Chapter 7

The trio crossed the threshold of Chancellor Elara Voss's office like shadows cast by an ominous dusk. Liora led, her boots thudding a dull rhythm on the polished floor. Rhea’s eyes darted about, absorbing the room's intricacies as though scanning for bugs, while Draven’s presence filled the space behind them, silent and brooding like a thundercloud.

"Ah," Chancellor Voss began, rising from her desk with the grace of a diplomat who had danced this waltz before, "the weary soldiers return." Her tone carried the weight of the worlds they all shouldered, yet there was a softness to it, like a velvet glove over an iron fist.

"Chancellor," Liora nodded, face etched with lines that spoke more of their trials than any debrief could. "Syndicate's playing for keeps."

"Appears so," Voss said, green eyes sweeping over them – a mirror to Liora's own but filled with the depth of someone who had seen generations of stars flicker and fade.

"More like stepping on toes," Rhea quipped, her voice a razor wrapped in silk.

At the rear of the group, Draven grinned and exclaimed, with a hint of pride. “Yeah, ‘Bug took a bullet.”

Liora quickly interjected. “Chancellor, this is Draven Korr. We happened to—bump into him on Aridia. He helped us out of a few tight spots.”

Voss's brow furrowed, the leaf-shaped brooch at her collar glinting as if to underscore the gravity of their banter. "I trust your report carries the melody of victory, or at least the prelude to one."

"Something like that," Draven murmured, his hands flexing as though they itched for the grip of a blaster rather than the pen of bureaucracy. "We're close to turning the tide. But it's gonna get worse 'fore it gets better."

"Isn't that always the way?" The Chancellor exhaled, a sound like the wind through the leaves of her home planet’s jungles. "Alright then, let's hear it.”

Liora Kane leaned forward, the surface of Chancellor’s desk an impromptu stage for the array of evidence they had amassed. The stark light from the overhead luminescence picked out the angular lines of exhaustion and resolve etched into her face. Her green eyes, usually a clear beacon of resolve, held a heavier cast as they met Elara's gaze.

"Chancellor, we've uncovered substantial plans for an attack," Liora stated, her voice a low hum of urgency. "The Syndicate's got its sights on the Stellar Assembly itself."

Elara's hand paused mid-air, the gesture of comfort she'd extended towards her weary guests suspended in disbelief. "Attack? How soon?"

"Soon," Liora replied, spreading holophotos of armed caches and encrypted communications across the polished wood. "This is imminent."

A shadow passed over Elara's features, as if a cloud had obscured her home planet's suns. "And Darius?" Her voice wavered, betraying a crack in her composed facade.

"Alive and kicking," Liora said, the words tasting like bile. "He's the Syndicate's inside man, or at least he was until he double-crossed us on Lumina."

Elara's breath hitched, disbelief coloring her features. "I... He was supposed to be dead. After Poul was killed..."

"Seems some weeds regrow, no matter how hard you cut 'em back," Rhea interjected, her tone unusually somber.

"Indeed," Liora added, arms crossed, her green eyes smoldering in anger. "But it's not just Darius who's playing Judas."

A palpable tension fell over the room, thick enough to slice through with a vibro-blade. Liora's gaze flickered toward the advisors lurking in the shadows of the office, the silent witnesses to this exchange.

"Let's just say we've reason to believe there's a viper a bit closer to home," Liora continued, each word measured, a verbal chess game where the next move could mean checkmate.

"Here?" Elara's voice was barely a whisper, a breeze through the leaves that now seemed to echo the encroaching chill of betrayal.

"Could be someone's been feeding the Syndicate more than scraps," Liora pressed on, her eyes fixed on one advisor in particular, one whose presence seemed to shrink ever so slightly under scrutiny. "We're talking full courses."

"Enough to bloat a starving cur," Draven growled, his hands opening and closing in a rhythm of restrained violence.

"Allegedly," Rhea added, her eyes narrowing as she studied the faces before them for any telltale twitch or misplaced bead of sweat.

"Allegedly," echoed Liora, the word hanging in the air like the aftertaste of bad whiskey. She let the implication linger, unspoken yet heavy with meaning, as she locked eyes with the advisor whose composure appeared to crumble like dry earth underfoot.

