Datumcore: Echoes of the Null Vector

Vorl’s voice touched the channel again, softer but iron.

– Docking rails extended. Focus on alignment only.

Her hands obeyed before thought. She guided the crippled craft into the belly clamps. Metal kissed metal with a shudder.

Cabin lights died entirely; her suit switched to battery.

Hissing vents announced atmosphere equalising. She unlocked canopy seals with achy fingers; the glass lifted, exhaling a puff of condensed breath.

Warm pine-scented air from Straylight’s life filters greeted her, mingled with the sharper odor of leaking coolant from the fighter’s wounded stabiliser.

She swung legs over the cockpit edge, knees weak. Gravity in the bay felt heavier, perhaps deliberate to offset earlier microgravity exposure.

A maintenance drone scuttled forward, welding torch sputtering orange. It tried to cut into the stabiliser; molten metal hissed. Sparks sprayed, some drifting onto her glove.

Heat bit through fabric; she cursed and shook fingers.

– Damage recorded, – the drone chirped apologetically before extinguishing its torch.

Zyra flexed her hand. Skin beneath glove tingled, no blister, but sensation duller. The price for rushing dismount.

Kaelen jogged in, eye iris awash with frantic turquoise numbers.

– The tag propagated to our network the instant you crossed threshold. Subsystem alarms light every deck.

She steadied on the fighter wing.

– Translate to human.

– Coherence has flagged your existence. At an arbitrary future moment, something will erase every point on your timeline.

Her breath hitched.

Footsteps signalled Vorl’s arrival. Armor all shadow and angles, shattered pauldron absent now, left flank bare.

He stopped three paces away, visor reflecting bay lights.

– Deletion protocols can be interrupted, – he said.

Kaelen scoffed behind her.

– Probability rounds to zero.

Vorl stared him silent. Then gaze met Zyra’s.

– We contest the math.

Her throat clenched. She offered a crooked grin despite damp eyes.

– Momentum, right?

– Momentum, – he agreed.

Nomad-Seven manifested, motes swirling into torso shape above the railing.

– Counter-vector analysis possible, but requires corrupted data-mines recovered for study.

She blinked, remembering the emerald flares.

– They detonated. Nothing left to salvage.

The shard’s motes pulsed sad grey.

Kaelen rubbed his bandaged hand across brow.

– There is another variable. The scout transmitted a checksum before retreating. If we intercept the Coherence ledger before validation, we might corrupt the deletion key.

Zyra straightened, hope a fragile glow.

– Location?

– A short-range transponder relay likely hidden inside Rhylis Nebula’s outskirts. Those scouts feed to a local hub before data folds deeper.

Vorl nodded once, decisive.

– We break the relay.

– Hull fractures argue against further combat, – Kaelen warned.

– Memories argue louder, – Vorl answered, voice low.

Zyra coughed a sharp laugh.

– I’ll fly the corvette if the fighter’s toast.

Vorl shook head.

– Fighter remains asset. Priority is patching your stabiliser and purging tag residue.

Nomad-Seven rotated motes, forming lotus-like pattern.

– Tag anchored in Zyra’s neural signature as well. Removing external nodes insufficient.

A chill wormed through her spine.

– Meaning?

– We must operate at dual layers: obliterate relay and weave defensive recursion around her mind.

Elara’s voice drifted from overhead walkway, faint, tired yet resolute.

– Threads can mask personal causality, but I’ll bleed again.

She descended stairs slowly, palms already glowing faint lavender. Blood crust darkened one sleeve from prior hemorrhage.

Vorl met her halfway, gauntlet brushed her elbow.

– Your threshold?

– Lower each time, – she admitted, smile brittle.

Kaelen stepped forward.

– My calculations show forty-eight minutes until scout data sync completes.

Zyra inhaled the pine-tinged air, grounding herself.

– Then we have forty-seven.

Vorl’s visor dipped, agreement.

He addressed the drone still hovering by the stabiliser.

– Seal that breach in twelve minutes.

The drone bleeped affirmative, torch reigniting.

Zyra’s hand throbbed where sparks had kissed, but sensation returned slowly.

– I need adrenaline stims, – she said, half jest.

