The rain fell in hard, vertical sheets, each drop a cold sting against Lauri’s fur. He kept his hands pressed to the control node of the Myxoid barge, a slick, pulsating mound of living tissue at the vessel’s prow. His biotic commands flowed into the creature, not as words, but as pure intent: faster, quieter, deeper into the black water of the Reedway Canals. The barge, a dull, mottled green colony of protoplasm, responded with a low hum, its speed now a steady twenty-five knots. Behind them, the cold blue light of Vigil-Stone Outpost was a dying star, swallowed by the storm and the memory of Dmitri Volkov’s choice.
Anastasya stood near the stern, a rigid silhouette against the churning water. She held a compact energy rifle, her gaze fixed on their wake. The rain did not seem to touch her, or if it did, she gave no sign. Her discipline was a wall against the world. Lauri felt a pang where his Nectar Flask used to hang, a phantom weight of comfort now replaced by the hollow ache of withdrawal and the sharp, clean edge of grief. He pushed the feeling down, focusing it into the barge. Active maintenance. That was all that mattered now.
A sudden glare cut through the downpour. Two of them. Cold, blue searchlights swept across the canal, painting the reed beds in stark, momentary detail. Lauri felt the barge shudder beneath his palms as the pursuing vessels came into view, their angular Regalis forms slicing through the water with brutal efficiency. Gerasim was not letting them go.
— They’re gaining, — Anastasya’s voice was flat, a tactical observation stripped of fear.
— I see them, — Lauri grunted, urging the barge into a narrower tributary, a channel not marked on any Regalis map. The living vessel scraped against the muddy banks, its gelatinous hull absorbing the impact with a pained, squelching sound. The price for the shortcut was a strain on their ride; he could feel its energy reserves dip. The searchlights swung wildly, momentarily losing them in the maze of waterways.
The respite lasted less than a minute. A new motion stirred in the reeds to their port side. Not the clean lines of Regalis craft, but something low and crude. Rafts, woven from thick bundles of river reeds, slid from the shadows, each carrying two or three gaunt, charcoal-furred figures. Umbra. Their eyes reflected the distant Regalis lights with a feverish intensity.
— From the reeds! — Anastasya shouted, swinging her rifle around.
The Umbra were not choosing a side. They were attacking everyone. The chaos of the chase had drawn them out like predators to a blood scent. A hulking figure stood on the lead raft, his silhouette unmistakable even in the gloom. Yegor Voronov. He raised his corrupted, parasitic arm, and a guttural cry echoed across the water.
The air filled with the sound of shattering clay. Pots of glistening, black slime arced through the rain, striking the Regalis barges and their own. Where the substance hit, it hissed, and the dull green skin of their Myxoid barge began to smoke and dissolve. The creature beneath them let out a silent, biotic scream of agony that shot directly into Lauri’s mind. Five impacts. The hull integrity was already compromised.
He had to act. Closing his eyes, Lauri ignored the pain feedback and focused his will, weaving a new command into his biotic chant. He felt the barge’s living hull shift, its outer layers thickening, the protoplasm compressing into a dense, resistant shell. The next volley of slime pots struck the hardened surface and slid off, the corrosive acid finding no purchase. The barge’s internal light dimmed, the effort costing it dearly. Lauri’s breath came in ragged gasps, the tremor in his hands returning with a vengeance.
— Their shields are failing! — Anastasya’s voice cut through his concentration. She was not talking about their barge. She pointed toward the lead Regalis vessel, its crystalline armor flickering where the Umbra’s acid had eaten through. She sighted her weapon, a small, turret-mounted energy projector near the stern.
— Anastasya, don’t! — The words left his mouth before he could stop them. They were her people.
She didn’t hesitate. A bolt of focused energy, brilliant white against the storm, lanced out and struck the pursuing barge’s motive crystal. There was no grand explosion, only a sharp crack and a fizzing sound as the Regalis vessel went dark, listing sideways into the reeds, its searchlight extinguished. She had fired on her own faction. It was a line she could never uncross. He saw her knuckles go white as she gripped the firing stud, her face a mask of terrible resolve.
The second Regalis barge slowed, its crew torn between continuing the pursuit and assisting their comrades. But the Umbra gave them no choice, swarming the disabled vessel with hooks and axes. The distraction was all they needed.
Then the world shook.
A deep, grinding boom rolled across the water, a sound so powerful it vibrated in Lauri’s bones. Far behind them, a section of the canal lit up with a flash of orange and white. The sluice gate. Dmitri. He had done it. He had rigged the gate to blow, a final, desperate act of sabotage to cover their escape. The explosion had sealed the canal, blocking Gerasim’s path completely.
But the consequence was immediate. A wall of water, a churning, debris-filled wave from the ruptured canal, was rushing toward them.
— Hold on! — Anastasya yelled, bracing herself against the turret mount.
There was no time for complex commands. Lauri pushed a simple, raw instruction into the barge: survive. He felt the living vessel contort, its mass shifting to meet the wave. He used his biotic sense not to fight the water, but to feel its shape, its power, guiding the barge to ride the crest rather than be swamped by it. Anastasya, her soldier’s instinct taking over, threw her weight to the port side, countering the list. For a moment, they were perfectly synchronized—his warden’s instinct, her soldier’s discipline.
The wave hit them with the force of a falling cliff. The barge was thrown upward, spinning violently. The dark sky and the black water became an indistinguishable blur. Lauri was thrown from the control node, his head striking the hardened deck. The world dissolved into a roar of water and a final, silent thank you to a man he had never known.
The rain had softened to a fine mist when he came to. The barge was intact, wedged in a muddy bank of a quiet, unfamiliar part of the forest.
Anastasya was checking their supplies, her movements stiff. The silence was broken only by the drip of water from ancient trees.
They had escaped, but they were alone, fugitives in a dying world, with the ghost of a loyal soldier between them.
