Weaves of Ashes

Chapter 2: Chapter 0.2: The Weight of Memory

Location: Deshan H24C

Time: Two Weeks After Lawrence’s Return

The cargo bay churned with ordered chaos—boots hammering metal grating like war-drums demanding sacrifice, hydraulics spitting like wounded beasts bleeding pressure into the void. Voices wove coordinates and supply counts into some desperate hymn for survival while overhead lights buzzed like dying insects. High on the observation deck, Jayde gripped the railing until her knuckles screamed white against the metal, watching her people move with the deadly precision of those who’d learned sloppy got you dead.

Two weeks. Hell, it felt like two years since Lawrence came back from Xi Corp’s tender care. A heartbeat in cosmic terms, sure, but they’d torn down a whole kriffing civilization in that time—every soul worth saving, every scrap of tech that wasn’t nailed down or booby-trapped. The Centauri had mastered the art of running, born from necessity when corporate hunters breathed down your neck like rabid wolves.

Her reflection glared back from the observation window. Angular face carved by sixty years of violence, green eyes hard as Kepler jade, dark hair yanked into that severe bun that screamed Commander to anyone fool enough to look. The woman staring back wasn’t the scared kid who’d first picked up a blaster in Xi Corp’s training pits. She was ice wrapped around necessity, forged in furnaces that burned hotter than binary stars.

Sometimes—in dreams that came like glass shards cutting through sleep—she glimpsed different skies. Breathed air that didn’t taste of recycled fear. Heard laughter that had nothing to do with victory or just staying alive another day. Dreams that whispered this life, this existence as corporate property with serial numbers branded into her soul, wasn’t what it should be. It wasn’t what it could be. But those fragments faded like morning mist on a battlefield, leaving only the bitter aftertaste of things lost before she’d ever known to mourn them.

A memory burned sudden and vicious: that dawn on Deshan seven years back, standing right here while smoke rose from burning corporate outposts like incense to dead gods. The weight of the first command crushing down, making every breath feel stolen. Lawrence’s hand on her shoulder, steady as bedrock: ”You got this, Sis. You always do.”

He’d been right then. Like he’d been right through sixty years of impossible odds and battles that should’ve killed them both a dozen times over. Her anchor when the universe went sideways. Her north star when everything else burned.

So why did Dr. Eba’s warning gnaw at her guts like acid? Two years is a long time, Commander. Xi Corp’s methods reshape people.

”Commander.”

The voice sliced through her spiral like a plasma blade seeking bone.

Jayde spun, boots scraping metal with the practiced pivot of someone who’d spent decades expecting attacks from every angle. Lieutenant Kira approached through the chaos, data pad glowing in her hands like some relic from wars that hadn’t ended yet. Kira stood a head taller, her dark skin drinking the bay’s harsh light, but those silver cybernetic eyes caught everything—twin moons where organic sight used to live before shrapnel carved that gift away three years past.

Xi Corp would’ve scrapped her like defective equipment. The Centauri rebuilt her stronger. Made her choice to stay mean something more than survival.

”Status?”

Command voice. The tone that could cut through explosions and panic attacks, that said, I know what I’m doing even when her insides felt like they’d been put through a blender.

”Last transport leaves in six hours,” Kira said, fingers dancing over the pad with fighter’s grace. Each tap deliberate, sure. The cybernetic enhancements let her process data faster than baseline humans—a gift that’d saved all their asses more times than anyone could count. ”Crews want answers about destination coordinates.”

”They’ll know when we arrive.”

The words came out harder than intended. Need-to-know. Information compartmentalization. Lessons carved in blood over sixty years of warfare, where one captured operative could doom thousands.

”Security protocol,” she added, gentler. ”You know the drill.”

Kira nodded, trust earned through shared battles and blood spilled for causes that mattered. ”Understood. But Lawrence—”

Her voice caught, just slightly. The way it did when choosing words was like stepping through a minefield.

”He’s asking. Pushing harder than usual.”

The observation hit like a soft probe, not an accusation but a fact. Lawrence was asking more questions since his return. About logistics. Personnel numbers. Destinations. Natural curiosity after two years of captivity, right? Or something else gnawing beneath the surface?

”What’d you tell him?”

