Chapter 28

Eteren One Orbital Starbase

Mottmor System, Venddral Raidezel Sector

Date: Zeran 24, Year 4731

The promenade’s merchant center on Eteren One thrived with sound, motion, and the constant flow of traffic. Merchants called out from their stalls, while others trusted their wares to draw attention. Some establishments brimmed with patrons, while others struggled to attract even a single visitor, with most landing somewhere in between. Shoppers haggled over rare artifacts or essential supplies, while others wandered aimlessly.

Some paused at viewing ports, admiring the emerald planet Eteren and the traffic near the station. Customers navigated the dense foot traffic, some hurrying to catch their transports as others emerged from security checkpoints.

At one stall, a compact, broad-shouldered Valzenkel buyer hesitated, their expressive eyes narrowing skeptically as they examined an intricately crafted trinket. It’s beautiful, yes, but worth that price? Ridiculous.

The Sabon merchant, indigo-skinned and four-armed, leaned closer with a grin, raising the trinket. I’ve got them hooked, they thought.

“A masterpiece from Nbula,” the merchant declared, their voice smooth and confident as their arms gestured animatedly. The Valzenkel hesitated, weighing the trinket’s worth against their credits. They shifted slightly, testing if walking away might lower the price. The Valzenkel wanted something special for their significant other, but the cost had made them hesitate.

Nearby, a Bolvatan eagerly pitched an all-inclusive trip package to a pair of Uxians, who seemed captivated by his enthusiastic descriptions of the attractions in his home star system. Further along, a Redtrislu glided across the floor, leaving a faint trail of its mucus. A utility Synthetic followed closely behind, diligently cleaning the residue.

A distracted Netraxian stepped into the sticky trail, glaring at their shoe as the goo clung stubbornly, nearly trapping their foot. A string of muttered curses escaped as they begrudgingly pried their foot free. Why does this always happen to me?

Spanning multiple levels, the promenade was packed with visitors from countless worlds. Voices in a dozen dialects clashed and merged, a range of pitches and octaves as varied as the beings who spoke them. Overhead, glass lifts moved between levels, ferrying residents and visitors to different levels.

RDF Marines patrolled the walkways, their rifles held casually at the ready. One Marine scanned the promenade, their attention caught by a disagreement brewing between two patrons outside a distant tavern. Their partner, less concerned, stifled a yawn. “This shift can’t end soon enough,” they grumbled.

On an elevated platform, a security Synthetic stood watch, its sensors sweeping the promenade, prepared to report anything out of the ordinary.

Kaelar wove through the merchant center, his face set in irritation. His black fur bristled as his narrow, predatory eyes swept over anyone who ventured too close. Most gave the displeased Loquar a wide berth. A passing merchant wisely took a step back, thinking to themselves, That Loquar looks ready for a fight.

He left the promenade, turning into a utility corridor, where the noise faded but never entirely disappeared. At a service lift, Kaelar swiped his card and stepped into the lift, descending to the cargo area where merchants stored surplus goods. Scattered employees moved through the bay, their glances sliding off Kaelar without interest.

Towering stacks of crates and sealed storage chambers surrounded him. Kaelar strode forward, his thoughts consumed by his recent encounter with Nrek and the unsettling warnings that came with it.

He had dismissed countless hollow threats in his line of work, but Nrek’s words struck differently. Their demeanor exuded a seriousness Kaelar couldn’t ignore. He didn’t fear them, but they concerned him in ways few others ever had. Perhaps fear might even be warranted.

Whether it was the cold certainty in Nrek’s voice or the piercing intensity of his eyes, Kaelar recognized a formidable adversary. Growing up on the streets of YND, one quickly learned to read others—or risk falling victim to them.

What unsettled him most was Mira’s uncharacteristic failure to uncover anything about Nrek or his companions. Mira, still in her quarters, hadn’t given up and tirelessly worked to uncover something. Even her closest contacts in station security had offered nothing but apologies.

Nrek and his companions' ability to arrive and leave without a trace was a feat only the most resourceful—or dangerous—could accomplish. Kaelar thought it impossible—something many within the Syndicate had attempted and failed to achieve. At the very least, Nrek’s group possessed resources beyond the reach of the Vanicktus Syndicate.

Eteren One was the Syndicate’s domain, as was the Mottmor system, and no outside group could encroach unchecked. While the Vanicktus Syndicate held ground in many systems, Mottmor was one where their presence was firmly entrenched.

