely to board, – Nomad-7 stated.

Kaelen lifted his gauzed hand.

– I’ll recalibrate synergy nodes in navigation.

He exited, boots tapping a syncopated pattern down corridor.

The Hollow remained at the doorway, sentinel still as carved obsidian.

Zyra tilted her head toward him.

– Thanks for the fruit, shade-knight.

He offered a small nod, then vanished into dim corridor where emergency strip-lights pulsed soft amber.

Elara brushed stray hair behind ear.

– I’ll replenish psi reserves in meditation alcove.

– Rest, – Vorl ordered.

She left, steps silent on rubber flooring.

Silence settled between commander and pilot.

Zyra flexed shoulder joints, feeling ache where flight suit still imprinted harness grooves.

– You believe Kaelen’s zero percent? – she asked.

Vorl regarded her.

– Probability models ignore variables called defiance.

Her throat tightened.

– I won’t fade quiet.

– Then keep living loudly.

A small smile tugged at her lips.

Nomad-7 returned to ceiling.

– Shipwide announcement: Jump countdown at eighty minutes.

Zyra slid off bench, stretching. Muscles complained but cooperated.

– I need cockpit system checks.

– Proceed, – Vorl allowed.

They exited med-bay together, corridor lighting cycling from sterile white to gentle dusk hues to soothe fatigued retinas.

A galley nook opened on right; an unattended kettle whistled above safe temp. Vorl turned knob, steam disengaging with sigh.

– Burn hazard, – he commented.

Zyra retrieved two mugs, pouring the near-boiling water over compressed tea tablets that fizzed turquoise before dissolving into lavender tint.

She handed him one mug. The aroma carried notes of licorice and cedar – a Rim blend.

– Better than caf tar, – she said.

He lifted visor; lips touched rim.

– Acceptable.

They walked in companionable silence past Engineering viewport where drones stitched resin across hull seams. Blue sparks rained like fireflies against black vacuum.

– What will you do if Consensus denies us? – Zyra asked quietly.

Vorl’s pauldron mount ticked, ghost servo whining.

– Take by force what we need.

– Sounds like you.

Bridge hatch irised open. Dim starlight washed consoles in silver. Kaelen hunched over nav clutter; Elara sat cross-legged near sensor dais, breathing slow, dots of phosphor floating around her hair like microscopic comets.

Zyra slid into auxiliary station. Her seat retained body-heat memory from last use, faintly comforting.

Nomad-7 dimmed ambient hum to reduce auditory fatigue.

– Pilot biometric thread stable for now.

– Keep it that way, – she murmured.

Kaelen looked up.

– Approach vector locked. Consensus expects arrival in six hours standard.

– Copy.

Vorl moved to command cradle but paused, gauntlet drifting to shattered pauldron memory. Empty socket remained open, vulnerable.

– Helm, gentle burn, – he said.

Zyra’s fingers skimmed haptic throttles. Engagement coils thrummed; Straylight’s deck plates vibrated in low A note through soles of her boots.

She increased thrust by 0.2 percent.

Immediate impact: calibration lag spiked, joysticks drifted left three millimeters. She corrected, heart skipping at uncertain feedback.

– Response? – Vorl asked.

– Slight drift. Drive still cranky.

– Noted.

Kaelen highlighted external lens view. Ion wisps trailed the corvette, pale ribbons rippling backward.

Elara unfolded from trance, eyes swirling with star-speck.

– Threads calm for now, – she whispered.

Zyra rubbed temples. A mild headache bloomed behind right eye; scanner’s earlier compression had left hidden bruises.

– Pain? – Kaelen inquired.

– Reminder I’m alive.

Bridge air tasted faintly metallic thanks to recycling coils stressed by previous combat sealant fumes.

Nomad-7 projected an animated docket of Consensus formalities: customs fees, crew identification, cargo declarations. Bureaucracy embarked before they’d even docked.

Zyra snorted.

– They’ll charge us oxygen by molecule.

Kaelen smirked.

– I already embedded a refund clause.

