Moonbound Starship Alliance

Dock lights on Mare Station didn’t go out so much as they dimmed, like someone had pinched the brightness through a veil of dust. Through Liora Vance’s visor, the moon hung in a stained-gold arc behind the starport’s safety netting, and the transfer gantry numbers swam in and out as power fluctuations rode the station’s skin. The hum of the station - fans, pumps, distant machinery - kept time with her suit’s faint telemetry clicks, but under it ran another sound: a stuttering servo whine that didn’t belong to routine mining schedules.

“Vance,” came a voice in her ear, clipped and official. “Transit authorization for the Asteria isn’t complete. Hold position at Bay Seven.”

Liora killed the thrust on her mag-boots and felt the deck’s vibration through the sole magnets. The floor was cold enough to sting, even through layered fabric, and the air tasted faintly metallic when she breathed - recycled station air, filtered and scrubbed until it felt like nothing at all. Her hands stayed steady on the rail as the gantry’s shadow shifted over her. She’d been told to secure clearance, to get the Earth-built exploration starship into the departure flow before the next orbit window. She’d been told the station would treat her like a partner.

Someone was treating her like a problem.

“Commander Sato says the docking packet was confirmed,” Liora said. Her voice sounded too calm inside her helmet. “We’re already integrated into your departure schedule. I need the starport crew to unlock the FTL access couplers.”

A pause. Then, softer, “FTL couplers are being inspected. Standard security protocol.”

“Standard doesn’t come with lights dropping every ten minutes,” Liora said, and she turned her head slightly, letting her eyes track the gantry’s flicker. The stuttering servo whine grew louder, then cut off abruptly - like a throat clearing somewhere behind a bulkhead.

The comm line crackled. “You’re not cleared to proceed into the mining corridor network.”

“I’m not asking to walk into your mines,” Liora snapped. “I’m asking to reach a starport terminal that’s on your side of the gate.”

The voice on the other end didn’t answer immediately. When it did, it carried the weight of someone choosing their words carefully. “Bay Seven is temporary. The corridor route is compromised. If you force passage, you’ll trigger containment. You’ll be quarantined.”

Quarantined. The word landed wrong in her chest, like a mismatch on a calibration table. Mare Station’s security had always been tight - built that way to protect personnel from dust storms and reactor heat - but quarantine meant something else. It meant the station believed her ship might be the cause of trouble.

Liora stared at the sealed bulkhead at the end of the bay. A maintenance panel beside it had been opened and closed too quickly; the screws weren’t aligned like a technician’s work, more like a hurried compromise. A thin smear of gray dust clung to the seam where the door should have been clean.

She’d seen that dust before - on the inspection photos Sato had sent her from Earth, the ones that made the sabotage on their previous leg look like a mechanical mishap. Mare Station’s mining operations ran on schedules measured in minutes because every delay cost ore, cost power, cost orbit time. Sabotage could be disguised as wear. It could be disguised as negligence.

It could also be disguised as someone else’s access.

Liora pushed off the rail and crossed the bay in a controlled stride, mag-boots kissing the deck with a dull, even sound. “Send me your corridor map for the starport terminal,” she said. “If it’s compromised, I can reroute. I can still be on the departure clock.”

“You’re not authorized to receive - ”

“Commander Sato’s signature is on my packet,” Liora cut in. “You can call it compromised all you want. I’m already here.”

She reached the bulkhead before the comm line could protest again. A biometric reader blinked an indifferent green. Liora pressed her wrist against it, feeling the suit’s sensors sync and the reader’s hum rise. The green flickered once.

Then it turned red.

“Denied,” the reader said in a flat voice, and the bulkhead’s lock engaged with a soft, decisive clunk.

Liora leaned closer, eyes narrowing at the seam. The dust smear along the door wasn’t random; it was concentrated at the edges like something had been wiped away, trying to erase evidence. She tapped her knuckles against the panel. The sound came back too hollow, and for a second her mind caught a detail her training had drilled into her: vibrations in the lock mechanism were uneven, as if something in the wall was pulling power in pulses.

A sabotage could be electrical. A sabotage could be a signal.

Her comm chirped again. “Liora,” Sato’s voice finally cut through, but it was distorted, threaded with background noise like someone had placed a hand over the speaker. “They’re stalling you. Mare Station security says the FTL couplers are under inspection....