Chapter 11: Small Win
The floor vibrated with the strength of the engines, a mechanical heartbeat running through the shuttle’s bare walls like a constant reminder: they were still moving, still caged.
The interior smelled of old sweat, dried blood and overheated plastic, a mix that clung to the throat and to memory.
There were fewer of them than before.
Ebran was dead.
Nolan Ryen sat against one of the inner walls, his wrists locked by a fresh pair of magnetic restraints. Across from him, Harlan struggled to breathe. There was dried blood on the collar of his shirt and a bruise on his temple.
In the opposite row, nearly pressed against the ventilation panel, sat the man Nolan had first seen before the attempted escape: always still, always holding that posture that seemed more habit than tension.
This time, though, Nolan could see him a bit better. Dark hair pulled back, a rigid coat, probably repurposed from some security uniform. On his chest, an old half-torn tag still showed a fragmented name:
THELONOPIOS.
It meant nothing to Nolan. Not a soldier, not a colonist, not anything he recognized.
The man kept his hands resting on his knees, his gaze fixed on the metallic floor. He didn’t seem to be listening, nor ignoring.
He was simply there.
Different from the others only in his calm, not his expression. Unlike Harlan, unlike Vela, unlike anyone trembling or breathing sharply, he showed no signs of fatigue.
But neither of strength.
It was a silence that demanded nothing.
Jackie glanced at him on his way past, without stopping. Not with suspicion or mockery, but with the expression one would give an object with no immediate usefulness.
And he kept walking.
Nolan observed the brief exchange, then looked away. There were too many things he didn’t understand, and Thelonopios, if that was even his name, was just one more.
“Least favorite thing about these trips,” Jackie said, his voice clear, almost theatrical, “is how little people talk. So many folks, so many stories, and one has to settle for engine hum. The jailer’s loneliness.”
No one answered. Not even Karr, the lanky prisoner who had lost his laughter after Tessio’s shock discharge. Now he only rocked silently, eyes open, unmoving.
Jackie rested his chin on his hand and turned toward Nolan and Harlan.
“So, Boy Scouts? Still nursing your dignity, or have you accepted your roles as martyrs?”
Harlan swallowed hard without lifting his head. Nolan watched everything in silence, measuring every movement.
“Come on, humor me. It’s been twelve hours since anyone spoke.”
No one replied. Jackie clicked his tongue.
“Do you know why we’re moving you? I mean, it’s not common for incompetent hostages to enjoy this kind of sightseeing tour around our beautiful planet. But you… you’re special.”
Nolan said nothing. Jackie took the silence as permission.
“The Undulated Valley. That’s the destination. But not the front lines. Oh no. You’re going farther. South. Where our people avoid patrolling, you know?”
“The Balmoreans,” Mikael whispered from a corner. His voice trembled like wet paper.
Jackie turned to him with theatrical delight.
“Marvelous. Someone paid attention. Correct! The Bagdur Brigade.”
He said the name as if introducing an opera company.
“You know what they call that group? ‘The Hammer of Silence.’ Poetic, right? Very religious people. Very… devout. They don’t believe in surrender. They don’t believe in prisoners. But they do believe in sacrifices. Rituals. Fire. And things I won’t tell you because HR would cut my salary for trauma induction.”
Harlan lifted his head.
“They’re going to hand us over?”
Jackie shrugged.
“What is ‘handing over’? What is ‘belonging’? We’re all pieces. Some are used once and thrown away. Others… are offered. The difference is philosophical, isn’t it?”
Nolan stared at him, rage glowing like a coal under the surface.
“And what are you? A spiritual guide?”
Jackie smiled, not mockingly, but with something like feigned sadness.
“No. I’m the guy who’s going to see you for the last time before someone starts tearing your nails out one by one. And honestly? It hurts me a little.”
He stood and began walking down the central aisle, letting his boots echo.
“You should’ve escaped better, you know? You tried with class. Really. Killing Ebran even hurt. The guy had an arm on him, didn’t he? The Balmoreans would’ve enjoyed him.”
Harlan’s breathing was quickening. Nolan looked at him: that kind of panic that wasn’t explosive but progressive, a fever spreading inward.
“What will they do to us?” Harlan murmured, not looking up.
Jackie stopped. Thought about it.
“First, they’ll tie you. Tight. Your whole body. As one does with the sacred. Then, purification. Fire, water, things like that. And when you’re clean, they’ll cut you. Not all at once, no, no. Skin first. Then the symbolic bits. Eyes, maybe. Or hands. Every piece is offered with a chant. And if you cry… even better.”
