DAY 97 — 05:49 (LOCAL)
Dawn on Harrow's Wake didn't arrive like sunlight.
It arrived like a wound opening.
The refinery haze turned the horizon into a bruised strip of orange and dirty gold. Heat shimmered off pipelines and slag berms. The air smelled like burned fuel and metallic dust—like the planet had been cut open too many times and never healed right.
Moonjaw's mechs stood in a loose line at the mouth of Slag Cut Delta, engines idling hot, coolant cycling in slow pulses. A trench of black glass and crushed ore ran between two ridges of industrial waste, narrow enough to punish speed, wide enough to kill in.
Dack liked the ground. That meant it was dangerous.
He stood inside the Dire Wolf, hands steady on the controls, eyes scanning the cut's angles and the ridgeline beyond. He watched the world the way he'd learned to watch it after Ronan died—like every shadow was a choice someone made to hurt you.
Behind and above him, Lyra kept the Union's systems quiet and tight. No open comms. No signatures they didn't need. Elowen sat at the comm station with her slate plugged in, jaw clenched, forcing her hands to stop shaking. Mina ran the schedule board like it could keep the universe orderly if she just did it right.
Down the corridor, Sera and Rina were at their watch points. Sera looked like she belonged there. Rina looked like she was wearing her fear on the inside where nobody could see it—where it still screamed.
No one spoke on the shipwide channels unless it mattered.
No one joked.
Not yet.
In the mech line, Jinx's Highlander shifted slightly, a heavy-legged predator flexing. She had her gauss rifle steadied, torso angled, missiles loaded. The black-and-red paint accents on her armor plates looked almost obscene against the refinery's gray light.
Beside her, Quill's Awesome stood tall and quiet, PPC capacitors humming like a storm held in check. Quill didn't fidget. She didn't waste motion. Her machine looked like a monument that had decided it was tired of being history.
Taila's Marauder waited a step back, slimmer, meaner. Taila kept it controlled, posture disciplined—better than she'd been weeks ago. Her breathing wasn't ragged anymore. It was measured.
Morrigan's Orion held the right edge of the formation, offset and hungry. The Orion looked like it had been designed to start arguments with its fists.
Dack's voice cut through the pack channel, low and clean. "We don't chase. We don't split. We take their angles away."
Jinx answered, bright. "Yes, boss."
Morrigan snorted. "Don't call him that."
Jinx laughed softly. "You don't get to tell me what to call my man."
Taila's voice came tight. "Jinx—"
"Later," Jinx sang.
Dack didn't correct her. He didn't encourage her either. He just let it roll off and kept watching the ridge.
Then Jinx's voice came again, quieter, only on the pack channel. "Hey."
Dack replied without looking. "Yeah."
"…If this goes bad," she said, and even Jinx couldn't make it a joke, "you don't do anything stupid."
Morrigan immediately cut in. "Like that's going to stop him."
Taila didn't speak, but Dack could feel her attention—like a hand on his back, like she was braced for the moment the universe tried to take him away again.
Dack's reply to Jinx was flat. "I don't do stupid."
Jinx huffed. "You do legendary."
Dack paused just long enough to make it count. "Then stay alive and write about it."
Silence hit the channel.
Taila made a small startled sound that might've been a laugh trying to be born and not knowing how.
Quill's voice cut in, dry as ash. "Noted."
Morrigan muttered, "He made a joke."
Jinx sounded pleased, like she'd just been handed a gift. "He did."
Dack didn't add anything. He watched the ridge.
On the far side of Slag Cut Delta, five shapes crested the berm in perfect spacing.
Clan metal.
Clean. Sharp. Wrong for this planet.
The Summoner led—tall, proud lines, missile pods angled like shoulders. That was Kyran. Dack didn't need a briefing to know it. The commander always stood where the field could see him.
To Kyran's left, the Hellbringer slid forward, elegant and lethal.
The Stormcrow moved on the opposite flank, fast enough that it made the slag look slow.
The compact Adder paced behind the lead like a coiled spring.
And the Kit Fox—small, tidy—held the rear, not weak, just positioned where it could punish mistakes.
They stopped as one.
Their formation didn't wobble.
Their line didn't drift.
They looked like they'd been manufactured into discipline.
Star Captain Kyran's voice cut onto open comms, crisp and amplified like a verdict.
> "Dack Jarn. You stand with stolen spine and contested asset. The batchall stands. Declare your Star."
Dack keyed open comms and answered bluntly. "Dire Wolf. Highlander. Awesome. Marauder. Orion."
A pause that wasn't surprise—calculation.
Kyran's voice remained cold. > "Five. Acceptable."
Dack didn't play theater. "Terms stay."
Kyran answered like he'd already accepted them. > "No vehicles. No infantry. No interference. A Star against a Star. The field is the Slag Cut."