Elara opened her palm. Threads of lavender coalesced into a tiny knot which she tucked into a pocket.

– A keepsake? – Zyra asked.

– Anchor token. For you.

Zyra took it; the knot weighed nothing yet felt warm.

– I’ll guard it.

Nomad-7 emitted caution tones.

– Unidentified remote ping. Origin uncertain.

Kaelen traced signal scatter.

– Signature faint, no trajectory lock.

Vorl straightened.

– Ignore for now. Focus on Consensus docking.

Bridge lighting dimmed to restful gloom; star speck reflected off Vorl’s armor like ghost constellations.

Time flowed, measured by coolant pumps and occasional servo clicks.

Zyra leaned back, letting hum lull her battered senses.

*I will outlive their ledger,* she thought.

Kaelen broke silence hours later.

– Consensus control requests real-time vitals for biofilter.

– That’s intrusive, – Zyra noted.

Elara frowned.

– We can send dummy traces. I’ll braid them.

Her eyes brightened; she extended hands, weaving an invisible lattice. Ship sensors flickered as she over-layered false biometrics.

Ability toll surfaced instantly – thin line of blood rolled from her right nostril, vanishing into collar.

Zyra’s stomach clenched.

– Enough.

Elara steadied breath.

– Data delivered.

Kaelen checked feed.

– Accepted.

Nomad-7 appended approval ping.

– Docking clearance final.

Vorl exhaled, a sound like distant thunder.

– Good. Prepare crew for station protocols.

Zyra pushed from chair; ankles tingled pins and needles from long stillness. She massaged them subtly.

– I’ll change into flight leathers, look less insurgent.

Kaelen lifted brow.

– Tattoos glow through anything.

– They’ll see what I want them to see.

She exited bridge, corridor lighting brightening two shades ahead of her path.

In crew quarters she found a charcoal jacket with hood, its lining woven with signal-damp threads. Sliding arms through sleeves hurt bruised shoulders but comforted mind.

She caught reflection in a polished locker panel: cheeks dotted with scanner tape residue, eyes ringed dark but alight.

Her grin refused to die.

Returning to bridge, she found Vorl alone, reviewing memory fragments on a cracked wrist-display. Static consumed half the images.

– Losing pieces again? – she asked.

– Yes, but mission variables persist.

He closed display.

– When tag triggers, I’ll fight ledger for you.

Zyra’s throat tightened anew.

– Don’t waste yourself.

– Utility measure, not sentiment.

She knew the half-truth under that.

Nomad-7’s avatar appeared between them, motes forming a compass rose.

– Final docking vector confirmed. Consensus station within visual range in forty-two minutes.

Kaelen’s voice drifted from nav pit.

– Gravity shear minimal.

Elara pressed a palm against viewport glass, watching starfield tilt slowly.

– I sense no malice yet.

Zyra chuckled.

– You haven’t met station customs.

A maintenance alert chimed from engineering: coolant baffles achieved nominal pressure. The Hollow’s handprint logged completion.

Vorl stood; armor plates realigned with metallic whisper.

– I’ll allocate watch rotations.

Kaelen rose to stretch, his spine cracking like tiny firecrackers.

– Statistics say we survive next six hours.

Zyra winked.

– Might be your first optimistic model.

– Margin of error generous, – he said.

Elara leaned heavily against console.

– I need rest before we dock, or I’ll faint at inspection gate.

– Go, – Vorl ordered.

She left silently, leaving faint lavender motes drifting behind.

Nomad-7 dimmed lights further, fostering pre-jump calm.

Zyra settled into pilot seat again, idly rotating knot token in her fingers. Warmth radiated, steady as pulse.

Across the console, deletion sigil still glowed faint red, a malignant heartbeat she could not silence.

An internal whisper steadied her: I will not vanish. Not now.

Kaelen adjusted collision alarms to low sensitivity; the resulting hush felt like a blessing.

– Wake me at final approach, – Zyra said, eyelids heavy.

Vorl acknowledged with a nod; servo motors emitted soft purr as he turned away.