Unable to gather answers himself, Kaelar turned to the Vanicktus system lord for counsel. Any countermove against Nrek required a full understanding of the implications. But how could they counter a threat when they didn’t even know where Nrek’s group had gone—or if they had even left the station? The sting of being caught off guard lingered. If Kaelar couldn’t unearth the information, perhaps his boss could.

Still, he doubted how seriously Valter would take the matter, especially with the sting of their recent losses still fresh. Yet the risk of inaction was far larger than the risk of bringing it up. Valter had access to far more resources than Kaelar did. If anyone could uncover the truth, it was him—or so Kaelar hoped.

The maze of crates shifted like a living entity, closing in with each turn. The towering stacks of containers formed narrow, shadowed pathways that guided him deeper, until he finally reached a secluded chamber.

The door clicked open. Kaelar stepped inside, and it shut behind him, sealing the cramped space filled with crates.

A familiar voice resonated through the speaker embedded in the wall, instantly recognizable to Kaelar. “What do you want?” it demanded.

Kaelar’s gaze fixed on the camera lens protruding from the wall. “I’m here to see Valter. He’s expecting me. Open up,” he said.

“Name?” came the reply after a pause, the tone laced with satisfaction at Kaelar’s frustration.

Kaelar’s voice dropped to a growl. "Don’t waste my time, Grev. You know exactly who I am." His claws flexed against his palm.

“Password.”

"There’s never been a password. Let. Me. In," Kaelar spoke, his voice dipping into a quiet, threatening tone.

A series of mechanical clicks signaled the locks disengaging. The door split into four sections, retracting in opposite directions. Kaelar stepped through, leaving the cramped storage chamber for a space bathed in soft, ambient lighting.

Melodic techno music pulsed softly in the background, encouraging private conversations. Kaelar moved through the expansive lounge, its tables scattered with patrons.

It was a place where unspoken deals were struck, facilitated by the Vanicktus Syndicate, far removed from RDF and Trade Union regulations. Non-registered, unknown, it was a place where power shifted in whispers and alliances formed in secrecy—the station’s rules simply didn’t apply.

Low murmurs of conversation filled the room. Business opportunities surfaced as negotiations unfolded, leading to forged alliances, struck deals, and exchanged threats. Some discussions ended with shared smiles, while others left one party sitting in uneasy silence.

Kaelar’s focus settled on a secured room guarded by a Loquar and a Krylan standing rigidly near the farthest wall, their shock daggers sheathed and particle rupture pistols secured at their hips. Energy stun rifles rested in their arms. A woman with a calm yet commanding demeanor guided select patrons past them into the private, secured rooms.

Kaelar moved through the lounge, observing the Nsalron diplomats nearby, their deep blue luminescent skin visible beneath the folds of their attire, engaged in a subdued exchange with a human ambassador. Despite being outnumbered, the human pair—a composed man and woman—maintained a serene confidence, in sharp contrast to the Nsalrons' occasional glances, unsure how to react. The humans seemed firmly in control of the proceedings.

Across the room, a lively discussion unfolded at a table where two Uxians shared restrained laughter with a Kirlu, its insectoid frame shifting with each gesture. Nearby, an Ottorin woman cloaked in elegant fabrics sipped her drink.

Her role was pivotal—shielding her people from the underworld’s influence while deftly navigating its intricate ties to ensure their prominence in the Union remained unchallenged. For the Ottorin, alliances or at least an understanding with entities like the Vanicktus Syndicate were a necessary evil. She took a slow sip from her glass, her expression unreadable.

The Ottorin, representing the Eteren Agricultural Consortium, wielded influence in the Mottmor Trade Union through a strong alliance with the Seven Worlds, though it also made them a target.

Kaelar’s path led him unerringly to a familiar table, the preferred haunt of the Mottmor System’s lord whenever he visited Eteren One. Despite Kaelar’s position as Enforcer of Eteren One, this establishment was a place he could only enter by invitation.

In the lounge’s farthest reaches, Valter Drivaktar sat in his customary spot, clothed in a finely tailored suit that emphasized his commanding presence. His luminescent Nsalron skin stood out even in the dim shadows of the corner. As Kaelar approached, Valter’s attention settled firmly on him. Taking a deep puff on his stogie, Valter exhaled a thick plume of smoke, the scent lingering in the air between them.

“Kaelar,” Valter’s voice carried an undercurrent of reprimand. “Here we are again.” His eyes lingered on Kaelar, studying him intently, a flicker of both anticipation and disapproval in his expression. Then, with a softened tone edged with disappointment, he added, “I thought we had an understanding. I told you I didn’t want to see you for a few days. You’d better have good news.”