"Winner decides," Dack said.
Kyran's voice sharpened slightly. > "Aff. The contested asset—Helena Varrik—will be claimed by the winner."
"And the JumpShip," Dack said.
That brought the first real reaction—just a microscopic pause, like a smile hidden behind discipline.
> "The JumpShip is Clan property," Kyran replied.
Dack's tone stayed level. "Then win it."
Silence stretched.
Then Kyran spoke, clipped. > "This batchall is not for the JumpShip. It is for the dishonor you carry."
Dack's eyes narrowed. "Dishonor isn't cargo."
Kyran's voice came colder. > "You do not understand Clan."
Dack answered, and he meant it. "I understand bullets."
A heartbeat.
Then Kyran said, > "Begin."
No countdown.
No warning.
The Clan Star moved like a blade leaving a sheath.
---
The Stormcrow hit first, sprinting along the left lip of the cut, trying to draw fire, trying to make someone turn their torso and open a lane.
Dack didn't take the bait.
"Hold your arcs," he ordered. "Let it run."
Jinx did anyway—because she was Jinx. The Highlander's gauss rifle thundered once, a clean, brutal shot that tore a chunk of slag off the ridge just behind the Stormcrow's path. The Clan mech juked hard, barely losing momentum.
Jinx laughed. "Fast little thing."
Quill's Awesome answered with a single PPC bolt into the cut's mouth, not at the Stormcrow—at the ground it wanted. The blast turned black glass into a crater of molten splatter, forcing the Stormcrow to adjust its lane.
Taila's Marauder held position and waited, disciplined. She didn't chase. She didn't flinch.
Good.
The Summoner opened up next—missiles streaking down into the trench in a tight spread meant to punish the front line. Dack felt impacts rattle the Dire Wolf's armor—warning tones flickering as the machine absorbed the violence without losing its step.
He answered with a controlled LRM volley—just enough to keep Kyran honest—and followed immediately with the Dire Wolf's gauss rifle, a single round aimed low. The slug struck the Summoner's leg plating with a harsh flash of sparks and a visible stumble.
Not down.
But noticed.
Clan mechs didn't scream. They didn't panic.
They adjusted.
The Hellbringer slid into the cut at an angle, trying to flank Dack's right. That was the real threat—laser arrays and speed meant to carve armor into ribbons if it got inside.
Morrigan's Orion stepped forward like it had been waiting for an excuse. She fired a hard autocannon burst down the Hellbringer's lane, forcing it to angle, forcing it to respect the Orion's bite.
The Hellbringer answered with a blistering sweep of energy fire that hammered Morrigan's Orion's front plating, bright enough to make the refinery haze glow.
Morrigan didn't retreat.
She snarled, voice low. "Come closer."
Dack watched the exchange and made the call. "Morrigan, don't get greedy."
"Shut up," she snapped.
He didn't argue.
He just moved the Dire Wolf one step to cover her, torso twisting to keep both Kyran and the Hellbringer in sight.
The Adder fired next—twin PPC-like impacts slamming into the slag beside Taila's Marauder, splashing molten glass across her lane like shrapnel.
Taila shifted, careful, and answered with her own PPC and autocannon—short controlled bursts that scored the Adder's armor and forced it to pivot away from an easy firing posture.
Taila's breathing stayed steady.
Dack's voice came in quick and blunt. "Good."
Taila didn't respond. She didn't have to.
The Kit Fox stayed back and opened its missile racks, sending a spread toward the convoy route behind them—the Clan trying to force Moonjaw to think about something other than the duel.
Quill's Awesome rotated, PPC capacitors whining, and she fired into the airburst lane—detonations in the haze, intercepts and near-misses that still turned the air into shrapnel.
"Trying to hit our backline," Quill said, calm.
Dack's reply was cold. "They don't get it."
Then the Stormcrow finally committed—boosting down into the cut, closing on Quill's Awesome, trying to overwhelm the tall machine with speed and concentrated fire.
Jinx saw it and moved to help.
Dack stopped her. "Hold. Don't break the line."
Jinx hissed. "He's going for Quill—"
Quill answered herself.
The Awesome took the Stormcrow's first rush on its armor like a tower taking hail, then Quill stepped forward into the Stormcrow's space and fired both PPCs at near-range.
The blast didn't vaporize the Stormcrow.
But it scorched its armor into a strobing furnace and forced the Clan pilot to back off or cook inside his own cockpit.
The Stormcrow disengaged fast, leaping away like a predator that had just learned the prey had teeth.
Jinx sounded impressed despite herself. "Okay. Hot girl's got hands."
Quill didn't respond.
Dack didn't let himself look away from Kyran.
Because the Summoner was moving now—stepping deeper into the trench, trying to force Dack to trade. Kyran wanted to prove something. Dack could feel it.
