Chapter Fifty Three: Suspicion and Strategy

Chapter Fifty Three: Suspicion and Strategy
Freya lay on her bed, staring at the ceiling, heart thudding in an uneven rhythm.

Her mind had been swirling ever since she returned from the command centre. No matter how much she tried to convince herself that she had misunderstood what she’d seen, the memory of Nerissa’s secretive movements refused to fade.

A hidden chute.

A midnight excursion.

That strange glint in Nerissa’s eyes—like she was somewhere far from the cheerful companion Freya had come to trust.

Freya sat up, hugging her knees to her chest. “Could I have been wrong?” she whispered to the empty room.

She began recounting every encounter she had with Nerissa since their arrival in Nimoa. Nerissa had always been kind. Helpful. Patient. But now that she was piecing it all together, Freya realized there were gaps—moments where Nerissa had been conveniently “missing,” or returned with vague explanations about helping Archelix or checking inventory.

At first, Freya had assumed it was because Nerissa was a trained Zytherion warrior. Of course, she’d have duties beyond babysitting a human on an alien ship.

But now?

Now her gut twisted in a way she couldn’t ignore.

“I hope I’m wrong,” she murmured. “I hope this is just paranoia.”

And yet her heart—the same heart that had led her to trust Axir, to believe in the impossible, to find her place among the stars—was telling her otherwise.

Tomorrow, she decided, she would keep her eyes open. Watch Nerissa. See where she goes. If she had to leave the ship to follow her… then so be it.

Even if it meant breaking her promise to Axir.

She felt guilt crawl up her spine at the thought.

But it was overpowered by something else—instinct.

She laid back down, pulling the blanket over herself, the unease in her chest only dulling as exhaustion finally claimed her.

Morning in Nimoa broke with a crisp golden hue filtering through translucent curtains. The estate was still quiet when Axir, Rexan, and Greon gathered in his private chamber.

A holo-map of the estate hovered between them, flickering slightly as Greon pointed to the western quadrant.

“The discard vault down this wing,” he said, adjusting the zoom. “We spotted at least three levels of energy shielding when we passed by yesterday.”

“And locked,” Rexan added. “The access code seems to change per cycle.”

Axir paced behind them, arms crossed behind his back. “Then we don’t have time to wait for permission.”

Greon raised a brow. “You suggesting we break in?”

“I’m suggesting we stop wasting time.”

They exchanged tense glances before Axir continued.

“Here’s the plan. This morning, I will request an audience with Kehan and General Rhorvak. I’ll tell them I wish to negotiate for Zytherion to acquire defense technology. That should keep them distracted for a while.”

“While I accompany you as your military advisor,” Rexan said, catching on. “And Greon uses the opportunity to access the vault.”

“Correct,” Axir nodded. “Kehan’s too proud of Nimoa’s exports. He’ll see this as a victory and let his guard down.”

“And when I find the core?” Greon asked.

“Secure it. Discreetly. Then return to the ship. We leave tomorrow—no matter what.”

Rexan gave a tight nod. “It’s a solid plan. Just hope Kehan doesn’t get suspicious.”

Axir smirked faintly. “Let him underestimate us.”

After a quick but substantial breakfast—consisting of Nimoan flatcakes, citrus-root stew, and smoked tralven meat—the trio split.

Axir and Rexan made their way through the ornate golden hallways of Kehan’s estate toward the main chamber, where Kehan and General Rhorvak were already waiting.

The general stood tall in dark green military robes, a gleaming silver badge affixed to his collar. Kehan, ever flamboyant, wore deep burgundy with gold trimmings and a grin that could light up half a room.

“High Prince Axirlon,” Kehan beamed, arms outstretched. “General Rhorvak, you know the one I spoke of.”

Rhorvak gave a respectful nod. “It’s an honor. Zytherion’s reputation precedes you.”

Axir returned the gesture. “The honor is mine, General.”

“Please,” Kehan motioned toward the long table, “shall we talk about weapons?”

Axir’s expression remained calm, unreadable. “Yes. I would like to discuss the viability of purchasing Nimoan technology for the enhancement of our planetary defenses.”

Rhorvak’s eyes sharpened with interest. “We have a few advanced modules that could serve your purpose.”

“As I mentioned previously,” Rexan added smoothly, “we’re particularly interested in barrier detection—something to signal if any unknown crafts breach our borders.”

Rhorvak tapped a small panel on the table, and a projection appeared above them—schematics for a device labeled VelaStrain 9: Barrier Interface Node.

“It can scan a radius of 1000 gallics,” Rhorvak explained, “and automatically logs movement. Here’s the field output.”

Axir studied the specs with approval. “We’ll take two.”

Kehan’s grin widened. “Excellent choice.”

“And,” Axir added, “I’m intrigued by your molten magma shooters. I heard they’re effective against cloaked fleets.”

“Devastating,” Kehan said proudly. “And stylish. I’ll have my subordinates prepare an invoice.”

Axir gave a small nod. “One unit. Immediate transfer.”

The deal was sealed with a data scroll signed between both planetary representatives.

As the talks wrapped up, Axir leaned back slightly. “Before I forget—one of my men, Greon, will return briefly to our ship. A systems check.”

Kehan waved his hand nonchalantly. “Of course, of course. These ships of yours—they are like temperamental beasts. Let the man go, by all means.”

Rhorvak made no comment.

“Rexan will remain with me for the rest of the day,” Axir concluded.

With the agenda complete and weapons secured, Kehan stood up, clapping his hands together.

“Well then! Since this is your final night in Nimoa, allow me to host a proper send-off. A banquet. Music. Laughter. Stories. What say you?”

Axir inclined his head. “You are generous, Kehan. We would be honored.”

Kehan placed a hand over his chest in mock solemnity. “Then it’s settled. Tonight, the stars will dance for Zytherion.”

Rhorvak nodded his agreement, and the group began to rise.

Meanwhile, deep within the estate, Greon had already slipped away from the common areas and was moving swiftly down a back corridor. The map in his holo-bracer glowed softly as he approached the concealed entrance of the showroom, eyes sharp and pulse steady.

If everything went according to plan—they’d find the core before sunset.

And no one would ever suspect a thing.