The engineering sector of Dock Nine never truly slept, but it had grown quieter since the firefight that erupted across the station hours earlier. Emergency lighting continued to pulse through the long generator chamber, bathing the metal corridors in alternating shades of dim red and pale white. Odnar Zephyr and Zerena remained in the shadows between two massive power conduits, listening carefully for any signs that Rhaegon’s soldiers were still sweeping the area.

  For nearly twenty minutes there had been nothing but the mechanical pulse of the station’s power core.

  Odnar finally straightened from his crouched position and glanced toward the corridor leading away from the generator chamber.

  “They moved on,” he said quietly.

  Zerena looked up from the control panel she had been studying.

  “You’re sure?”

  “As sure as anyone can be in a place like this.”

  “Which means not very.”

  “Correct.”

  She stepped away from the panel and adjusted the cloak wrapped loosely around her shoulders. The earlier fight had left both of them covered in dust and coolant residue from the damaged pipes in the maintenance corridor. Their appearance alone would attract attention in any populated section of the station.

  “We still need supplies,” Zerena said.

  Odnar nodded.

  “And weapons.”

  “You’re holding a crowbar.”

  “It’s not exactly inspiring.”

  Zerena allowed a faint smile.

  “Then let’s fix that.”

  They moved carefully through the engineering sector until they reached a secondary maintenance corridor that connected with the lower cargo levels of Dock Nine. The noise of the generators faded gradually behind them, replaced by the distant hum of station traffic and the muted chatter of voices somewhere ahead.

  The corridor opened into a wide transit passage used by cargo crews transporting equipment between the docks and the market districts. A handful of station workers passed by pushing heavy transport carts, paying little attention to the two travelers emerging from the engineering tunnels.

  Odnar lowered his voice.

  “Where exactly are we going?”

  “The relic market.”

  He glanced at her.

  “That sounds expensive.”

  “It is.”

  “Then why there?”

  “Because frontier traders sell things in that market that the official authorities pretend don’t exist.”

  Odnar considered that explanation.

  “Fair enough.”

  They followed the transit corridor for several minutes before arriving at a wide circular plaza that served as one of Dock Nine’s central commercial hubs. Unlike the traders’ concourse where the ambush had occurred earlier, this area operated almost like a black market bazaar. Rows of metal stalls lined the edges of the chamber while portable holographic displays floated above the tables advertising various goods for sale.

  Weapons.

  Navigation devices.

  Rare minerals.

  Alien artifacts recovered from distant systems.

  If someone in the frontier needed equipment that could not be purchased legally, the relic market was usually the place to find it.

  Stolen from its original source, this story is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

  The crowd here was thicker than Odnar expected. Word of the firefight had clearly spread through the station, but that had not stopped business from continuing. Frontier traders rarely shut down their operations unless the entire station was under lockdown.

  Zerena pulled the hood of her cloak slightly lower.

  “We don’t stay long,” she said.

  “Agreed.”

  They began moving slowly between the stalls.

  Odnar’s eyes scanned every display they passed. Some vendors sold basic survival tools—portable scanners, energy cells, repair kits. Others specialized in weapons ranging from compact plasma pistols to heavy pulse rifles designed for ship boarding operations.

  Most of the equipment carried price tags far beyond what Odnar expected.

  “Dock Nine merchants know their market,” he muttered.

  “They also know desperation,” Zerena replied.

  A stall near the far side of the plaza caught Odnar’s attention. Unlike the other vendors who loudly advertised their goods, this merchant had arranged his equipment with quiet precision across a simple metal table. Several short blades rested beside a row of compact energy vials glowing faintly in different colors.

  Odnar slowed.

  “What do you see?” Zerena asked.

  “Possibilities.”

  The vendor looked up as they approached. He was an older man with silver hair and the calm expression of someone who had spent decades dealing with travelers passing through dangerous sectors of space.

  “You two look like you’ve had an interesting day,” he said.

  “Something like that,” Odnar replied.

  The merchant gestured toward the items displayed on the table.

  “Looking for relics or practical tools?”

  “Practical.”

  “Good choice. Relics tend to explode when handled incorrectly.”

  Odnar studied the weapons carefully. One blade in particular stood out from the others. It was shorter than the sword he had forged back on Virellion, but the metal carried a faint crimson glow running along the central groove of the blade.

  “What is that?” he asked.

  The merchant lifted the weapon.

  “Frontier forge blade. Basic energy channel built into the core alloy.”

  “Not ceremonial?”

  “No. Meant to be used.”

  Odnar took the blade and tested its balance.

  It felt lighter than his original sword but surprisingly stable in his grip. The faint red energy running through the core responded to his movement, flickering briefly along the metal edge.

  “Power source?”

  “Integrated crystal. Low output but reliable.”

  Zerena watched him carefully.

  “You like it.”

  “It will work.”

  The merchant smiled.

  “Of course it will.”

  Odnar returned the blade to the table.

  “How much?”

  The merchant named a number.

  Odnar laughed quietly.

  “That’s robbery.”

  “This is Dock Nine.”

  “Still robbery.”

  Zerena stepped forward and placed a small stack of credit chips on the table.

  “That covers half,” she said calmly.

  The merchant looked at the chips.

  “You drive a hard bargain.”

  “I lost a ship today.”

  “That explains the look.”

  He considered the offer for several seconds before finally nodding.

  “Fine.”

  Odnar picked up the blade again.

  The weapon felt unfamiliar compared to the sword he had forged himself, but the balance was good enough for now. A temporary tool.

  Until he recovered his own equipment.

  “What about the potions?” Zerena asked.

  The merchant gestured toward the glowing vials.

  “Energy restoratives and field stabilizers. Basic frontier formulas.”

  She lifted one of the blue vials.

  “Flux restoration?”

  “Yes.”

  “And the red?”

  “Vital recovery.”

  Zerena selected several of each and placed them beside the credits already on the table.

  The merchant began packing the items into a small reinforced case.

  “You two planning to survive something unpleasant?” he asked.

  “That’s the general idea,” Odnar said.

  The merchant handed them the case.

  “Then you may want this as well.”

  He reached beneath the table and produced a compact wrist device with a small holographic display.

  “Scanner?”

  “Threat detection. Short range but reliable.”

  Zerena examined the device.

  “Why include it?”

  The merchant shrugged.

  “Because if you’re running from someone dangerous, a few extra seconds of warning can mean the difference between a story worth telling and a very quiet funeral.”

  Odnar attached the scanner to his wrist.

  “Appreciated.”

  They stepped away from the stall and moved deeper into the market plaza. The noise of the bazaar continued around them as traders negotiated deals and cargo crews hauled equipment toward the docking bays.

  For the first time since the ambush at Dock Nine, Odnar felt a sense of stability returning.

  Not victory.

  But preparation.

  He looked down at the blade resting in his hand.

  “It’s not perfect,” he said.

  Zerena glanced at him.

  “It’s enough.”

  “Yes.”

  The small case containing the potions rested against her side as they continued walking through the market.

  Odnar finally allowed himself a quiet thought.

  They had lost their ship.

  Lost their supplies.

  Lost the comfortable life he had built on Virellion.

  But they were still alive.

  And now they were armed again.

  The war against Rhaegon had barely begun, yet the first pieces of their resistance were already taking shape within the crowded corridors of Dock Nine’s relic market.

  Odnar adjusted his grip on the blade.

  Temporary weapon or not, it would serve its purpose.

  For now.