"Accusations require evidence," Elara managed, her voice steady but her eyes revealing the storm beneath the calm surface.

"Of course, Chancellor," Liora agreed, a nod acknowledging the necessity of protocol even as the gravity of their suspicions weighed down the room.

"Until then, let's keep our friends close and potential enemies closer," Rhea suggested, her lips quirking up in a sardonic smile.

"Right where we can see 'em," Draven concluded, his stance unyielding, a silent sentinel ready to pounce at the first sign of treachery.

"Indeed." Elara's fingers traced the edge of her brooch, a talisman against the darkness encroaching upon her trusted circle. "We'll unearth this viper together."

The silence in Chancellor Elara Voss’s office was thick with the scent of betrayal. Her regal posture had given way to a slight stoop, as if the weight of the revelation was a physical burden upon her shoulders. The glow of the neon cityscape filtered through the blinds, casting long shadows across her face.

"Dead men don't whisper in the ears of conspirators, Chancellor," Liora said, her voice even, but each word loaded like a derringer under the table.

Elara's eyes flickered with the turbulence of a nebula in turmoil. She blinked, slowly, trying to realign the stars in her own personal cosmos after the bombshell about Darius.

"Betrayal reeks," Rhea interjected, her pixie-cut hair unmoving despite the air of unrest. "It reeks even through the vacuum of space." Her blue eyes were fixed on a datapad in her hands, fingers swiping through screens of evidence with surgical precision.

"Imagine that," Elara murmured, more to herself than anyone else, her fingers drumming a staccato rhythm against the mahogany of her desk.

"Access codes to secure communication channels, travel logs to covert meetings, financial transactions that scream louder than a banshee," Rhea continued, unflappable, her tone clinical as she dissected the treachery before them. "And all trails leading to..." She let the sentence hang, unfinished yet unmistakable, as she handed the datapad to the Chancellor.

Elara's voice caught in her throat, her words choking as she finished for her. "One of my own," she rasped, the betrayal cutting deep like a knife. "Someone I thought was loyal, who I fought alongside and trusted... Gideon Blackwood." She rose from her chair, a queen facing her court, her gaze sweeping over her inner circle. It was a look that could quell insurrections or ignite revolutions. Her voice, when it came, was less a declaration and more a plea. "Evidence can be manufactured, doctored... Surely there is another explanation?"

"Surely," Liora echoed, the skepticism clear in her voice.

"Fact remains," Rhea added, her words slicing through the haze of doubt. "We've got ourselves a viper. And it's coiled up nice and cozy right here in your nest."

"Then we must extract it," Elara said, steel threading her resolve once more. "Before it strikes at the heart of the Assembly."

Luna crept slowly in its orbit as Gideon Blackwood, political advisor and respected member of the diplomatic corps, finally walked into Chancellor Voss’s office. Tall and lean with sharp features, his piercing blue eyes seemed to see through people, and his meticulously groomed appearance added to his air of authority. He spoke in measured tones with an air of sophistication. “Madam Chancellor, you asked to speak to me?”

Elara's body trembled with an intense, pent up rage that threatened to consume her. Her words were laced with aching sorrow and fiery fury. "Gideon," she seethed, the bitter taste of betrayal filling her mouth as she spoke. "I won't mince words. We have undeniable evidence that you have conspired against the Assembly."

Blackwood stood quivering under Elara’s piercing gaze. His once-smooth voice now trembled with fear, betraying his facade of calm.

"These accusations are ludicrous," he stuttered, adjusting the hem of their tailored jacket in an attempt to appear composed. "I have always been loyal. This is must all be an unfortunate misunderstanding."

"A misunderstanding?" Liora arched an eyebrow, unimpressed. "In my line of work, you don't get to play both sides without getting burned."

The room fell into silence once again, each person waiting for the next move in this high-stakes game.

"Look at me," Liora commanded, her tone brokering no argument. Gideon's eyes flickered towards her before quickly looking away, unable to withstand her scrutinizing gaze. "You can save your lies for the media. We want the truth, and we want it now."