Sleep hovered, smelling of mint serum echo and apricot memory.

Moments later, bridge speakers crackled.

– Incoming file from Consensus: docking berth Theta-nine, – Nomad-7 relayed.

Vorl acknowledged, then looked at Zyra.

– We may hold berth as long as we emulate survey vessel.

Kaelen appended schedule note.

– Bureaucratic window four hours.

Zyra’s laugh came half-asleep.

– We’ll break something before paperwork clears.

Light from the nebula shifted toward pale gold as they neared the station’s artificial sun arrays. Hull sensors registered mild thermal bloom.

Zyra’s seat vibrated gently, comforting. She drifted into shallow doze, hearing faint childhood song, but memory faded against red sigil pulse.

Kaelen resumed calculations; Vorl monitored ship health; Nomad-7 guarded all.

Time folded peaceful for a stretch long enough to forget war.

Sudden klaxon shattered calm.

Kaelen shot upright.

– Long-range scope detects Coherence tag sync spike near our rear vector.

Vorl’s voice cut granite.

– Range?

– Five astronomical units and closing.

Zyra jolted awake, heart slam-dancing.

– They sniffed us?

Nomad-7’s avatar flickered amber.

– Probability moderate. Suggest no immediate deviation; Consensus shadow will mask us.

Vorl considered fast.

– Maintain course. Arm silent measures.

Zyra clenched fists.

– If they get too close, we punch.

Kaelen mapped trajectories.

– Intercept arrival window matches our docking cycle.

A tense hush blanketed the bridge.

Vorl glanced at Zyra, visor betraying fatigue.

– Your fighter stays grounded until station clearance complete.

– Understood, – she gritted.

Elara’s voice chimed over comm, faint.

– Threads feel tightened. Something watches.

– Maintain resilience, – Vorl ordered.

Nomad-7 narrowed sensor cone.

– Tracking echo faintly. Will update.

Straylight sailed onward, engines whispering. Ahead, the Consensus station grew: a rust-colored sprawl of welded hulls, lights twinkling like city nights.

Kaelen exhaled.

– Docking handshake commencing.

Vorl placed hand on Zyra’s shoulder and squeezed once, a gesture as rare as starlight in daylight.

– Hold your ground, pilot.

Her voice low.

– Always.

The corvette slid toward berth Theta-nine. Hydraulic couplers extended. Magnetic clamps crackled. Hull moored with a deep metallic sigh, like a giant settling old bones.

For a heartbeat, everything stilled.

Soft hum of environmental equalizer drifted through corridors. A faint citrus breeze carried station recycled air through docking umbilical.

Far below sensor noise, Zyra’s deletion sigil pulsed brighter.

A gentle hush filled the flight deck, broken only by the rhythmic sweep of ventilation fans. Distant station chimes rang, soft as lullabies drifting through thin metal walls.

Then the console flashed an unauthorized carrier wave tagging Zyra’s neural ID, and every alarm turned red.

Shattered Consensus

Vorl’s immediate aim was mechanical: find spare hull struts before the Caliper’s next tremor tore Straylight in half.

Station air hit him like damp rust, carrying garlic-oil steam from noodle vents and the ozone bite of aging plasma coils.

Boot leather struck a deck compiled from twenty-seven different shipwreck plates; each impact echoed through his armor, reminding him of widening fractures.

– Keep formation loose, – he ordered. Nomad-7 relayed in a whisper of static across everyone’s implants.

Crowds eddied around them – dockhands in patchwork pressure suits, gamblers flashing holo-dice that hummed violet, a nun of the Silent Apostasy preaching perfect stillness beside a scrap recycler.

Zyra trailed, hood up, lavender anchor knot tucked beneath collar. Her deletion sigil pulsed faint crimson on Vorl’s HUD, a countdown nobody could mute.

Kaelen’s iris scrolled numbers. He sniffed the air.

– Probability of local hostility at twenty-three percent, – he murmured.

