DAY 90 — 02:11 (LOCAL)
The night side never fully went dark on Cinderfall.
The horizon glowed faintly where refinery stacks burned off excess gas, and the basalt plains held heat like a grudge. Even tucked into a dead cut between jagged ridges, the Union felt exposed—metal skin cooling too slowly, scent of scorched armor clinging to it like blood on hands.
Inside the mech bay, the captured Sailhook crate sat open on the deck, its contents spread across Lyra's work table in neat, disciplined rows:
the CIPHER MATRIX case, nested in foam
the spool of transponder chips
the armored shipping core that wasn't a ledger at all—more like a keyring to doors nobody admitted existed
Lyra hadn't slept. Her posture stayed calm, but her eyes had that sharpened edge of someone doing math with lives as variables.
Rook and Rafe hovered close, hands restless, wanting to open everything and learn everything at once. They were still streaked with grease and soot from the yard fight, hair tied back, cheeks smudged. They didn't look like "techs" so much as kids who'd crawled out of a machine's ribs and refused to leave.
Quill stood at Lyra's shoulder, arms folded, face blank. She watched the data like she could intimidate it into cooperating.
Taila paced near the Marauder, helmet under her arm, braid falling down her back. She looked bruised through the exhaustion—eyes bright from adrenaline that hadn't decided whether to fade or turn into fear.
Morrigan sat on a crate in front of the Orion, boots planted wide, arms crossed. She looked like she'd rather be anywhere else and also like she'd kill anyone who tried to move Dack's crew without asking.
Jinx leaned against the Highlander's shin plating, black-and-red clothes half-zipped, hair loose, blue eyes gleaming in the bay's harsh lights. She smiled too easily for someone who'd just watched men burst into mist outside a bunker door.
Dack stood under the ribs of his Dire Wolf, hands on his hips, reading the bay like he read terrain. The whole ship hummed around him—winches, fans, coolant pumps, the soft clink of chains holding the captured Timber Wolf down like a prize that could still bite.
He spoke once, blunt. "Status."
Lyra didn't look up from her slate. "The core isn't a simple schedule. It's a handshake system. Window timing, collar assignment, and a cipher package that changes every few hours. Whoever built it expected the node to get raided eventually."
Quill's voice was quiet. "So it's meant to burn."
"Yeah," Lyra said. "Which means if they realize we took it intact, they'll try to kill us before we can use it."
Morrigan snorted. "They already tried."
Taila's eyes flicked to the sealed corridor hatch where Vasha was locked away. "Vasha said they'd burn the node."
"They did," Dack said.
Jinx's grin sharpened. "We were faster."
Lyra finally looked up. "Fast is not the same thing as safe."
Dack nodded once. "Keep cracking it."
Lyra hesitated, then said what she'd been chewing on since the crate opened. "The line you saw—Shrike's Step, Collar Two—that's real. But it's still missing the actual recharge point. The core doesn't store it in plain text."
Rook and Rafe both leaned in at once.
Rafe: "Need—"
Rook: "—broadcast—"
Rafe: "—token."
Rook: "Or—"
Rafe: "—living—"
Rook: "—key."
Dack looked at them. "English."
Rafe blinked. Rook stepped in. "You need a real-time coordinate ping. Or someone who has the current sail-charge location. The node would get a burst from the JumpShip right before charge."
Quill's eyes narrowed. "So the ground node is only half the spine."
Lyra nodded. "We can dock if we know where it is."
Morrigan's gaze slid to the battered man Taila had grabbed alive—still zip-tied and sitting against a bulkhead under a harsh work light, face pale, eyes darting. He'd been sobbing earlier. Now he looked numb.
"The comm tech," Morrigan said. "He knows."
The man flinched.
Dack's eyes went to him. "Bring him."
No one moved for a second. Not because they didn't understand. Because the mood turned.
Jinx pushed off the Highlander and walked over with that light, almost playful step she used when she wanted to scare someone without admitting it. She crouched in front of the tied man, tilted her head, smiled like a girl in a bar.