"Liora," Chancellor Voss interjected, her voice strained with authority. "Let us not resort to—"

"Resort to what? Brutal honesty?" Draven interrupted her without hesitation. "We're beyond pleasantries here, Chancellor. We're dealing with corruption and betrayal."

Gideon swallowed hard, his quivering grin dotted with sweat. The desperation behind his mask was starting to show, leaving visible cracks in his facade. "I swear on my honor—I am innocent."

"Honor?" Draven scoffed. "Spare me." He turned to face Chancellor Voss, his stance solid and unyielding like the titanium alloy that made up the lunar cityscape outside. "Time to clean house, starting with this one."

Any protests from Gideon were drowned out by the charged atmosphere, his feeble attempts at denying his actions as convincing as a fake credit chip.

Liora spoke in clipped tones. “Draven, take a breather. Blackwood—take a seat.”

Liora Kane stepped forward, the fluorescent lights of Chancellor Voss's office casting long shadows across her angular face. Her eyes, green and unyielding as ancient jade, fixed on the traitorous advisor.

"Start talking," she said, voice flat as a skipped stone. "Your lies are about as convincing as a one-credit fortune teller."

Blackwood, a man whose suit looked too expensive for his own good, shifted uncomfortably in his chair, perspiration beading like tiny traitors on his forehead. Liora leaned in, close enough to see the pulse pounding in his throat.

"Time’s up," she continued, "We've got your number, and it's all zeros. Spill, or I'll let Draven have a go at you. And he's not known for his patience."

Across the room, Chancellor Voss stood frozen, her regal composure cracking like thin ice underfoot. She'd handpicked Gideon from a sea of eager bureaucrats, had seen something of herself mirrored in those once-trustworthy eyes. Now, betrayal hung between them, a silent specter.

"Please, Gideon," she began, her voice betraying the storm beneath her stoic surface. "Why? Was it greed, power? Did they promise you a planet?"

Blackwood opened his mouth, but what came out was little more than a strangled whisper, drowned by the gravity of his treachery. He looked from Liora to Voss, seeking a reprieve where none could be found.

"Elara," he tried, playing on personal terms, but it only earned him a hard stare from the Chancellor, one that could strip paint from a starship hull.

"Chancellor Voss to you," she corrected, her tone laced with the chill of space. "You forfeited the right to familiarity when you sold us out."

Liora couldn't help but smirk, just a twitch at the corner of her lips. The old Voss was in there somewhere, behind the diplomatic smiles and handshakes. She knew how to play hardball when the chips were down.

"Looks like you're out of friends," Liora told the advisor, her words sharp as a shard of glass. "And out of time."

The silence in the room snapped like a brittle bone as Rhea's data pad beeped with an incoming message—a ticking clock in binary. She glanced at the illuminated screen, her eyes widening with the urgency of the intel blinking back at her.

"Trouble doesn't knock," she said, her voice cutting through the tension. "It hacks your security systems while you're busy playing find the traitor."

Elara Voss stopped mid-rebuke, her fingers stilling against the data pad. The tapping had been a steady metronome, now abruptly silenced. "What have you got?"

Liora leaned over Rhea's shoulder, her gaze sweeping the lines of code before they coalesced into a stark warning. "Our friend here," she nodded toward the advisor, "has been chatty. There's a data dump scheduled to happen tonight—everything from troop movements to security protocols."

"Damnation," Elara breathed out, the words slipping from her like a sigh of the damned. Her green eyes, which moments ago showed the storm of betrayal, now sharpened with resolve.

"Can we stop it?" Draven asked, his fists unclenching to grip the back of a chair, his knuckles whitening against the metal.

"Stop it? That’s for bar fights and riots," Liora said with a grin that didn't reach her eyes. "We're going to reroute it. Send them on a wild goose chase straight into the arms of our security teams."

"Divert and detain," Rhea chimed in, her fingers dancing over the data pad with the grace of a pianist playing a concerto amidst chaos.

"Fine plan," Elara said, stepping forward, the Chancellor's mantle falling back upon her shoulders like a cloak woven from threads of command. "But if this goes wrong, we'll be sitting ducks for the Syndicate's next move."

"Then we don't miss," Liora stated flatly. "Because I'd rather dance with the devil we know than the one waiting to stab us in the back."