A maintenance drone skimmed past, spraying citrus disinfectant that stung nostrils and fogged Vorl’s optics for half a tick. He blinked away haze, memory buffer shuddering.

They reached a customs arch ribbed with corroded brass. Bureau-droids scanned permits with green lasers that smelled of burning dust.

Vorl presented Straylight’s forged survey file. The droid chirped approval, yet its lens lingered on his vacant pauldron socket.

A second lens drifted toward Zyra. Elara leaned closer, iris shimmering indigo.

– Threads smooth, – she whispered. Her voice steadied the digital weave masking Zyra’s neural signature.

Scanner lights cooled, releasing them into the main concourse.

The concourse resembled a coral canyon, decks stacked five high with stalls. Neon glyphs strobed magenta across broken hull ribs, advertising memory-wine and coilgun parts.

A vendor shoved boiled fungus skewers under their noses. The skewers glistened emerald, sizzling on self-heating resin.

Kaelen surprised himself by buying two with an untraceable credit chit.

– Data fuel, – he said, chewing methodically.

Vorl ignored hunger, gaze mapping exits, vent shafts, and firing arcs. His left thumb actuator twitched, lubricant thinning again.

Sensors chimed. Nomad-7 flagged a micro-spike: unclassified transmission lingered near Vorl’s armor address.

Then Jax Morrison emerged.

Teeth bright, boots buffed, coat cut from repurposed cruiser sailcloth, he offered a half-bow that smelled of peppermint gum and reckless opportunity.

– Grand Admiral Voron sends regards, – Jax said, voice silk on steel.

Vorl didn’t flinch.

– Proof?

Jax produced a wafer – silver foil etched with the admiral’s personal sigil: a broken probability curve.

Zyra’s glare could have melted plating.

– He’s a profiteer, – she growled.

Jax’s grin widened.

– Profit buys you parts. I can secure hull struts, coolant veins, and distortion baffles before shift bell, commander. Only currency is trust.

Vorl extended a gauntlet. They shook. In that instant, Jax’s sleeve brushed the shattered pauldron mount – too gentle.

Nomad-7 pinged but packet loss blanked the warning. Vorl’s HUD stuttered – memory sector seven momentarily offline.

– We’re burning daylight, – Zyra muttered, fingers twitching for pistol she didn’t carry.

Kaelen swallowed fungus, voice flat.

– Statistically, refusing him lowers survival odds.

Elara studied Jax’s aura, eyes swirling.

– His shortest path glints with betrayal threads.

Jax shrugged, mock offended.

– Chaos pays dividends. Follow me.

They wove through a maze of cargo lifts. Hydraulic pistons hissed, spraying warm mist smelling of hot copper.

A tannoy boomed station announcements in five languages, none promising safety.

The group halted at a viewport. Beyond glass, the dockyard sprawled – cranes moving like ancient crustaceans, sparks raining amber where welders stitched a freighter’s broken spine.

Children chased a rag-ball between cargo pallets, laughter surprisingly bright amidst the steel.

– The patterns of ordinary life persist, – Kaelen observed softly.

Vorl touched the glass. Cool vibration pulsed through fingertips, echoing Caliper stress frequencies.

An elderly tech in grease-streaked overalls offered them cups of barley tea from a dented thermos. The tea steamed sienna and tasted of earthy smoke.

Vorl drank, sensory map updating: sugar warmth, slight tannin bite. Armor servos quieted, if only psychologically.

– Payment, – the tech demanded, palm up.

Jax flipped a small coin that chimed against calloused skin.

– Companions of mine, – he said, charm weaponized.

They descended metal stairs that clanged like rifle bolts.

Nomad-7 finally stabilized the lost packet: foreign device attached under Vorl’s gauntlet ridge – dumb beacon, dormant.

He would extract the beacon later; for now, he had to preserve his cover.

Elara lagged, blood fleck on upper lip. She wiped it away, weaving subtle shimmer around Zyra to muffle ragged lifesign spikes.

A slicer stall came into view: racks of semi-legal data wafers, encryption pry-bars, and black glass analytics cards.