⬅️ Arrival at Valkyrie Station | The Shattered Obelisk ⬆️

Kaelen tries to contact Valera

The Great Market Hall of Freyja Ring hummed with the cacophony of a thousand worlds. Holographic displays flickered between stalls of rare minerals and contraband tech, casting prismatic shadows across the faces of merchants and spacers alike.

Kaelen Vashti checked his chronometer again, the holographic display hovering just at the edge of his peripheral vision. The marketplace's environmental systems were operating at peak efficiency, maintaining a careful 22.3 degrees Celsius despite the press of bodies and the heat from countless cooking stations. The temperature control was a point of pride for Valkyrie's engineers - a statement of civilization here in the void.

The marketplace's environmental systems labored against the press of bodies, but the air still carried the heavy musk of too many species packed too closely together. Spice-laden steam rose from food stalls, mixing with the metallic tang of recycled air and the sweet-sharp scent of ozone from poorly shielded power conduits. The temperature control systems fought a losing battle against the heat, leaving a fine sheen of sweat on Kaelen's forehead.

Whisper, his sprite companion, hovered near his shoulder like a mote of silver starlight. The small crystalline being emitted a soft chiming sound that only Kaelen could hear - a warning, perhaps, or simply a reflection of the sprite's own unease. After years together, Kaelen had learned to trust Whisper's intuitions, even if he couldn't always interpret them precisely.

"Fresh water from Europa!" A vendor called out, the purification systems at her stall humming with barely contained power. The sample cups she offered caught the light like liquid diamonds. "Guaranteed free from quantum contamination!"

"Security-grade cognition enhancers!" Another merchant's voice cut through the cacophony. "Military surplus, minimal side effects!"

Whisper darted through the market's holographic displays, its crystalline form casting prismatic shadows that danced across the faces of passing traders. The sprite's movement patterns had grown increasingly agitated over the past hour, matching Kaelen's own mounting tension as he waited for Valera.

Valera wasn't there.

The message came through his communicator with a soft buzz against his wrist: "Found leads on Precursor tech - possible vault site on Ember. Couldn't wait. Will contact when I can. Encryption key for follow-up: VT-7749-ALPHA."

It was from Valera.

Kaelen leaned against a market stall, the metal cool against his shoulder despite the environmental controls. Whisper settled into the collar of his jacket, its presence a comforting weight against his neck. The vendor, a heavily scarred survivor of the Cascade Wars, was enthusiastically explaining the virtues of their "authentic Earth spices" to a credulous tourist. The air around the stall was thick with the scent of cardamom and saffron - real or synthetic, Kaelen couldn't tell.

"Something's wrong," he muttered to Whisper. The sprite responded with a crystalline tone that seemed to resonate with his own suspicions. The timing was wrong. Everything about this felt wrong. But Valera was his only solid connection to information about the raiders who had destroyed his home. He couldn't afford to lose this thread.

The Blue Nova occupied a prime spot in Hildr Ring, Valkyrie's entertainment district, its façade dominated by a holographic representation of its namesake - a blue supergiant in the final stages of collapse. Inside, the establishment achieved that peculiar balance of lighting that managed to be simultaneously too bright and too dim, the azure glow of cheap synthetic whiskey providing most of the illumination.

The synthetic alcohol burned Kaelen's throat with artificial oak and silicon-based flavor compounds. It tasted like broken promises and computer-generated memories, but it helped him blend in with the merchants who gathered around his table, their faces illuminated by the drinks that caught the light like liquid sapphire.

"The Crimson Reavers?" The merchant with the augmented eyes leaned forward, metal shutters clicking as her pupils adjusted to the dim light. "That sigil you're asking about - the crimson blade through a black star?"

Whisper flitted nervously between the glasses on the table, its crystalline form refracting the blue light into complex patterns. The sprite's agitation was clear to Kaelen, though the merchants seemed not to notice its presence.

"More than seen it," the woman's companion interjected. His environment suit creaked with movement, the seals around the neck showing the distinctive wear pattern of deep-space mining operations. The suit still carried the acrid smell of asteroid dust and plasma burns. "They hit the Helios-9 operation last cycle. Took everything that wasn't bolted down, and most of what was."

