Dock Nine was never truly quiet, but the lower sectors of the station had a different rhythm from the crowded plazas above. The noise of trade and negotiation faded into a distant hum, replaced by the mechanical sounds of maintenance drones and the occasional echo of tools striking metal. Odnar Zephyr and Zerena moved through one of the service corridors that curved along the outer ring of the station, far from the markets and the docking arms where Rhaegon’s soldiers were most likely concentrating their search.

  The scanner on Odnar’s wrist remained active.

  The icon of the Crimson Diamond glowed faintly beneath the Flux bar, a steady reminder that the system now running through his body had changed the nature of every decision they would make from this moment forward. Zerena had watched him experiment briefly with the new energy channel in the sword before they left the vault chamber, and neither of them needed to say aloud what they both understood.

  If diamonds like that existed across the frontier, whoever collected them would become far more dangerous than any ordinary soldier.

  Right now, however, they needed something more practical.

  They needed transportation.

  They also needed someone who understood machines better than either of them.

  The corridor opened into a long engineering walkway that overlooked Dock Nine’s secondary repair docks. Several damaged cargo ships hung in suspended clamps beneath the metal platforms, surrounded by scaffolding and floating tool drones. Mechanics moved between the vessels performing routine maintenance while large industrial arms rotated slowly around the hull of a freighter whose engines had clearly suffered heavy damage during its last journey.

  Zerena leaned against the railing and studied the activity below.

  “This sector isn’t heavily guarded,” she said.

  “Rhaegon’s soldiers won’t waste time searching shipyards,” Odnar replied. “Too many hiding places.”

  “That works in our favor.”

  “It also means anyone down there is used to dealing with trouble.”

  Zerena nodded.

  “That also works in our favor.”

  They descended the metal staircase leading toward the repair docks. The air smelled strongly of heated alloys and ionized coolant, the unmistakable scent of a station where ships were repaired faster than official regulations would normally allow.

  A loud crash echoed from the far side of the bay.

  Someone was shouting.

  Odnar and Zerena exchanged a glance before moving toward the noise.

  They found the source beside a half-dismantled cargo shuttle resting on a maintenance platform. The vessel’s engine housing had been opened completely, exposing a complex network of wires, conduits, and stabilizer coils. Tools were scattered across the floor, and a small hovering drone drifted nervously in circles above the work area.

  A man stood waist-deep inside the exposed engine compartment.

  He was arguing with the machine.

  “This is not complicated,” he said loudly. “You’re an engine, not a philosophical debate.”

  The drone emitted a faint beep.

  The man slammed a wrench against the stabilizer housing.

  “No, the problem is not me.”

  Another beep.

  “It’s the design.”

  He finally noticed the two strangers standing nearby.

  The man pulled himself halfway out of the engine compartment and looked at them suspiciously.

  “What do you want?”

  Odnar studied him carefully.

  The mechanic was tall and thin, with pale grey skin and faint blue lines running along the sides of his neck—clear indicators of Myrkan ancestry. The Myrkans were known across the frontier for their ability to understand and repair complex technology that baffled most other species.

  In other words, exactly the kind of person Odnar hoped to find.

  “We’re looking for an engineer,” Odnar said.

  “You found one.”

  “That was fast.”

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  The man climbed fully out of the engine housing and wiped grease from his hands with a cloth.

  “Depends what kind of engineer you need.”

  “One who can repair ships.”

  “I can repair ships.”

  “One who can modify ships.”

  “I can definitely modify ships.”

  “One who doesn’t ask too many questions.”

  The Myrkan paused.

  “That usually costs extra.”

  Zerena stepped forward.

  “Your name?”

  “Rasmus.”

  He looked at her more carefully.

  “You’re not traders.”

  “No.”

  “Mercenaries?”

  “Something like that.”

  Rasmus folded his arms.

  “Dock Nine already has enough mercenaries.”

  Odnar nodded toward the damaged shuttle behind him.

  “And yet you’re still working alone.”

  Rasmus glanced back at the ship.

  “This vessel belongs to a captain who tried to jump through an asteroid field at full acceleration.”

  “That sounds expensive.”

  “It sounds stupid.”