"Hi," she said sweetly. "You're about to be useful."
The man swallowed. "I— I already told you— I don't know—"
Dack's voice cut over her shoulder. "You do."
The man's eyes flicked to Dack, then away fast. "I'm a yard tech. I move freight. I don't— I don't talk to—"
Quill stepped into view beside Dack, her presence suddenly heavy. "He's lying."
The man's breath hitched.
Lyra's tone stayed even. "We don't need your loyalty. We need your memory. Where does Sailhook send its burst? Who receives it? What is the channel label?"
The man stared at the deck like it might open and swallow him.
Morrigan leaned forward on her crate. "If you keep lying, I'm going to let Jinx improvise."
Jinx's grin widened. "Please let me improvise."
Taila's expression tightened. She didn't like it. But she didn't object.
The man broke. "It's— it's not pirates," he whispered, voice shaking. "The Reavers are just a front. We get a packet once per cycle. It comes in on a dead-band frequency. We route it through an old relay mast, then the mast burns out and we replace it. That's the deal. We don't ask why."
Dack's eyes stayed cold. "Who gives it."
The man swallowed. "A courier. Always masked. Always different voice. But the packet header… the header says Jade Shadow."
The bay went still.
Even Jinx stopped smiling for half a beat.
Quill's jaw tightened. "So it's real."
Lyra exhaled through her nose, focused again. "Frequency."
The man stammered it out—numbers and bands and an ugly little identifier string.
Lyra's fingers moved across her slate. "That helps."
Rook and Rafe looked like someone had handed them a holy relic.
Rafe: "We—"
Rook: "—can—"
Rafe: "—spoof—"
Rook: "—it."
Dack nodded once. "Good."
Then the Union's internal sensors pinged.
Lyra's head snapped up. "We've got incoming."
Dack didn't move fast.
He moved decisive.
"Alarm. Mech bays hot. Quill, bring the Awesome online. Taila, suit up. Morrigan. Jinx."
Jinx was already jogging to the Highlander ladder, grin back in place like she'd been waiting for this.
Taila's hands shook for half a second as she locked her helmet on—then steadied when she saw Dack already climbing.
Morrigan looked annoyed, which was how she handled fear. She pulled her helmet up and sealed it.
Quill didn't change expression at all. She just climbed into the Awesome like it was a coffin she'd practiced dying in.
Lyra's voice came sharp over comms as she pulled up external feeds. "Multiple heat signatures. They're not coming from the yard. They're coming from our ridge line. Someone tracked our exhaust plume."
Dack's voice stayed flat in his cockpit. "How many."
Lyra paused, then said it. "A lance of vehicles… and three mechs. Then… farther out… a faster set. Clan-fast."
Jinx's laugh crackled. "They brought friends."
Quill's voice was colder. "This is the burn team."
Taila swallowed audibly over comms. "Dack…"
Dack cut in, calm. "Hold to plan. We keep the key. We keep the ship. We keep each other."
A beat.
Then he added, quieter, still blunt. "No one dies alone."
It hit harder than any speech because he didn't waste words.
---
They rolled out into basalt night.
The Union stayed hidden. The Leopard stayed clean—Lyra lifted it only long enough to reposition and drop sensor buoys in a rough arc around their cut. She set it down again behind another ridge, engines dampened.
Moonjaw's mechs moved into a defensive crescent above the Union's mouth like predators guarding a den.
Dire Wolf centered, Dack in the anchor position.
Awesome to his right, Quill's PPCs ready.
Highlander left, Jinx already hunting angles.
Marauder half-step behind Dack's right rear, Taila screening.
Orion slightly back, Morrigan controlling the lane like a wall with a bad knee and a worse temper.
Griffin on a high ridge, Cassia overwatching with a PPC line and LRM arcs.
No one touched anyone. They couldn't. They were sealed in metal coffins with only comms and trust.