"They're getting bold," the woman continued, her artificial eyes reflecting the bar's blue light. "Got themselves a resupply cache near Ember. Military-grade stuff, if the rumors are right. Word is they're planning something big - targeting one of the deep-core operations."

The synthetic whiskey turned to ash in Kaelen's mouth. Ember. Where Valera had gone, perhaps unknowingly, into the Reavers' hunting grounds. Or perhaps... Whisper chimed a warning note, picking up on his growing unease.

The maintenance bay where he finally tracked down the mechanic was in the station's secondary ring, where the artificial gravity was noticeably weaker. The air carried the sharp taste of ozone and machinery, overlaid with the acrid smell of burned insulation and fear. The constant drone of machinery formed a baseline rhythm broken only by the occasional hiss of hydraulics and the distant rumble of the station's massive engines.

The mechanic was young, his hands showing the distinctive tremors of someone who'd spent too much time exposed to drive fields without proper shielding. His coveralls were stained with lubricant and scored with burn marks from electrical discharges. "Her ship was a Modified Starfire-class scout," he said, voice barely above a whisper. "Civilian registry, but the modifications... whoever she is, she wasn't kitting out for a simple prospecting run."

"What kind of modifications!?" Kaelen kept his voice level, even as Whisper darted alertly toward the bay's entrance. The sprite's warning chime was almost lost in the mechanical background noise.

"Additional armor plating - military grade, probably salvaged from decommissioned warships. Masked energy signatures, which is illegal in most sectors. Enhanced sensor suite that could probably peek through a planet's crust." The mechanic's eyes darted to the entrance. "Look, I probably shouldn't be telling you this, but-"

Two figures had appeared, their postures too rigid for casual observers. Kaelen's years of combat experience immediately registered the threat. Their clothing was civilian, but their stance spoke of military training. Whisper's agitation increased, its crystalline form pulsing with barely contained energy.

"Two hundred credits," the mechanic whispered. "For everything I know."

The credit chip changed hands in seconds, warm from being palmed in nervous fingers. The mechanic's words tumbled out in a rush of technical specifications and rumored Reaver movements.

"The Reavers have been spotted in the Ember system three times in the last cycle. Always near the outer belt, always with different ships. But here's the thing - the energy signatures? They match some of the modifications on your friend's ship."

Kaelen's mind was already plotting courses to Ember, calculating fuel requirements and weapon loadouts. The vow formed in his heart, as binding as any contract: not just to find the Reavers now, but to save Valera from whatever trap she was walking into - or whatever trap she was part of.

The vow settled into place like the final piece of a complex mechanism. Somewhere in the distance, station alarms began to sound, marking the end of another artificial day cycle. The harsh brass notes echoed through the maintenance bay, mixing with the ever-present hum of machinery and the crystalline tones of his anxious sprite companion.

The universe had taught him the price of arriving too late once before, when he'd returned to find his home reduced to ash and scored metal. The memories surfaced unbidden - the smell of burned synthetics, the still-hot metal of destroyed buildings, the silence where there should have been life. The taste of ash and defeat still lingered in his mouth, stronger than any synthetic whiskey.

Whisper pressed against his neck, offering what comfort it could. The sprite's presence had been one of the few constants in his life since that day, its unwavering loyalty a anchor in the void of space.

The two figures were still watching, their own stances shifting subtly toward aggression. Soon, they would make their move. But Kaelen had been a sharpshooter long before he'd been an artisan, his reflexes honed by both training and tragedy. His hand moved closer to his pulse pistol, while his mind calculated the distance to cover.

Through the station's vast observation windows, the void waited, punctuated by the cold light of distant stars. Somewhere out there, among those ancient points of light, the Crimson Reavers were preparing their next atrocity. And this time, whether Valera was victim or accomplice, Kaelen would be ready.

His ship, a modified light courier that had once belonged to a corporate messenger service, waited in the docking bay. It wasn't much - minimal weapons, decent shields, and enough speed to run from most fights. But it was all he had, and it would have to be enough. Whisper could interface with the ship's systems better than any AI, giving them an edge that had saved their lives more than once.

The hunt was about to begin.