We didn't ride back to the Citadel in glory. We limped back in the back of a scavenged Board transport truck.
With three of our stealth bikes completely bricked by the localized flash-freeze and Dax’s Interceptor coughing black smoke, riding wasn't an option. We sat in the cavernous cargo bay of the truck, the silence heavy and exhausted.
In the center of the metal floor sat the canvas saddlebag. Inside, the Void-Drive hummed, casting a faint, rhythmic sapphire and purple pulse against the walls. It felt like transporting a captured, angry star.
When the truck finally rolled into the subterranean loading dock of the Citadel, Tank and my father were waiting.
Tank leaned heavily on a makeshift crutch welded from a plasma-rifle barrel, his amputated foot wrapped in thick, synthetic bio-ge