Lyra's voice came over the net. "First group is in range. Vehicles. They're trying to probe your ridge. Mechs behind them—two heavies, one medium."
"Names," Dack said.
Lyra's feed sharpened. "Medium is a Hunchback. Heavies look like a Cataphract and a Grasshopper."
Morrigan made an approving noise. "Cataphract's worth money."
"Stay focused," Dack said.
The vehicles crested first—tracked APCs with mounted autocannons, missile trucks with cheap racks. Raiders, not soldiers. The kind of force you hired to die for you.
They fired into the ridge line as soon as they saw silhouettes—rock sprays, tracer lines, screaming rockets.
Jinx fired first.
Her Highlander launched an LRM spread that didn't just hit a missile truck—it erased the crew around it. The explosion threw bodies into the air in pieces.
Taila's Marauder followed with a PPC bolt into an autocannon vehicle, the shot punching through armor and turning the driver compartment into vapor and sparks.
Cassia's Griffin fired LRMs into the back line, forcing the vehicles to scatter and break formation.
The raiders kept coming anyway.
Because someone was paying them to.
Dack didn't waste time on them.
He stepped the Dire Wolf forward and fired his LRMs into the ridge's approach lane—not saturating everything, just placing explosions where vehicles wanted to go. He shaped their movement like cattle.
The Hunchback emerged next, torso pivoting to bring its big gun to bear. It fired at Jinx's Highlander.
The shot hit armor with a heavy, ugly impact. Jinx whooped like it was foreplay.
"Hi," she said brightly. "I'm Jinx."
She fired her gauss rifle once.
The round punched into the Hunchback's torso and tore plating away in a shower of ferro and sparks. The Hunchback staggered, tried to pivot—
—and Quill's Awesome hit it with a PPC bolt that made it glow and smoke.
The Hunchback backed up, suddenly realizing it was not the apex predator tonight.
The Cataphract pushed next, autocannon barking at Dack's Dire Wolf, trying to anchor him in place.
Morrigan's Orion answered with an AC/10 shot into the Cataphract's flank, forcing it to turn its damaged side away.
Morrigan's voice came low and venomous. "Wrong ridge."
The Grasshopper jumped—hard, aggressive—trying to land behind Taila and tear her apart.
Taila saw it coming in time.
She didn't panic.
She shifted her Marauder's torso and fired a PPC bolt mid-jump.
The Grasshopper landed wrong, armor scorched, posture broken.
Cassia put an LRM volley into its rear arc, forcing it to stumble forward instead of press.
Dack's voice came calm. "Good work."
Taila's breathing hitched over comms. "Copy."
Then Lyra's voice snapped, urgent. "Second element just broke cover. Clan silhouettes. Three mechs. Fast."
The basalt ridge line to the east lit up with thruster glare and heat bloom.
Not raiders.
Not Inner Sphere heavy clunkers.
Sleek shapes moving like knives.
Lyra named them as they came into view. "Stormcrow (Ryoken). Nova (Black Hawk-KU). Fire Moth (Dasher)."
Quill's voice went cold. "Jade Shadow."
Jinx sounded delighted. "Now it's a party."
The Fire Moth didn't waste time.
It sprinted wide, trying to slip past the ridge to get eyes on the Union's hidden cut—fast enough to do it before anyone could stop it if they hesitated.
Dack didn't hesitate.
He fired his gauss rifle once, not at the Fire Moth's torso—at the ground in front of its sprint lane, forcing it to veer.
The Fire Moth juked anyway, skimming the edge of the impact crater like it was laughing at physics.
The Stormcrow opened up next—laser fire and missiles raking the ridge, trying to spike heat and force Moonjaw to move off their prepared lanes.
The Nova followed with a tighter, disciplined burst, targeting Taila's Marauder arm and Quill's Awesome shoulder like it was trying to cripple their ability to deny lanes.
Quill took a hit and didn't budge.