He didn't give Kyran a clean duel.
He gave him a war.
Dack fired LRMs again, tight and mean, and used the impacts to herd the Summoner into the narrowest part of the cut where its lateral movement was limited.
Then he barked, "Taila—cut right. Morrigan—pin left."
Taila's Marauder shifted into the right lane, firing to keep the Adder from interfering.
Morrigan's Orion stepped into the left, autocannon and missiles barking to keep the Hellbringer honest.
The Clan Star reacted immediately—Kit Fox trying to bracket, Stormcrow trying to punch through Quill, Adder trying to punish Taila's movement.
But they were reacting.
Dack was choosing.
He took one more step forward.
The Dire Wolf's AC/10 barked once—recoil thudding through the frame—and the shell punched into the Summoner's torso plating, cracking armor around the center mass.
Kyran answered with a missile volley that hammered Dack's Dire Wolf hard enough to make the cockpit alarms flare.
Dack's HUD flashed heat warnings.
He didn't care.
He fired the gauss rifle again.
The slug struck the Summoner's shoulder assembly and tore armor away in a bright spray of ferro.
Kyran's Summoner staggered.
Not crippled.
But bleeding.
And Clan pride didn't like bleeding.
Kyran's voice hit open comms, sharp now. > "You fight like a thief."
Dack answered bluntly. "You fight like a man who expects rules to save him."
A pause.
Then Kyran did what Dack expected.
He tried to force a kill.
The Summoner surged forward, closing distance, dumping fire into the Dire Wolf to drive heat and pressure, trying to overwhelm the heavier machine's stability.
Dack let it happen.
He managed heat the way he managed grief—controlled, compartmentalized, endured.
Then, when Kyran stepped into the exact lane Dack wanted, Dack fired the Dire Wolf's LRMs point-blank into the Summoner's leg line—enough to destabilize.
And followed with another AC/10 shot into the same damaged seam.
The Summoner's knee assembly buckled.
Kyran didn't fall. Clan pilots were too good for that.
But his Summoner's stride faltered.
And in a fight like this, a falter was a throat.
Jinx saw it and—despite Dack's earlier order—she took the opening.
The Highlander's gauss rifle thundered, and the slug slammed into the Summoner's upper torso, carving a brutal crater and forcing Kyran to twist away.
Dack didn't yell at her.
He just said, "Now."
Quill's Awesome fired—one PPC bolt catching the Summoner's damaged shoulder and turning it into a sparking ruin.
Taila's Marauder added a controlled burst down the lane that forced Kyran to choose between advancing and surviving.
Kyran backed.
He had to.
The Summoner retreated two steps to stabilize, and for the first time, the Clan Star's formation loosened.
Not breaking.
But strained.
The Hellbringer tried to exploit the moment—pressing into Morrigan, trying to carve the Orion down while Kyran recovered.
Morrigan didn't run.
She stepped forward and fired her autocannon again into the Hellbringer's midsection. The Clan mech's armor flashed, then answered with a torrent of energy fire that raked Morrigan's Orion's torso.
Morrigan's voice came out tight. "Dack—"
He was already moving.
He swung the Dire Wolf's torso, fired a gauss shot that clipped the Hellbringer's flank plating and forced it to peel away from Morrigan's throat.
Morrigan hissed through her teeth. "Thanks."
Dack's reply was short. "Don't die."
Taila's Marauder held the right side, trading with the Adder. Taila wasn't winning clean. She was surviving—blocking lanes, forcing the Adder to reposition, refusing to be baited into a mistake.
That mattered more than bravado.
The Stormcrow tried again—this time diving toward Jinx, trying to punish the Highlander's gauss timing with speed.
Jinx's laugh turned sharp. "Finally, one that wants me."
She fired her missiles in a tight spread to force the Stormcrow to juke, then brought the gauss rifle around. The Stormcrow boosted again, barely escaping the line.
Jinx didn't miss entirely—her shot tore off plating from the Stormcrow's shoulder, and the Clan mech stumbled as it landed.
Quill's Awesome punished the stumble with a PPC bolt that caught the Stormcrow in the side. The Clan mech's armor flared and it disengaged again, smoke streaking into the dawn haze.
The Kit Fox continued to bracket from the rear, throwing missile fire into lanes like it was painting boundaries.
Dack watched it and made another decision.
He didn't need to kill the Kit Fox.
He needed to break the Star.
Kyran's Summoner steadied.
Then moved again.
Pride reasserting.
Kyran's voice hit open comms, colder now. > "Your gunnery is competent. Your honor is not."
Dack answered without emotion. "I'm not here for honor. I'm here for mine."
Kyran surged.
Dack met him.
The Dire Wolf took the Summoner's next volley on armor already bruised and cracked. Warning tones flared. Heat climbed.
