Chapter 18: Forge the Second Star
Day 100 – 06:10 station time
Work-shift horn: trumpet blues, low volume, first notes only
Karl rolled from the bunk already dressed—undersuit zipped, boots mag-locked to the deck. The trumpet file cut off; Selene's voice replaced it. "Armor team to bay three. Lance coils need pull-down. We start the re-forge."
He splashed water on his face—recycled, metallic, perfect—and floated toward the clang of metal meeting metal. Haven-3 had become a shipyard overnight; every corridor carried the smell of ozone and ambition.
Bay three was a vacuum-rated workspace carved from the old cargo spoke. Inside, the lance lay dismantled—coil segments stacked like black donuts, coolant lines coiled like sleeping pythons. Selene pointed at scorch marks on the focusing sleeve. "Micro-fractures from overtemp. We bore them out, sleeve-inset copper, re-wind. Adds eight kilos, gains us twelve percent efficiency."
Karl nodded. Eight kilos was velocity lost, but twelve percent was range gained. Trade-offs were religion now. "Do it. Strip the mass from non-flight systems."
Across the bay Miguel supervised a different miracle: a second engine. They had scavenged the auxiliary reactor from Haven-3's backup core, wrapped it in shuttle coils, and built a slim bottle rated for 0.06 g sustained. It would never push the frigate alone, but slaved in tandem with the four-drive cluster it could boost total thrust to 0.18 g for short bursts—enough to surprise an enemy who thought they knew Hearth-Hammer's limits. They called the add-on "Second Star." Miguel etched a tiny star on the new nozzle, kissed it with a torch, and muttered, "Burn bright, little one."
Day 101 – 14:00
Med-bay observation
Ayla sat on the cot, fingers tracing basil leaves Rios had brought. Her counting had softened—no longer forty-three every breath, but forty-three when she needed anchor. Tala recorded progress: spoke three full sentences today, laughed once at bot's attempt to juggle cherry tomatoes. The garden was therapy; dirt under nails meant survival.
Karl visited after lunch, laid the folded foil star she had given him on her palm. "We carry this into the next fire. Want to add anything?"
She considered, then reached for a tiny zip-pouch of nutrient film, cut a microscopic square, and pressed it inside the star. "For the ones still hungry," she whispered. Voice thin, resolve iron. Karl sealed the star with a drop of epoxy, pocketed it next to his heart.
Day 102 – 22:45
Machine shop, lights dimmed
Jun and Selene bent over a stolen corporate fabber they had coaxed alive. On the plate: a dozen darts—monomolecular tips, tungsten core, hollow point filled with reactive epoxy. One hit would open a fist-sized hole in hull plate or flesh alike. They christened them "Vulture-kisses."
Meanwhile Miguel machined a new manifold valve—titanium, single-crystal lattice, rated for 1 200 K. He tested it under full pressure, watched it hold, then etched on the rim: "For Lina, for cages opened." The etching was shallow but permanent; metal would carry the message into burn and maybe into death.
Day 104 – 03:10
Observation blister, station spin low
Karl floated alone, optics trained on the cluster heart. Brown dwarfs glimmered like embers in a dead hearth. Somewhere in that infrared haze buyers traded reactor cores and children, confident the dark would hide them. He whispered coordinates to the log, voice raw: "Right ascension 14.7, declination -27.8. Signal traffic faint, but there. We come quiet, we come hard."
Behind him the door cycled; Miguel entered, two bulbs of warm tea in hand. They clinked plastic, drank in silence. Finally Miguel spoke. "When we find them, what do we do with survivors?"
Karl's answer came without pause. "Free the prisoners, tag the evidence, burn the rest. Meridian law is months away; justice is here now."
Miguel nodded, eyes reflecting dwarf-light. "Good. I need to see their decks glow."
Day 105 – 11:30
Armor bay
Selene unveiled her masterpiece: reactive tiles—thin sheets of steel sandwiching explosive film. When a plasma bolt struck, the outer layer would vaporise and blow outward, disrupting beam focus. Each tile massed 800 grams; they glued 240 across Hearth-Hammer's bow and flanks. Added mass: 192 kg. Delta-v lost: 6 m/s. Karl approved without blinking. "Buy me life, I'll pay in velocity."
Day 106 – 19:00
Domeside memorial
They laid out fragments of Vulture's hull—jagged triangles painted black—into a crude star on the greenhouse soil. Ayla placed the foil star at the centre, Miguel added the etched manifold valve, Jun positioned a single vulture-kiss dart upright like a candle. They stood in silence while Rios played a single trumpet note through the speakers—long, pure, fading. No words spoken; steel and soil spoke enough.
Day 107 – 02:00
Final assembly
Second Star slotted into cradle, bolts torqued, coolant lines mated. The frigate now carried five drives: four original, one newborn. Test burn: 0.18 g for thirty seconds. The ship surged, couches groaning, welds singing. Selene's reactive tiles clattered but held. Miguel's manifold stayed cool. Jun's new lance coil reached 105 % rated flux without hot spot. Every system passed.
Karl wrote the numbers, closed the log, and whispered to the hull, "You're growing teeth, cousin."
Day 108 – 06:45
Departure hall
They suited in new colours: matte-black with a single jade basil leaf stencilled on left shoulder. Rios presented each crew member a token—small steel star folded from scrap, etched with their choice of word:
Karl – "Forward"
Miguel – "Lina"
Selene – "Remember"
Jun – "Expose"
Tala – "Heal"
They pocketed the stars beside hearts.
Ayla watched from the hatch, blanket around shoulders. She raised a hand, fingers spread—five for the living. They answered in kind. No tears, only purpose.
Day 109 – 07:00
Hearth-Hammer on pad, drives cold
Karl keyed the ship-wide. "This is not revenge. This is reclamation. We reclaim the lost, the sold, the forgotten. We reclaim the forty-three. Burn starts in sixty minutes. Count with me."
Chronometers rolled. Outside, Haven-3's wheel turned slow, garden lights blinking green. Inside, five heartbeats marched to the same cadence: one, two, three… forty-three… forward.
At zero the new five-drive cluster ignited. Thrust climbed to 0.18 g, pushing crew deep into couches. The reactive tiles rattled, then settled. The lance hummed awake, coils glowing violet. Second Star burned steady, a small sun at the stern.
Karl opened the log, wrote:
Day 109 – Refit complete. New teeth cut, new star born. Target: buyer cluster, 14.7/-27.8. Mission: free every cage, burn every chain. We fly at 0.18 g toward the red-dark. Steel remembers, garden sends us, thirteen hearts beat in our pocket. – Karl, captain of something bigger than revenge.
He closed the book, pocketed the foil star with its hidden square of nutrient film, and set course into the brown-dwarf haze. Behind, Haven-3 dwindled; ahead, infrared embers grew. The trumpet blues played low, then cut—silence more dangerous than any chord.
Forward, forward—until every echo had a name and every cage was memory.