Taila took a hit and almost flinched—then steadied.
Dack's voice cut clean. "Ignore the raiders. Don't chase the Clan. We hold the ridge. We deny eyes on the Union."
Morrigan's tone was rough. "They're trying to spot our ship."
"Yeah," Dack said. "So we don't let them."
The Fire Moth tried again, sprinting for the gap.
Jinx pivoted her Highlander, gauss rifle tracking. She fired once.
The shot clipped the Fire Moth's leg assembly and tore armor away. The Fire Moth stumbled—didn't fall—but its run turned sloppy.
Cassia called it, sharp. "Fire Moth limping. Still moving wide."
"Taila," Dack said. "Screen it."
Taila swallowed. "Copy."
She moved her Marauder into the Fire Moth's lane—not close enough to get baited, just enough to deny the gap. She fired a PPC bolt that didn't kill the Fire Moth but forced it to break off again.
The Nova tried to punish her for it—laser rake into Taila's torso plating.
Taila hissed through comms, pain and anger. She held position anyway.
Dack felt something heavy settle in his chest—not fear. Not adrenaline.
A decision.
He'd been wrong before when he thought this was temporary. When he thought these women were just passengers on a brutal road.
They were his crew.
His responsibility.
His people.
He keyed the net, voice flat but firm. "No one gets left out here."
Jinx's laugh softened. "Aww."
Dack ignored her. "Quill. Put pressure on the Nova. Morrigan, keep the Cataphract pinned. Cassia, keep calling. Taila—don't let the Fire Moth see the ship."
"Copy," they replied, one after another.
And Moonjaw moved like a unit—not perfect, but real.
Quill's Awesome fired a PPC bolt into the Nova's shoulder plating, then another into its torso. Heat spiked across the Nova's frame, forcing it to back off and adjust.
The Nova answered with a tighter burst, trying to trade damage and keep Quill honest.
Jinx took advantage of the exchange and fired her gauss rifle into the Stormcrow's approach lane, making it twist away from its clean firing line.
Morrigan kept the Orion planted, AC/10 punishing the Cataphract every time it tried to angle toward the Union cut.
The Cataphract tried to retreat behind the Hunchback.
Dack fired LRMs and forced both raider mechs to scatter.
The vehicles were gone now—burned or running or dead.
The raiders had done their job.
The real killers were here.
The Fire Moth, damaged but still fast, suddenly did something worse than sprint wide.
It sprinted in.
Straight toward Dack's Dire Wolf—baiting.
Dack saw it instantly.
It wanted him to chase.
It wanted to pull him off the ridge so the Stormcrow and Nova could slip eyes onto the Union and call in something heavier.
He didn't chase.
He punished.
He fired the AC/10 once into the Fire Moth's torso at close range.
The shell struck and tore armor away, buckling structure.
The Fire Moth skidded, legs chattering.
It tried to pivot away—
—and Taila's Marauder fired a PPC bolt into its damaged leg.
This time the leg failed.
The Fire Moth collapsed into the basalt dust like a blade snapping.
Jinx's voice came bright. "Got your runner."
Quill's tone stayed cold. "Do not destroy the cockpit."
Dack's eyes narrowed. He understood.
The Fire Moth pilot was a key.
A living key.
He stepped closer, Dire Wolf looming, gauss rifle reticle settling on the Fire Moth's center mass.
Over external speakers, his voice came out filtered and monstrous. "Power down. Eject and live."
The Fire Moth's cockpit didn't open.
The Stormcrow screamed across comms in a tight-beam burst—Clan language, clipped and furious.
The Fire Moth's reactor flared.
It was going to self-destruct.
Dack's voice snapped over lance net. "Lyra—jam."
Lyra's reply was instant. "On it."
The Leopard's hidden sensor suite pushed a broad-spectrum interference burst—dirty, aggressive, not elegant.
The Fire Moth's ignition sequence stuttered.
The cockpit hissed.