  Odnar smiled faintly.

  “Then you probably prefer working with people who understand machines.”

  “I prefer working with machines,” Rasmus corrected.

  Zerena studied the exposed engine compartment.

  “You designed that modification yourself.”

  Rasmus raised an eyebrow.

  “You can tell?”

  “The stabilizer routing.”

  He looked impressed.

  “You’ve worked with Myrkan engineering.”

  “A little.”

  Rasmus stepped closer.

  “So why are two people who clearly don’t belong in this sector looking for me?”

  Odnar answered directly.

  “We need someone who can help us acquire and maintain a ship.”

  “That’s not unusual.”

  “We also need someone who understands advanced energy systems.”

  Rasmus’ expression changed slightly.

  “What kind of systems?”

  Odnar lifted his wrist.

  The scanner activated.

  The Flux and Vitalis bars appeared in pale blue light.

  The Crimson Diamond icon glowed beneath them.

  Rasmus stared at the interface.

  “Where did you get that?”

  “Recently.”

  “That system shouldn’t exist outside restricted research networks.”

  “Apparently it does.”

  Rasmus stepped closer, studying the display with intense focus.

  The curiosity in his eyes was unmistakable.

  “That’s not a monitoring device,” he said quietly.

  “No.”

  “It’s a synchronization core.”

  Odnar nodded.

  “That’s what we’re starting to believe.”

  Rasmus looked from the scanner to the sword resting at Odnar’s side.

  “You’ve linked a diamond to it.”

  “Yes.”

  The Myrkan engineer exhaled slowly.

  “You realize what that means.”

  “Probably.”

  “It means you’re going to attract attention from people who collect those things.”

  “We already have.”

  Rasmus glanced around the repair dock instinctively.

  “Rhaegon’s soldiers?”

  “Yes.”

  He laughed quietly.

  “Well.”

  “That explains the scanner.”

  Zerena stepped forward.

  “We’re forming a team.”

  “For what?”

  “To stop Rhaegon.”

  Rasmus stared at her.

  “You’re serious.”

  “Yes.”

  “That’s… ambitious.”

  Odnar leaned against the railing.

  “You understand technology better than most people in the frontier.”

  “That’s accurate.”

  “We need someone who can maintain advanced systems once we start collecting more diamonds.”

  Rasmus looked back at the scanner again.

  “You’re planning to collect more?”

  “Yes.”

  The Myrkan considered that statement for several seconds.

  Then he smiled.

  It was the smile of someone who had just discovered a puzzle far more interesting than repairing cargo engines.

  “How dangerous is this job?”

  “Very.”

  “How well funded?”

  “Improving.”

  Rasmus glanced toward the damaged shuttle behind him.

  Then back at the two strangers standing in front of him.

  “I assume you’re going to need a ship eventually.”

  “Yes.”

  “I might know where to find one.”

  Zerena raised an eyebrow.

  “You already had something in mind.”

  “I’ve been stuck repairing other people’s mistakes for three years,” Rasmus said. “I was hoping something interesting would eventually happen.”

  Odnar extended his hand.

  “Then welcome to the team.”

  Rasmus shook it firmly.

  “Just so we’re clear,” he said, “I’m not joining because I believe your mission will succeed.”

  “Why then?”

  Rasmus glanced at the scanner again.

  “Because that system is the most fascinating piece of technology I’ve seen in my entire life.”

  Zerena allowed a faint smile.

  “Good enough.”

  Rasmus grabbed his toolkit from the floor and powered down the repair drone hovering beside the shuttle.

  “So,” he said, “what’s the first step in overthrowing an empire?”

  Odnar looked toward the distant docking arms of Dock Nine.

  “First we survive this station.”

  Rasmus nodded thoughtfully.

  “That sounds like a reasonable beginning.”

  Above them the vast structure of Dock Nine continued its endless mechanical rotation through the asteroid belt. Traders bargained, ships arrived and departed, and somewhere within the station Rhaegon’s soldiers were still searching for the fugitives who had escaped their ambush.

  None of them realized that the fugitives had just gained their first engineer.

  And that engineer was exactly the kind of mind capable of turning a desperate resistance into something far more dangerous.