Mikael dry-heaved.
Karr muttered something unintelligible.
Vela’s breathing intensified. Harlan reached a hand toward her, but she pushed it away. Seconds later she steadied, though a single tear slipped from her right eye.
Jackie checked his watch and sighed.
“Well. I’d take a nap, but I can’t trust you not to escape again, you’re too rebellious. Don’t try another one. I like you too much to fill your skulls with holes.”
The engine hum continued. Constant. Unchanging.
Harlan said nothing. Nolan watched him for a moment, then leaned back against the wall, closed his eyes, and thought of another cell. Another darkness. A mistake that could no longer be undone.
And of how maybe, this time, there would be no attempt.
Only waiting.
And the sound of a journey toward sacrifice.
The outer hangar of the orbital base was bathed in a bluish light that came from no sun. They were Klynos’s atmospheric shields, modulated to let shuttles pass while keeping the cold of vacuum at bay. The ships awaited in immaculate rows, like the teeth of an animal unsure whether to attack or defend.
Reis tightened the clasps of his armor with precise, almost methodical motions. Each click was a repetition of the familiar, a way to crush anxiety under ritual. He didn’t feel fear. Not that. It was the tension of order before disorder. The moment right before everything became noise and torn metal.
Unlawfully taken from Royal Road, this story should be reported if seen on Amazon.
That was when he heard Colonel Ardeval’s voice behind him.
“Lieutenant Reis.”
He turned. Recognized him instantly. Impeccable, as always. Ardeval was one of the few officers who had not lost their ceremonial sheen amid the mud.
“The operation’s confirmed. Five tactical units. Your squad opens the formation.”
Reis nodded.
“There’s a small change. A support shuttle is joining. Mirror maneuver, west flank. Same route, same withdrawal.”
Reis didn’t ask. He waited for the explanation that he knew would come.
“Not my idea,” Ardeval added with a slight shrug, almost indulgent. “But since Lieutenant Glass reintegrated this week, and given his former command over part of your squad, High Command suggests additional coverage on your deployment. He won’t lead that shuttle, of course. He’s not ready for the front. But he left comments. Tactical recommendations.”
Reis kept his gaze steady. No irritation. No immediate acknowledgment.
“I understand,” he said simply.
Ardeval held his eyes a second longer, then handed him the assignment tablet with the names of the other unit. Technicians, not soldiers. Light reinforcement. As if to say: we’ll protect you a little more. Even if you didn’t ask.
“Good luck out there,” the colonel said, and walked away.
Reis stood still for a few moments, tablet in hand. He read it without reading, then slipped it into the pocket on his thigh and boarded the shuttle.
Inside, tactical silence filled the space. No one spoke. No one needed to. The pilot was already in position. Soldiers ready. Belts fastened, eyes down. A calm of execution rather than anticipation.
Reis took his place near the side hatch. He leaned his head against the metal and closed his eyes.
He didn’t think of Dossian.
But for a brief second, he wondered why he had come back now of all times.
Then, as always, he buried it.
This wasn’t the time to think about what he lacked.
It was time to fight.
And the sky was beginning to open.
The roar of the thrusters marked the beginning. It wasn’t a sound: it was a tremor that ran through the hull, the belt buckles, and the stomach of every soldier. From the orbital launch point, the shuttles descended in tight formation, slicing through the void with spears of blue light.
As they entered the atmosphere, a blazing arc enveloped them; it felt as if Klynos were swallowing them whole.
The climate shield tinted the sky a chemical orange, a thick glow that distorted shadows and made the air feel heavier, more electric. As if the atmosphere itself sensed that something forbidden was about to occur.
Inside the main cabin, the sensors vibrated with compressed-air gusts slamming against the fuselage. Data lines flickered in frantic rhythms. A white light flashed over the helmets hooked to the walls, illuminating tense, disciplined faces.
Reis watched the main panel, gloved fingers pressing the armrests firmly. His breathing was steady; all his anxiety was contained in a single muscle, his thumb tapping the metal edge in perfect intervals.
To his left, Bren adjusted his visor in quick, compulsive motions, each click a reminder he still had control. His right leg wouldn’t stop shaking.
On the other side, Alis remained absolutely still. Calm before the storm. Jaw tight, eyes fixed on the hatch as if reading destiny through turbulence.
“Entry zone confirmed,” the pilot announced, emotionless through the intercom. “ETA to target: three minutes.”
Bren let out a tense breath.
“We’re not getting another pass, right?”
Reis shook his head slightly.