Then the canopy blew and an ejection seat fired—violent, desperate.
The pilot shot upward, slammed into the basalt ridge above, then tumbled down and hit the ground hard.
Not dead.
Not okay.
Alive.
Dack didn't celebrate.
He ordered, "Morrigan. Secure."
Morrigan's Orion stepped toward the downed pilot and pinned the area with its shadow. She didn't have hands that could delicately pick up a person, but she didn't need to. The presence was enough.
Taila moved closer on foot lanes, Marauder looming, and used her mech's manipulator to scoop the ejection seat's harness and drag it back toward their ridge line like hauling a wounded animal.
The pilot screamed.
Jinx laughed once, sharp. "He'll live."
Quill's voice was calm. "He needs to."
The Nova saw what they were doing and surged forward, trying to break through Quill's anchor position to reclaim the pilot.
Quill didn't retreat.
She fired another PPC bolt into the Nova's torso, then another, heat and impact forcing it to stagger.
The Stormcrow tried to flank around Jinx to get an angle on Taila and the captured pilot.
Jinx shifted her Highlander like a door slamming shut and fired her gauss rifle into the Stormcrow's shoulder plating.
The Stormcrow twisted away, armor smoking.
It didn't run.
But it stopped pressing.
Dack kept his Dire Wolf on the ridge, denying the lanes.
He didn't chase the Stormcrow.
He didn't chase the Nova.
He held the only ground that mattered.
Because behind him, in the Union's belly, Lyra had the core open.
And time was the real enemy now.
Lyra's voice cut in, fast. "I'm getting pings. They're trying to remote-wipe the core through the transponder spool. I can isolate it, but I need a minute."
Dack's reply was immediate. "You have it."
Quill: "We can hold."
Morrigan: "We'll hold."
Jinx's voice turned bright and savage. "Let them come."
Taila didn't speak. She just stayed in the lane, Marauder smoking, refusing to back up.
The Stormcrow and Nova both hesitated now—like predators suddenly unsure whether the prey's bite was too sharp.
Then the Stormcrow did what Clan pilots did when they didn't like a situation.
It escalated.
A new heat bloom rose on the far ridge—larger. Heavier.
Lyra's voice went tight. "New contact. Assault silhouette. Coming in hard."
The shape crested the basalt ridge like a moving cliff.
Gargoyle (Man O' War).
Jade Shadow wasn't trying to probe anymore.
They were trying to crush.
Jinx went quiet for a moment, then sounded delighted again. "Oh. Big boy."
Quill's voice was flat. "They want to pin us and burn the Union."
Dack's answer came without hesitation. "They don't get it."
The Gargoyle fired first—PPC bolts slamming into the ridge and blasting rock into the air.
One hit near Morrigan's Orion and the shockwave rattled her cockpit hard.
Morrigan swore.
The Nova and Stormcrow moved again with the Gargoyle's pressure behind them, trying to break Moonjaw's line in a coordinated push.
Dack made a choice.
"Jinx," he said.
"Yeah?" she answered, happy.
"Leg the Gargoyle."
Jinx laughed like she'd been handed candy. "Yes, sir."
She fired her gauss rifle.
The round struck the Gargoyle's leg plating and tore armor away, but the Gargoyle was thick—Clan assault thick. It staggered and kept moving.
Quill added a PPC bolt into the same leg joint. Another. Heat shimmered off the Gargoyle's armor.
Dack fired LRMs into its approach lane to force it to twist.
Taila fired her PPC into the leg seam when it exposed itself for half a heartbeat.
The Gargoyle's leg assembly began to fail—not exploding, not dramatic. Just a big machine's knee joint getting tired of lying.
The Gargoyle tried to press anyway.
Then its leg buckled.
The assault mech dropped to one knee, basalt cracking under its weight.
Jinx's voice turned gleeful. "Kneel."
The Stormcrow and Nova both hesitated again—because their big hammer had just been humbled.
