Jezra’s gaze drifted from the dark, humming abyss of the maintenance shaft to Ozan, who was already ripping a panel from an exposed housing. His movements were still precise, but the tremor in his hands was undeniable, his lungs rattling with a wet rasp. He was pale, his skin almost translucent under the emergency lumens. “Spacewalk,” Jezra repeated, the word tasting like recycled air. “Right. So, what’s the suit situation? Do I get to pick a color, or are we going with standard issue bio-hazard beige?” She tried for flippant, but her voice was a brittle wire. Ozan didn't dignify the question with a glance. He pulled out a bulky, folded mass of silver-weave fabric. “There’s only one suit rated for atmospheric egress. It’s a combat-grade exosuit designed for sub-vacuum patching and structural reinforcement. It’s also… not designed for a pregnant woman.” His voice was low, edged with a raw fury that wasn’t directed at her, but at the situation. “I’m going.” Zekal, who had been rapidly interfacing with a wall terminal, snorted. “You? Vex, you can barely breathe standing still. One pressure change, and you’ll rupture like a cheap synth-bladder.” Ozan’s head snapped up, his eyes burning with an intensity that made the chill in the shaft seem to deepen. “My lungs are failing, not my will. I built this Spire. I’ll dismantle it if I have to, to protect what’s mine.” He stalked towards the suit, his hand reaching for the chest plate, black veins stark beneath his skin. Jezra stepped between him and the suit, her small frame defiant against his imposing one. “Oh, right, because your ‘will’ is going to magically generate oxygen in a vacuum. Look, I get it. You’re a big, scary CEO. But you’re also dying. And I’m the one with the… *biological imperative*. So, unless you want to explain to your mother why you sacrificed your cure for a grand gesture, I’m going.” She pushed the suit into his arms. “Now, make yourself useful. How do I get into this thing without dislocating something important?” Ozan hesitated, his jaw working. His rage warred with something else, a frantic protectiveness that was almost suffocating. He finally relented, slamming the suit onto a nearby console. “The suit’s auto-adjusting, but we’ll need to override the primary seals for your… current dimensions. And the visor’s comms interface is… integrated.” He began running diagnostics, his movements a blur of practiced efficiency. “Integrated with what? My brain stem? Just tell me if I need a special haircut.” Jezra watched him, a strange knot forming in her stomach. His hands, usually so cold and remote, moved with a sudden urgency, a desperate focus. He wasn’t just preparing a suit; he was preparing *her*. The intimacy of it, forced by sheer survival, made her skin prickle. Ozan ignored her, his eyes scanning the suit’s internal readouts. “The unit will scrub gas and regulate temperature. But the exterior comms array is exposed to micro-meteoroid impacts. It’s a single-circuit override. Hit the reset toggle, then pull back. You have less than a minute once the override engages. The orbital strike sequence initiates in five minutes and twenty seconds.” He looked up, his gaze locking onto hers. “Under no circumstances are you to do anything reckless.” Jezra gave him a saccharine smile. “Me? Reckless? Never. I’m the picture of calculated caution.” Minutes later, Jezra felt like a sardine in a chrome can. The suit was heavy, constricting, but surprisingly agile. Ozan had meticulously checked every seal, every pressure gauge, his breath ghosting her neck more than once. The final check was his hand against her neck-seal, his voice a low growl through the comms. “You activate the primary airlock. Then you have sixty seconds to cross to the exterior array. It’s the highest point on the outer hull, marked by a pulsing crimson marker. The comms panel sits right below it. Zekal will guide you.” “Don’t worry, Vex. I’ll bring you back a souvenir. Maybe a chunk of an angry satellite.” She tried to sound upbeat, but the raw terror was a cold hand gripping her gut. The airlock hissed open, unrolling a drop that flattened her chest against the chest plate. Below, Mekara sprawled, a maze of glowing violet canyons and metal spires cut through perpetual smog. Above, the void was a velvet cloak, studded with diamond-hard stars. The Spire itself, a colossal needle of polished chromesteel, jutted into the black, its surface slick with rime. “Okay, Vex,” Zekal’s voice