Elara pressed a cool vial into her palm.

– Mint serum, popular with courier racers. Sharpens reflexes, leaves breath smelling of winter.

Zyra raised brow, jabbed it into her forearm. Cold flooded veins, mint vapour curling at the back of her throat.

Colour intensified; bay lights seemed richer gold. Sounds sharpened – the drone’s arc-torch hiss, distant hum of damaged Caliper ring, Vorl’s servo gearing clicking subtle between steps.

Cost arrived a beat later – her heart hammered arrhythmic, sweat returned in icy sheet across spine. Worth it.

– Systems ready, – Kaelen said, eyes flickering.

Vorl turned, voice projecting.

– Zyra to fighter repair. Elara to weave chamber. Kaelen bridge analytics. I will oversee hull reinforcement. Move.

The crew scattered, mission inertia reclaimed.

Zyra climbed back onto the wing where the drone laid fresh welding lines. Liquid alloy cooled under blue spray, releasing citrus-metal aroma.

She flexed damaged stabiliser by remote limb test; response lagged 0.3 seconds – acceptable.

The mint serum made her crave candied kelp, a festival snack from her drowned home reef.

– Focus, pilot, – she whispered, slipping into cockpit again.

Inside, Nomad-Seven piped soft chimes through the speaker, almost lullaby.

– I will thread proxy commands to assist stabiliser compensation, – it offered.

– I appreciate babysitting, – she said, grin returning.

Outside canopy, she glimpsed Vorl below, gauntlet pressed against fighter hull as if absorbing its pain.

He removed his hand, thumb actuator twitching.

For a moment, he seemed frail – legend in need of maintenance.

Coriolis alarms rang; Straylight adjusted orientation, aligning nose toward nebula bracket sector epsilon-four.

Kaelen’s voice echoed on wide-band.

– Relay coordinates plotted. Combat window twenty-five minutes.

Zyra powered engines to idle. Heat flowed back, cockpit frost melting in rivulets down glass, refracting lights into tiny rainbows.

She wiped visor inner surface with glove, smearing condensation into streaks.

Mint breath fogged again, only to vanish faster than before.

Elara’s weave pulse briefly lit corridors in lavender arcs, threads exploring ship structure.

Her voice trembled over private channel.

– I’ll protect your timeline, pilot. Hold tight.

– Just keep the scissors away, – Zyra answered.

Time contracted as systems prepared.

She closed eyes briefly, recalling brother’s face at parade. The memory felt more distant now, like she watched through watery lens. Was deletion already nibbling?

A klaxon half-chirped, then died – Nomad-Seven silencing non-essential noise to conserve power.

Kaelen spoke again, softer.

– Enemy sync at thirty percent.

She exhaled.

Thrusters rumbled under seat as Straylight began burn.

Synthetic gravity wavered, then settled, pulling her deeper into chair.

She caught the scent of reheated caf in ventilation, ghost of burdened crew clinging to ritual even in crisis.

– Ten minutes, – Kaelen counted.

– Stabiliser green, – Zyra reported, though gauge hovered amber.

Nomad-Seven chimed acknowledgement, adding private aside.

– Deletion vector remains inactive.

She allowed a smile.

Outside canopy, nebular light turned bruised magenta, dust clouds parting to reveal a lattice of sensor buoys – scrap metal shells repurposed to hide the relay.

Kaelen uploaded overlay: seven buoys, one pulsing red – primary node.

– We breach, crush red, exit, – Zyra summarised.

Vorl’s voice:

– Confirmed. No salvage, only destruction.

The coilgun in Straylight’s bow charged, a low growl that vibrated hull plating.

Zyra watched gauges, finger over stick, ready to launch if backup required.

The relay fired first – thin lance of silver data-light, targeted not at Straylight but the nebula itself, strobing a distant piece of space as handshake to deeper network.

– They’re transmitting checksum, – Kaelen warned.

– Coilgun, engage, – Vorl ordered.

A thunderclap tremor rocked the entire deck as tungsten slug tore free. Through her port-side cam, Zyra watched the slug cross impossible distance, ploughing through two buoys and shattering the red core.

Light vanished.