And in that hesitation, Lyra's voice came through, sharp with triumph. "I've got it. Charge coordinate package decoded. Shrike's Step is charging at a deep point—behind the outer moon's shadow. They use a dead-zone Lagrange drift. I have the point."
Quill's tone stayed cold, but something in it loosened. "So we can find it."
Lyra added, faster now. "And the captured Fire Moth pilot has an active token. I can read it if you bring him inside."
Dack's voice cut in. "Extract now."
The Stormcrow realized what had happened—realized Moonjaw had gotten what they came for.
It fired a final burst to cover disengagement.
The Nova fired too, trying to spike Quill's heat and force her to slow.
Then both Clan mechs began to pull back toward the ridge line, the Gargoyle using its remaining leg to limp behind cover.
They weren't retreating because they were scared.
They were retreating because they'd failed the first objective: kill the mercs before they used the key.
They'd be back.
With more.
Dack didn't chase.
He didn't have to.
He'd already won the piece that mattered.
"Union," he said. "Ramp."
Lyra's voice was steady. "Ramp's down behind the cut. Bring them in."
Moonjaw withdrew in disciplined order, covering each other's arcs, denying flanks.
Cassia's Griffin dropped from overwatch last, PPC still tracking lanes, then backed into the cut like she'd finally learned what survival looked like.
Taila dragged the Fire Moth pilot's ejection harness toward the Union ramp with her Marauder's manipulator, careful enough not to crush him, rough enough that he understood he wasn't in control.
The pilot was young. Pale under helmet straps. Eyes wide and furious.
He spat something in Clan tongue.
Jinx translated badly. "He says we smell."
Morrigan snorted. "Tell him to stop breathing then."
The Union doors sealed.
The world changed from open basalt cold to ship heat and recycled air.
Inside the bay, Lyra met them at the ramp with her slate in hand, face composed.
No guards behind her.
Just a woman with cameras, locks, and a crew willing to die to keep her ship intact.
"Bring him to the med bay corner," Lyra said. "Triplets—watch rotation at the hatch. Two at a time. No heroics."
The triplets nodded too quickly, awkward and tense, trying to look brave.
Quill stepped toward the captured pilot. "He stays alive."
Jinx walked past him and patted his cheek through the helmet straps. "Welcome to Moonjaw. It's cozy."
The pilot tried to bite her hand.
Jinx laughed and pulled back. "Aw. He's spicy."
Taila watched the whole thing, chest tight—not jealousy, not exactly. Something like the old ache she used to carry when she didn't think she belonged anywhere.
Dack didn't miss it.
He didn't soften.
But he spoke into the bay net, voice quieter, still blunt. "You did good."
Taila's breath caught. "Yeah."
Morrigan limped slightly as she moved, Orion knee alarms still echoing in her cockpit memory. She glared at the Fire Moth pilot like she wanted to throw him out an airlock.
Then she looked at Dack and said, quieter, "They came for us."
Dack nodded once. "They'll come again."
Quill's eyes stayed on the captured pilot. "Now we can go to them."
Lyra held her slate up so Dack could see the decoded line.
SHRIKE'S STEP — CHARGE SHADOW — OUTER MOON DRIFT
AUTH TOKEN REQUIRED: ACTIVE
Dack stared at it.
He didn't smile.
He didn't gloat.
He just let the shape of the next step settle into his bones.
Then he turned and climbed back into the Dire Wolf's cockpit to run damage checks—because the only place he let himself count was inside metal.
The canopy sealed.
The world tightened to instruments and heat curves and the quiet hum of a machine that had killed enough to be honest.
He said the number once, low and private.
"Ninety."
Then he looked at the line again—Shrike's Step, outer moon drift—and knew, with grim certainty, that Moonjaw had just stopped being a merc band trying to survive.
They'd become a problem a Clan would remember.
And the next time the Jade Shadow came, it wouldn't be to probe.
It would be to erase.
But Dack already had what they feared most.
A way to reach back.