Page 11 of Big Bad Red Protector

"The distinction is a luxury neither of us has right now."

The argument is still forming when the corridor shudders.

Not structural damage—the sound is wrong for that, too low, too resonant, more frequency than force. The light panels flicker in a specific sequence I recognize from the Bridge transit sector catwalk, and my knees threaten to soften beneath me before I can brace.

Kheltor crosses the space between us in two strides and his hand locks around my arm, steadying.

The tremor passes in four seconds.

We are closer than the argument required. His grip does not ease immediately, and I do not move away, and the charged silence that fills the space where our words were is worse than the tremor itself.

On the wall sensor panel behind him, three indicators blink the same anomalous frequency they logged on the catwalk.

The Bridge is not reacting to proximity this time.

I'm nowhere near it.

CHAPTER 8

KHELTOR

The access trail takes me eleven minutes to trace, which means whoever ran it intended to be found only after it no longer mattered.

The entry point is a command-tier authorization node—the same clearance architecture used to wipe Dast's corridor logs—routed through three internal relay points to mask the origin. The target is the backup partition on Nina's customs terminal where she stored secondary copies of the docking records she pulled from sublevel seven. Whoever entered the system did not simply read the files. They mapped them. Cross-referenced them against sealed Bridge research archives and then exited cleanly, leaving behind the digital equivalent of a signed receipt.

They know what she has. They know what she is.

I am already moving when the customs control alert hits my comm.

The sector alarm reaches me before I reach the corridor. By the time I clear the junction to customs control, the scene has already compressed into something violent and fast: two figures in unmarked station gear moving through panicked personnel toward the back processing area where Nina runs her terminal.

The first attacker is disciplined and quick. I drop him before he turns to meet me, because hesitation here has permanent consequences.

The second has Nina cornered against the records wall, weapon leveled, calculating the angle. What he did not calculate is Nina.

She does not run. She hits the emergency barrier release on the wall panel beside her—a cargo partition designed to separate processing areas during contamination alerts—and the barrier drops between them with enough force and speed to knock the weapon wide. The shot burns through the ceiling instead of through her. She is already moving, shoving through the gap to my side of the barrier before he can reset.

I clear the gap in two seconds and put him down.

The processing area goes from chaos to the particular silence that follows violence too fast for most people to categorize. Personnel are pressed against walls, behind desks, into any geometry that puts distance between them and the event. Nina is breathing hard against the records wall, both hands flat on the surface behind her. She is not injured. She assessed that herself before I could ask.

"Don't," she says, when I open my mouth. "Don't ask if I'm fine."

I recover both weapons instead.

The manufacture codes take thirty seconds to run through my scanner, because I already know what I am going to find and knowing does not make it less damaging. The first weapon is the Coalition security issue, active service cycle. The second is Alliance tactical division, current generation. Two different governments. One coordinated operation.

Whatever faction is operating inside Orpheus Station, it is not loyal to either side. It is using both as cover.

Nina does not argue about leaving customs control. She argues about the destination.

"Vakutan security quarters," she says, in the corridor outside, while I move her fast enough to discourage dissent. "You're putting me in Vakutan security quarters."

"I'm putting you somewhere no one with command-level clearance can access without my direct authorization."

"You can't simply relocate me like a piece of evidence."

"The piece of evidence stays in a secured location until it is no longer a target," I say. "You stay there for the same reason."