Dack fired his LRMs to keep Kyran's legs unstable, then the AC/10 again into the damaged torso seam.
Kyran tried to answer with a full concentrated burst.
Dack timed the moment Kyran's torso twisted and fired the gauss rifle straight into the Summoner's center mass.
The slug hit.
Armor caved.
Internal structure flashed.
Kyran's Summoner shuddered like it had been punched through the spine.
A moment later, the Summoner's reactor alarms started screaming across the open net—an involuntary broadcast.
Clan discipline kept Kyran from panicking.
But physics didn't care about discipline.
Kyran's voice came through, tight. > "Cease."
Dack didn't stop moving. "Yield."
The Clan Star hesitated.
The Adder tried to push in, trying to punish Dack while Kyran was compromised—one last attempt to force the issue.
Taila saw it and acted before Dack even had to call it.
She angled the Marauder and fired into the Adder's path—controlled bursts, not reckless—enough to force the Adder to back off or eat a bad trade.
Quill's Awesome rotated, PPCs aimed, reinforcing Taila's lane.
Morrigan's Orion held the Hellbringer at gunpoint range like a bruiser with a knife.
Jinx's Highlander shifted, gauss rifle steady, voice bright and cruel. "He said yield."
Kyran's voice came again, and this time the pride had hairline cracks in it. > "Batchall terms—winner decides."
Dack's tone stayed flat. "I decide."
Silence.
Then Kyran spoke, and the word sounded like it hurt him. > "Aff."
The Clan Star did not power down. They didn't lay themselves helpless on the ground.
But they stopped advancing.
They stopped pressing.
They held position—acknowledging defeat without surrendering dignity.
Dack didn't celebrate.
He didn't exhale.
He just made the next decision, because that was what kept people alive.
"You withdraw from Harrow's Wake," he said. "You stop contesting Helena. You stop putting Clan steel in my path for her."
Kyran's pause was longer.
> "Helena Varrik is… entangled," Kyran said at last, carefully, like choosing words mattered. "She is not simply a woman."
Dack's voice was cold. "She's my problem."
Another pause.
> "Aff," Kyran said, and there was something like restrained fury in it. "We will not contest her on this world."
Dack didn't let him wriggle. "Or the next."
Kyran's tone sharpened. > "You take too much."
Dack answered, blunt. "Then don't lose."
Jinx made a pleased noise on the pack channel. "God, that was hot."
Taila hissed, "Jinx!"
Quill didn't comment.
Morrigan muttered something obscene and quiet that sounded like reluctant admiration.
Kyran's voice came one last time, public and cold. > "Jade Shadow withdraws from this field. This is not forgiveness, thief. This is delay."
Dack didn't argue. "I'll live with it."
The Clan Star backed away, moving in disciplined reverse, refusing to show weakness even in retreat. The Summoner limped slightly—Kyran keeping it upright through sheer will and good piloting.
They disappeared into the refinery haze as the sun finally broke the horizon, spilling dull light into Slag Cut Delta like blood into water.
---
Only after the Clan signatures faded did Dack let himself check his own pack.
"Status," he said.
Jinx answered first, bright but a touch breathy. "Highlander's fine. I'm fine. Stop worrying."
Taila's voice came steady. "Marauder's banged. I'm okay."
Morrigan grunted. "Orion took hits. I'm still here."
Quill's tone stayed calm. "Awesome is stable."
Dack nodded once inside the cockpit.
Then Jinx's voice dipped lower on the private pack channel, just for them.
"We won," she said, softer.
Taila exhaled, and Dack could hear the shake she didn't want anyone else to hear. "We did."
Morrigan didn't say anything… but she didn't immediately pick a fight either.
That was its own kind of peace.
Lyra's voice cut in from the Union, clean and controlled. "Convoy employer confirms payment release. Full, plus hazard bonus."
Mina's voice followed, quick and anxious. "I—I verified the transfer. It's real."
Dack answered simply. "Good."
Elowen's voice came next, tight with nerves and purpose. "The file I pulled last night—Selena tag—I'm stabilizing it. It's fragmented, but it has route markers. I think… I think it's a lead."
Dack's grip tightened on the controls for half a heartbeat.
He kept his voice flat. "Keep working."
"Yes, sir," Elowen said, too formal.
Dack didn't correct her.
Because she'd earned the right to be afraid and useful at the same time.
He turned the Dire Wolf back toward the depot.
No victory lap.
No speech.
Just the weight of what came next.
As the Dire Wolf's heavy feet carried him through the slag and back toward the Union's ramp, Dack let one private thought rise—one line, for his own pacing, for the part of him that still counted time the way other people counted prayers.
Day ninety-seven.
And for the first time since Ronan died, the number didn't feel like a countdown alone.
It felt like something he was building.