Kaelar paused briefly, collecting his thoughts before locking eyes with Valter. Valter had allowed this meeting at Kaelar’s insistence. “Valter, forgive my misstep, but we’re facing an urgent situation that demands immediate attention, as I’ve already informed you,” he said. “I appreciate the invitation and the opportunity to further discuss the matter,” he said respectfully.

Valter’s expression shifted, the hardness in his demeanor softening as he gestured toward a nearby chair. Kaelar understood the motion as permission to sit. As he did, Valter’s voice turned grave. “Yes, though I wouldn’t say I invited you. You requested to come here,” he said flatly.

The narrowing of Valter’s eyes and the deliberate exhale of smoke between them made his displeasure unmistakable. Kaelar caught the shift in Valter’s eyes, the exhaled smoke hanging between them like a warning. Before Kaelar could respond, Valter continued.

“Do you think you’re irreplaceable, Kaelar?” Valter’s voice sank. The question hung in his voice, not loud but impossibly dense, dragging the moment down with it. He focused on Kaelar, the stillness between them lengthening.

Kaelar had not expected such a response, leaving him second-guessing himself. “Valter.” The name carried a mix of plea and defense. “My instincts told me I needed to speak with you directly.”

Valter leaned back, his expression unreadable. “Very well then,” he said finally, his tone sharp with curiosity. “Tell me again, what has you so concerned?”

Kaelar recounted the incident with Nrek, initially dismissed as minor by Valter. But when Nrek’s ties to Garen, Conus, and Klamarez surfaced, it rekindled an unhealed wound within the Syndicate. The anger in Valter’s eyes was a reminder of the lost ship at their hands, a loss he seemed to care more about than the unpaid debt. The loss of the ship would reduce their ability to disable ships, cutting into their future profits.

The narrative has been illicitly obtained; should you discover it on Amazon, report the violation.

“Kaelar, this is the alarming matter? I’m not so sure,” Valter said, disbelief lacing his tone.

“He has threatened the Syndicate,” Kaelar replied firmly. “Says he belongs to another organization.”

“Who?”

“I haven’t been able to determine that yet. He arrived and left without a trace. There should be records of his presence, but Mira has found nothing—not a single sign of him, his crew, or his ship. It’s as if they were never here. No ordinary individual can achieve that level of access. We’re dealing with professionals—a threat.”

Valter absorbed Kaelar’s words, his expression giving away little before he gave a small, deliberate nod. “I appreciate your commitment, Kaelar. However, bringing this matter directly to me oversteps the boundaries of our hierarchy and forces me to reevaluate your future utility. Do you truly believe I would involve you with Thant under such circumstances? There was a time I was eager to consider it, but now… I’m not so sure. Understand this—any attempt to bypass me or undermine the chain of command would ensure one’s presence here is… dismissed.”

Valter’s gaze sharpened. “This isn’t just any group, Kaelar. The Syndicate’s influence in Mottmor grows every day—along with new risks. I have plans for the future, and only those with unwavering loyalty will have a place in it.” He nodded past Kaelar and waved someone over. “You want to be a Warden one day? Then I need obedience.”

Kaelar stiffened as Crial Veen’s towering figure approached from behind. The Warden of Eteren had been silently listening to the exchange.

“Kaelar,” Crial said, his tone tinged with ire as he took the seat Valter had indicated. Valter acknowledged him with a subtle nod. “My patience for this level of disregard has its limits. Consider yourself fortunate that Valter has consistently chosen to shield you. But let me make this clear—I respect the chain of command, a principle you seem to misunderstand.”

Crial’s eyes shifted between Valter and Kaelar. “Disrespect it again, and you won’t find Valter intervening on your behalf.”

Valter offered Crial a knowing smile. “Indeed, Crial. Kaelar’s transgressions have been many, and should he cross you so blatantly again, I shall not stand in the way.”

Letting out a long sigh, Kaelar turned to Crial. “I had no intention of insulting you. I apologize for my error.”

"You apologize?" Crial’s scoff carried a cutting edge. "Do you really think I care about your excuses?" He paused, moving his head sided to side in irritation. "No, this latest insult has cost you something." He let the words hang in the air for a moment before delivering the final blow. "You’re no longer my enforcer for this station."

Kaelar’s eyes widened in shock before he stammered, “Crial, I will follow protocol.”

Valter remained silent, watching the exchange with a neutral expression, showing no inclination to challenge Crial’s decision. The decision had been made.

“You know what the funny thing is, Kaelar?” Crial asked, leaning forward.

Kaelar shrugged, unsure of what was coming next, as Crial leaned closer.

