The silence did not last.
The boarding frame straightened, its glassy lenses swiveling until all of them focused on Maya. For a heartbeat, it looked like submission. Then its chest plates split with a hiss, and a lattice of cables unfurled like roots seeking soil.
"They're trying to anchor," Rei gasped, stumbling back. "They're building a link—direct to her broadcast."
Vector raised the stolen plasma coil. "Not while I'm breathing." He fired. The bolt struck the frame's chest and tore away armor, but instead of falling, the machine roared. The sound wasn't mechanical—it was voices, overlapping, distorted, all speaking in a tongue that pressed against Maya's skull until her teeth ached.
The soldiers who had survived the pulse rose unsteadily. Their armor flickered with fractured light, systems half-broken but still functional. They didn't move like men anymore. They moved like extensions of the frame—jerky, synchronized, puppets on strings.
Maya's grip tightened on the rifle, her pulse hammering. The Archive stirred eagerly, offering her command over the drones. A single thought, and the invaders would fall. A second thought, and the boarding frame would be nothing but ash.
But she remembered the flare—the way her voice had slipped into something that wasn't hers. Every time she reached for the Archive, she gave up more ground.
Vector glanced back at her, sweat streaking through the grime on his face. "Don't just stand there, Kade! You've got the only weapon they can't shut down!"
"I know," she whispered. Her voice trembled, not from fear but from the pull. The Archive pressed against her like a tide. Carrier linked. Anchor stable. Override required.
The drones above shifted, awaiting her decision. Their lenses glowed, aligned, aimed at the frame like executioners waiting for a nod.
Rei staggered closer, gripping his side, his face pale. "Maya, listen. The Archive isn't just fighting them—it's reaching them. If you give the order, it won't stop at disabling. It'll absorb. It'll fold their minds into the network."
Her stomach lurched. "You mean—"
"They won't die. They'll be… stored."
Vector barked a laugh that was all fury. "Stored? That's worse than death!"
The frame's cables snapped forward, spearing into the walls. The ship shuddered as power rerouted through its veins, the lights shifting to a harsh crimson.
> "Integration pending," the ship's voice intoned.
"Architect signal confirmed. Cross-link detected."
Maya's arms blazed, veins alight. The rifle hummed like a living thing, eager to fire, eager to finish what had begun. She felt the Archive's will like hands pressing her shoulders, urging her to speak the command word she had never learned but somehow knew.
Vector shouted, "Do it!"
Rei countered, "If you do, you'll never come back!"
Her breath hitched. The soldiers closed in, their lenses reflecting her own face fractured a dozen times. The boarding frame's roar deepened, a chorus of ghosts demanding entry.
Maya's knees bent, the rifle rising. The drones above flared brighter, weapons primed. She tasted the Archive's language on her tongue, hot as fire and sweet as blood.
And she realized: there might not be a way to win without becoming what they feared.
She drew breath—
and chose.