Kaelen whooped – rare sound.

– Signal collapse verified, sync halted. We froze them at forty-one percent.

Nomad-Seven flooded comm with soft static, then clear voice.

– Deletion probability reduced but not erased; residual protocols still reference pilot biometrics.

Zyra exhaled, long, controlled.

– Then we just made their job harder.

Elara’s fragile voice broke in:

– Threads sealed for now, but every jump will loosen them.

Vorl responded with unexpected gentleness.

– We will jump less, fight more.

That sounded like him.

Yet the relief was short-lived. Straylight’s structural alarm tolled – a grave, resonant note.

Kaelen’s report came clipped.

– Hull stress redistributed unevenly after coilgun discharge. Fractures widening near Caliper cradle two percent.

Zyra stared at the fighter’s damaged stabiliser, saw the mirrored fragility.

Vorl’s directive cut through tension.

– Stand down from combat posture. Repair crews resume. We review deletion tag countermeasures en route to Consensus.

Silence cascaded, relief braided with fatigue.

Zyra unstrapped, joints brittle.

She popped cockpit latch; pine-scented life-support air rolled in, now mixed with scent of ionised metal, oddly citrus.

She slid to deck, knees wobbling. Elara reached her, placing two fingers to Zyra’s temple; lavender glow bled into skin, soothing tremor.

– Fresh tear in stabiliser thread, – Elara whispered.

– Feels like a paper cut on the soul, – Zyra replied, forcing grin.

Kaelen approached with small foil packet.

– Apricot nutrient gel. Restorative sugar concentration suitable.

She laughed softly, tearing corner with teeth. The syrup tasted like childhood festivals, sticky and bright, fighting the aftertaste of mint and fear.

Vorl remained near coilgun control alcove, shoulders heavy.

Nomad-Seven hovered above, motes swirling around him like insects drawn to campfire.

– Tag linkage cooldown resumed. Deletion delayed, – the shard informed.

Zyra swallowed apricot, wiped lips.

She stepped toward Vorl, offering empty packet.

– Souvenir, commander?

He took it between armored fingers, examining printed peach blossom design.

– Memory anchor, – he said.

He folded the foil with meticulous care and placed it inside a gauntlet compartment over his damaged thumb actuator.

Zyra’s eyes widened.

– You collect trash now?

– I collect defiance, – he corrected.

Kaelen coughed a short laugh.

Elara leaned against bulkhead, fatigue drawing shadows under her aurora eyes.

– Threads hold, but I need rest, – she admitted.

– Granted, – Vorl answered.

The fighter drone finished welding, then powered down, its torch’s last spark drifting like a tiny star before fading.

A hush settled. The relay debris drifted outside, glowing embers in the nebula gloom. The scout ships were gone, their destiny unknown – the ledger severed.

Yet the red sigil still pulsed faint on Zyra’s HUD readout across the bay.

She touched the display, finger tracing the edges.

– Still flagged, – she sighed.

Vorl’s visor reflected the glow.

– We rewrite the ledger next.

She nodded, breath slow.

Across the bay, cooling fans exhaled, carrying pine, ozone, and the sweet ghost of apricot.

The lights dimmed to maintenance level, bathing metal in soft amber.

She closed her eyes, heartbeat echoing engine hum.

For a moment, peace lingered, fragile as dust.

Then an unfamiliar chime rang from bridge speakers, sharp, urgent.

– Unknown distortion on long-range band, – Kaelen called, tension renewed.

Zyra’s stomach dropped.

– Another relay?

Kaelen’s answer shook the deck.

– No, something bigger.

Outside, nebular clouds convulsed, parting to reveal a looming white ovoid – the approach profile of a Coherence enforcement cruiser.

– Stations, – Vorl commanded, voice steel.

Zyra felt mint serum spike anew, adrenaline surging.

The cruiser’s silhouette brightened as Normalisation arrays charged.

She whispered to herself, low and fierce.

– Momentum never sleeps.

The nebula’s violet glow softened around the hull, and distant static whispered like rain on far sheets of metal.

A faint smell of pine mingled with the lingering sweetness of apricot, drifting lazily through the cooling vents.