"Sentiments of a true romantic," Draven remarked dryly.

"Enough," Elara cut through the banter sharply. "We’re wasting time. Rhea, set up the diversion. Draven, come with me—we need to inform security without tipping our hand. Liora, keep our friend here company. Ensure he doesn't get any more ideas."

"By 'keep company,' you mean—"

"Interrogate, persuade, intimidate—whatever it takes," Elara Voss finished for her, the edge in her voice leaving no room for misinterpretation.

Liora exchanged a look with her team members, a silent pact passing between them. They were united, each a cog in a well-oiled machine fueled by necessity and nurtured by trust.

"Let's move," Rhea said, already redirecting communication channels with deft sweeps of her fingers.

"Got it, boss," Draven replied, following Elara Voss with the sure steps of a man walking into battle.

Gideon Blackwood, sweat now beading his forehead, looked from one resolute face to another, his earlier defiance melting into the realization that there was no escape—only consequences.

"Seems like a good time to start talking," Liora suggested, her voice dripping with the honeyed venom of a promise. "Or would you prefer I start guessing?"

As the team dispersed, each to their given task, Chancellor Elara Voss paused at the door, glancing back at the traitorous advisor. Her green eyes locked onto his, a silent vow that justice, however it may come, would be swift.

The office air was electric, thick with the musk of betrayal. Liora stood, eyes like daggers, a vigil over the sweating advisor. The Chancellor's door was ajar, a sliver of light from the corridor slicing the dimness—Draven and Voss, just shadows beyond.

"Spill it," Liora rasped, her stance wide, hands on hips, a predator circling prey.

"Look, I—I can explain," Blackwood stuttered, voice a tremolo of fear.

The ground shivered—a subtle tremor, the kind only machinery deep within Luna's crust could brew.

"Earthquake?" he gasped, seizing his chance.

Nice try, Blackwood. Luna doesn't have—" But Liora's retort was cut short as the lights flickered, the office plunged into a brief dance with darkness.

"Damn," she cursed, but in that heartbeat of gloom, the traitor had bolted like a rat, shoulders bumping the door wide in his haste.

"Draven!" she barked, already in pursuit, the metallic taste of urgency on her tongue. “Blackwood bolted!”

“Damn slippery eel!" Draven's voice echoed from down the hall, the sound of boots pounding metal flooring filling the air.

"Seal the exits!" Elara’s command filtered through the chaos, authority wrapped in velvet.

Liora sprinted, her legs pistons, each step a promise of retribution. She caught a glimpse of him ducking into the web of corridors that honeycombed the Assembly's cavernous halls.

"Get back here, you spineless squib!" she yelled, her dialect a throwback to the gutter snipe she once was, long before the badges and bravado.

"Where the hell is security?" Draven's voice crackled over the comm, frustration lacing every syllable.

"Power's out," Rhea chirped in their earpieces, "whole grid's down. Convenient, huh?"

"Too convenient," Liora spat, rounding another corner.

Ahead, Blackwood weaved through the maze, a specter in the emergency lighting. He glanced back, eyes wild, knowing he was one misstep from doom.

"End of the line, dirtbag!" Liora called out, gaining ground. He was close, so damn close.

But then, inexplicably, he vanished—slipped through a hidden panel or into a service duct, leaving behind nothing but the echo of desperate footsteps and a lingering scent of treachery.

"Damn it all!" Liora panted, skidding to a halt, fists clenched in frustration. "He's gone."

"Can't have gotten far," Draven reassured her through the comm, though doubt edged his voice.

"Lockdown," Elara's tone was ice, a glacial calm that belied the storm beneath. "No one in or out until he's found."

"Copy that," Liora affirmed, scanning the sterile hallways for any sign of life. A thousand places to hide, a million ways to slip through cracks.

"Rhea, keep tabs on comms. Draven, rendezvous at junction 12-C," Elara instructed, the click of her heels against the floor resuming.

"Got it," Rhea confirmed, efficiency personified.

"En route," Draven grunted.

Liora lingered a moment longer, the silence hanging heavy. Then she too turned, her mind racing with the possibilities, the dangers.

"Next time, pal," she whispered to the empty corridor, "you won't be so lucky."