crackled in her ear. “Your exit point is clear. Looks like Sabina’s still busy with the interior cleanup. Minimal external patrols.” Jezra pushed off, the magnetic boots engaging with a soft thunk against the hull. The Spire’s exterior was a maze of coolant pipes and structural bracing, thin gusts dragging at her frame. She moved, slow and deliberate, toward the flashing red guide. Then the sky above *screamed*. Three sleek, black drones, their optical sensors glowing an angry red, dropped from the blackness like predatory birds. They were bigger than anything she’d seen inside, armed with heavy particle cannons. “Scratch that,” Zekal amended, his voice tight. “Sabina just sent her orbital defense division. Three Strix-class attack drones. They’re locking on.” “Strix-class? Sounds like a fancy way to say ‘things that want to vaporize me’,” Jezra muttered, sweat pooling at her collarbone. She glanced at the multi-tool clipped to her thigh—a titanium lever-spanner. “Hey, Ozan. I’ll make you a bet. Fifty thousand credits says I can crack one of these tin cans open with this tool.” “Don’t you dare, Yul!” Ozan’s voice was a guttural roar, laced with an undeniable panic. “Abort! Get back inside now! Zekal, vent the external pressure lines, I don’t care if it tears the plating!” “Too late, Vex! They’re already firing!” Zekal yelled. Red energy bolts stitched paths across the hull near Jezra, sending sparks showering into the void. The first drone swooped low, its particle cannon charging. Jezra didn’t hesitate. Baring her teeth in the dark bubble, she killed the power to her boot soles. The abrupt weightlessness was a sickening lurch, but she had anticipated it. She kicked off the hull, pushing herself into a terrifying, controlled free-fall, directly *towards* the oncoming drone. “What in the void are you doing?!” Ozan’s voice was pure terror. She spun, her grip white on the spanner, as the drone’s targeting laser painted her chest. Its internal gyros shrieked, unable to compensate for her sudden descent. She slammed into its belly with a bone-jarring impact, driving the hardened steel tool straight through its wiring harnesses. Sparks erupted, and the chassis spasmed, its thrusters flaring erratically before it tumbled downward into the low smog, a tiny, burning star. “One down, two to go!” she yelled, kicking off the dying drone and firing her boots to re-engage with the hull near the crimson beacon. “That’ll be fifty thousand, Vex. Wire it straight to my bio-wallet.” “You reckless, insufferable…” Ozan’s voice trailed off, swallowed by a ragged cough. Exhaustion crashed through her, lactic acid burning her muscles until her knees quivered inside the armored joints. She dragged herself toward the beacon, the comms panel finally within reach. “I’ve got it, I’ve got it!” Zekal’s voice erupted, triumphant. “Comms are back online! Stand by for orbital strike cancellation!” Jezra reached for the reset switch, her gauntleted hand brushing the cold metal. Just as her fingers made contact, an alarm blared, not from the comms, but from the Spire itself. A high-pitched, piercing shriek. “What was that?” Jezra demanded. “Zekal?” No answer. Only the blaring alarm, rapidly intensifying. Then, Zekal’s voice, hushed and strained. “Uh… Jezra? About that secondary alarm… It seems accessing the main server for the comms array also… granted temporary access to Vex’s personal corporate ledgers. And I might have… initiated a full download to clear some outstanding debts.” “You did what?!” Ozan roared, his voice shaking the comms. “Zekal, you worthless parasite! You just triggered the external lockdown protocol! Jezra, get back inside! Now!” But it was too late. With a deafening clang, the airlock she’d come through slammed shut, a red emergency grid sealing it. Jezra was trapped outside, clinging to the icy antenna, the wind-whipped surface biting at her through the suit. Then, from the inky blackness above, a colossal, sleek dropship descended, its anti-gravity engines humming. It was jet black, polished to a predatory gleam, and emblazoned with the unmistakable crest of the Vex matriarch. The primary hatch slid open with a soft sigh, revealing Matriarch Sabina Vex herself. She was impossibly elegant, even in the vacuum of space, wearing a dark, form-fitting combat suit, her white hair a halo around her severe face. In her gloved hands, she held a concussive rifle, its barrel aimed straight at Jezra’s faceplate.

The Spire Walk