“No. Just one. And we’re going in under radar. This is to show force, not to sustain it.”
Alis lifted her gaze by the slightest angle.
“Then we should go in loud. Let them see us. Let them fear us.”
“Let them think we’re coming for everything,” Reis replied.
The shuttle shook harder as it crossed the perimeter defense line. Klynos unfolded below them like a mosaic of domes and metallic skyscrapers. And in the middle, dominating the landscape like a colossus:
The Capitol.
Carved in black crystal, with lines of purple light crawling along its surface like veins. A structure that seemed to grow upward and inward at the same time, designed to intimidate even those who served it. To some, a symbol of order. To others, a reminder of who wrote history.
“We’re headed to the west wing. The other shuttle covers the north flank,” said the pilot.
Reis glanced through the side window. The other shuttle followed like a reflection, same maneuvers, same tension.
“Lower altitude,” he ordered. “Cut transponders. We’re going below the defense swarm.”
Bren swallowed.
“That’s an unnecessary risk. If they detect the maneuver, we’re eating fire from three turrets.”
“They won’t. No one expects anyone through the blind corridor. It’s been sealed for years.”
Bren insisted.
“And if they reactivated it?”
Reis looked at him.
“Then we die quickly.”
The shuttles dove. The hull shook so violently the ceiling panels groaned. Engines roared in dissonant frequencies, a vibration deep enough to rattle teeth.
For soldiers, that stretch, the last before deployment, was always the same: a suspended second between being human flesh or uniformed ammunition.
“Visual on the Capitol,” Alis confirmed.
The building gleamed beneath the static shield dome. Turrets inactive. Alarms still sleeping.
Reis leaned forward.
“Open rear hatch. Assault teams ready.”
Red light filled the interior. Soldiers rose as if pulled by invisible strings. No movement wasted. No words needed.
Reis keyed the communicator.
“Unit Two, begin distraction maneuver. Controlled fire on the north wing.”
From the other shuttle, a flash of the first shots. The sound reached them half a second later, muffled by distance and hull.
The Capitol awakened.
Turrets rotated with a menacing whir. Red alarms activated in sequence.
“Now!” Reis shouted.
The hatch burst open. The pressure shift slammed into their helmets and eardrums. The first soldiers jumped, thrusters igniting, drawing perfect arcs over the structure.
A dance of directed fire, tactical smoke, controlled descents.
Reis was the fifth to leap. Bren and Alis stuck close behind him.
The Capitol’s surface was more uneven than expected. Segmented crystal plates, disconnected construction zones, sealed sectors, inner walkways, scaffolds that looked like they had no authorization to exist.
Reis corrected his trajectory.
“We’re going along the side. Not the planned route. I want them to see us near the central tower.”
Alis hissed.
“That wasn’t in the plan.”
“Would you prefer getting blown up on the official broadcast?” Bren muttered.
“Exactly,” Reis said.
Security cameras locked onto them. A communication drone approached too closely. Alis fired a single shot, not destroying it, but leaving it spinning, damaged, recording blurry but unmistakable footage.
Soldiers of the Universal Government entering where no one was supposed to enter.
Gunfire poured from reinforced windows like heavy rain. Defense was fully awake now.
“Don’t stay. Two minutes only. We make a mark and get out,” Reis ordered.
They planted sonic charges on main access points. Bren burned a data console with a plasma torch. Alis left the squad insignia in the middle of a ripped-off door, shining like a dare.
It was symbolic. More than symbolic.
It was a message.
Reis dropped to the lower level and saw the evacuation platform. Their shuttle was already there, perfectly aligned.
“Regroup! Now!”
They ran through sparks, strobe lights, bursts of fire. Internal confusion protected them, no one expected an attack so frontal, so improvised, so insolent.
Reis jumped onto the ramp. Bren arrived gasping, a superficial gash above his eyebrow. Alis boarded last, pushing a soldier who had fallen behind.
“Taking off!” shouted the pilot.
The ship ascended. A turret fired a late salvo. A minor impact shuddered against the shield, nothing more.
Inside, everyone inhaled as if the air were scarce.
Bren wiped the blood from his eye with the back of his glove.
“Did you see that?” he said, stunned. “They were completely unprepared!”
“They won’t be next time,” Reis replied, eyes fixed on the shrinking Capitol.
Alis let out a tired, genuine smile.
“And you know what? We’re coming back anyway.”
Reis didn’t answer. He simply nodded.
The other shuttle rejoined them at a distance, untouched.
For now, they had done it.
And for now, that was enough.