“If you had brought this to my attention, I would have been grateful,” Crial said. “Instead, I had to learn about it on my own.”

“How did you learn about it?” Kaelar asked, looking to Valter. Valter dismissed the question with a wave, his expression unreadable. He had told Crial—but Crial had already known.

“Mira is good, but she’s not as good as me,” Crial said with a smirk. “I saw what she was looking into. Plus, your comms are far from secure. Consider it a lesson in security.”

Kaelar’s shoulders sagged as the realization hit. He felt suddenly foolish. “You already knew everything,” he said quietly.

“I was waiting to see what you would do,” Crial replied. “And you made the wrong choice.”

"Crial informed me before you did,” Valter added. “This Nrek you encountered isn’t just anyone from a rival organization—at least, he doesn’t appear to be.”

“I’ve been looking into him myself,” Crial interjected. “I haven’t found out who he is or who he’s working for, but I’ve eliminated some possibilities. What’s left is… interesting, to say the least. You were right to be concerned. If not for the fact he managed to bypass incoming and outgoing ship records, I might have let it go. But their ability to do that has caught my interest.”

Valter leaned forward, his eyes narrowing. “Since you’re so concerned about this individual and his group, you’ll be leaving the station. Speak with some of our other contacts and find out what you can.”

"If this Nrek and his group pose a risk to us, I want to know about it," Crial said firmly. "No one interferes with our business and walks away unchallenged."

Kaelar’s situation was clear—either obey or lose everything he had built within the Syndicate. Joining the Syndicate at a young age had saved him, and he couldn’t shake the feeling that without it, he would have been stuck on the streets with nothing to his name and no future to call his own. Despite his frustration, he felt confident that if he followed orders, he could reclaim his position as Enforcer. It was only a matter of time.

"Where am I going?" Kaelar asked, his voice steady despite the anger simmering beneath the surface.

"The Midicos system," Crial replied. "Our affiliates there have some information on this figure. They might be able to uncover more or point you in the right direction. It’s not much, but it’s a start." Crial’s grin widened. "Don’t worry; we’ll manage just fine here without you."

Kaelar’s expression hardened. "I am not refusing the order, but can’t this information be transmitted?"

"He refuses to send it long range," Crial said.

"He might make you earn the information," Valter added, a trace of amusement in his voice.

Earn it? Kaelar hesitated. "My team?"

Crial’s grin turned almost sinister. "I’d like to keep Mira around. There are a few things I’d like to teach her."

Valter shook his head, noticing the tension in Kaelar’s posture and the displeasure written across his face.

Crial laughed, waving dismissively. "Fine, take them all."

Kaelar stood, his expression carefully neutral.

Crial reached into his pocket and handed Kaelar a data drive. "Mira will need this. It contains all the information about your contact in the Midicos system."

Kaelar tucked it into an inside pocket.

"I take someone interfering with our business as a serious insult," Valter said, his tone calm. "Find out who they are so that when we collect on that Camerian debt and take out that old war general, we’ll know who might retaliate."

“Understood,” Kaelar replied. “I’ll make this right.”

"See that you do." said Crial

Valter gave a slight nod, his smirk barely perceptible. Crial’s stony gaze, however, remained unyielding. Valter motioned for Kaelar to depart. As Kaelar turned to leave, Crial’s voice broke the silence.

“Grev is your replacement,” Crial announced, watching for Kaelar’s reaction.

Kaelar stopped and turned slowly. "Grev?"

"Grev," Crial repeated.

"Very well," Kaelar said.

Kaelar headed for the exit, the encounter replaying in his mind. He needed to leave, to cool down—getting angry here would only make matters worse for him. But before he could step through the door, a Loquar with gray fur moved into his path, blocking his way.

“Hello, brother,” the gray-furred Loquar said, his voice lighter than Kaelar’s and accompanied by an unnaturally wide grin and wide eyes.

“Grev,” Kaelar acknowledged.

“I hear you’re off on an adventure. Be sure to bring me something back, brother,” Grev said, his tone mocking.

Kaelar’s eyes narrowed. “We’ve never been brothers, Grev. The only thing I’d bring you back is a lesson I could give you here and now.” He stepped forward, fist clenched.

Unmoved, Grev responded, “That would hurt our father’s feelings… brother,” Grev said.

Kaelar exhaled slowly, his fist relaxing. “You know I won’t hit you in front of Valter.” Grev was fully aware—that was the only time he dared to be brave against Kaelar, unless he had backup with him. “But when I get back, I’ll want my position back.”

Grev’s grin stretched wide. If you make it back. “It’s my position now.”

“You were handed this position because I’m being punished, not because you earned it,” Kaelar shot back. “You’ll be back working the door soon enough. I doubt you’ll do anything worthy of keeping the role. Enjoy it while you can.”

Grev’s grin faltered. “Things will be different when you return. The Midicos system isn’t like here. The Envara have their own ways.”

“I’m done talking to you,” Kaelar said coldly, stepping around him.

“Grev! Get over here,” Valter called, his voice cutting through the room.

“Father wants to speak with me,” Grev said quietly to Kaelar before raising his voice. “Let me get us some drinks,” he added, heading toward Valter and Crial.

Kaelar didn’t linger. The lounge yielded to the rigid structure of the cargo bay, his mind racing with unresolved questions. As he made his way toward the lift back to the market district, he replayed Grev’s words in his mind.

He and Grev had never been brothers. Yet they’d shared the same grim circumstances as children. Valter had taken them in, given them work, and shaped their futures. Not all had survived, and not all had remained with the Syndicate. Valter had been more of a father than anyone else, though Kaelar knew he wasn’t a father in the true sense of the word. Still, without Valter’s intervention, Kaelar couldn’t imagine where he might have ended up.

As he weaved through the dense crowds of Eteren One, his mission occupied every corner of his mind. The Midicos system was an unknown to him—a place he had no desire to visit but now had no choice but to face.

It was in the midst of this contemplation that Kaelar’s path was abruptly blocked by Sheriff Quent and her companion, Deputy Vrenjol.

“Sheriff Quent,” Kaelar said, his tone clipped, betraying his annoyance at the interruption. She was tall, an Ottorin with terracotta skin, a polished badge, and loosely tied verdant hair.

Kaelar spared a glance at the compact Sabon beside her, Deputy Vrenjol, someone he was unfamiliar with. Newly hired to assist Sheriff Quent in investigative matters involving the Mottmor Trade Union, Eteren One served as their base of operations, with the Mottmor system falling under their jurisdiction. The deputy had cerulean skin and a wild mop of electric blonde hair, his four arms fumbling awkwardly with a tablet.

“Kaelar,” Sheriff Quent began, carrying the quiet confidence of someone who preferred information over conflict. “We need to clarify something about your ship.”

A spark of anger broke through Kaelar’s blank stare, but he quickly regained control. “If this is about the docking protocols, I’ve followed them. The matter should be settled,” he stated firmly.

Deputy Vrenjol adjusted his device, his pupils narrowing as he scanned the screen. After a moment, he presented the tablet. “Actually, you have corrected the issue,” the Sabon said, “but there are still outstanding docking fines.”

“Docking fines,” Kaelar repeated, his expression hardened like stone.

“Yes, the regulations are clear, and—” Sheriff Quent began, but Kaelar cut her off sharply.

"I have no time for this. Just send the details, and I’ll pay," Kaelar snapped.

Sheriff Quent blinked, surprised by his abrupt compliance. She had expected resistance. “It’s standard procedure to address these matters in person, after so much time has passed,” she said. “Thank you—we would appreciate your cooperation.”

Kaelar’s expression remained unmoved. “Just send me the fine,” Kaelar said flatly, dismissing the conversation.

Deputy Vrenjol offered an awkward smile. Kaelar said nothing further, stepping forward, forcing them to move aside as he passed through between them.

As the crowd swallowed Kaelar, Sheriff Quent and Deputy Vrenjol exchanged a wary glance.

“We should’ve just clamped his ship. What an attitude. What a jerk,” Deputy Vrenjol said, shaking his head as he fussed with the tablet.

“Attitude’s expected. He works for you-know-who,” Sheriff Quent replied, lowering her voice and raising an eyebrow.

“Who?” he asked, narrowing his eyes uncertainly.

Sheriff Quent leaned in closer, her tone dropping further. “You know who,” she repeated meaningfully, her deep green eyes narrowing.

“I don’t know,” Deputy Vrenjol said, stumped, shifting awkwardly as his unruly hair fell over his eyes.

Sheriff Quent cast a wary glance around before whispering, “The Vanicktus Syndicate.”

Deputy Vrenjol’s eyes widened. “What? I thought he worked in shipping.”

“He does,” Sheriff Quent said dryly, her gaze following Kaelar’s retreating figure. “But only on file.”

“Ah,” Deputy Vrenjol replied, nodding slowly as the realization dawned. “There’s a lot to learn about how things really work here.”

"He’s the least of our worries on this station," said Sheriff Quent.

They watched Kaelar’s figure as he navigated the busy market districts and disappeared from view, his thoughts already far beyond the trivial encounter.