”Nothing. Same as the others.” Kira’s silver gaze locked with Jayde’s eyes, those cybernetic orbs reading micro-expressions and stress patterns like a targeting computer analyzing threats. ”Standard protocol.”

”Good.”

Whatever Lawrence’s reasons for asking, some secrets were too dangerous to share. The location of Eden burned in her mind like a brand—coordinates that could save or damn them all.

”Anything else?”

”Permission to speak freely?”

The request came steady as stone but carried weight. Real concern, not just military courtesy.

That old scar on Jayde’s wrist ached—legacy of Mission 156 when trusting wrong intelligence walked her straight into an ambush. Lawrence had pulled her bleeding ass out of that clusterfuck while plasma fire rained like judgment from corporate angels.

”Granted.”

”Crew’s noticed you’re different with him. Since his return. More careful. They’re wondering if you think Xi Corp’s conditioning might’ve stuck.”

The words struck softly but were impossible to ignore. Dr. Eba’s warning echoed: The mind doesn’t mend like bone, Commander. Two years reshapes people, breaks them in ways that don’t show.

”He passed all medical evaluations. Psychological profile came back clean. He’s Lawrence.”

Defensive. Damn it, she sounded defensive even to herself.

”I know,” Kira said, voice gentle but persistent. ”But you’re being careful with him anyway. That’s not like you, Commander. You’ve never doubted Lawrence before.”

Truth hit like a gut punch. She was being careful, holding back information she’d normally share without question. The doubt felt like betrayal—questioning sixty years of brotherhood and shared sacrifice, of nights when only Lawrence’s presence kept the nightmares at bay.

”Two years of neural conditioning leaves marks. I’m just watching. Making sure he’s really back.”

”And if he’s not?”

The question hung between them like smoke from a funeral pyre. If Lawrence wasn’t Lawrence anymore—if Xi Corp had broken him, reshaped him into something wearing her brother’s face—what then?

”Then we deal with it.”

Cold certainty. The voice of someone who’d made harder choices, buried deeper hurts. ”But until I know for sure, he’s still family.”

Kira nodded, understanding passing wordless between warriors who’d seen too much. ”Dismissed,” Jayde added, watching her lieutenant fade back into organized chaos.

Time slipped like coolant from cracked hull plating. An hour passed, maybe two—time moved strange when you fought wars between trust and caution inside your own head. She found Lawrence in the mess hall, center of a soldier cluster, voice weaving stories that sparked laughter. Rare as clean water on a corporate mining world, that sound. Precious beyond measure.

Their faces glowed with something she’d almost forgotten existed: joy. Raw, reckless, stolen from gods who’d turned their backs on weapons like them.

He had that gift. Lawrence could kindle warmth where corporate steel carved voids, make people remember they were human beneath scars and augmentations. Watching him gesture, describing some impossible escape from Xi Corp patrol, she felt old warmth stirring in her chest.

This was Lawrence. Had to be. Same man who’d made jokes while they waded through literal shit in Tau Ceti’s sewage treatment plants, who’d held her during nightmares, who’d been her anchor through sixty years of corporate hell.

But Eba’s words wouldn’t shut up: They reshape people. Break them in ways that don’t show.

”Commander!”

Lawrence spotted her, half-smile bright as binary starlight, warm enough to melt permafrost around her heart. ”Here to steal me from my adoring fans?”

Soldiers chuckled, starting to rise with automatic respect drilled into every Centauri fighter.

”At ease. Eat. Rest while you can.”

Her voice came out softer than intended. She caught Lawrence’s eye, tilted her head toward the exit.

”Walk with me.”

He fell into step beside her, corridors stripped bare around them like picked bones. Cables hung like dead nerves where they’d pulled everything valuable. Their footsteps echoed off metal walls—rhythm familiar as breathing after decades in ships and bases and temporary shelters that never felt like home.

”So,” Lawrence said, voice carrying that old warmth, the tone that’d carried her through the worst moments of sixty years. ”You gonna tell me where everyone’s gone? Or is this another one of Commander Jayde’s famous mysteries I gotta solve?”

The teasing felt right. Like slipping into worn fatigues that fit perfectly. But something made her hesitate—not suspicion exactly, but a need to be certain. To test the waters before diving in.

”I’m showing you something. Trust me.”

”Sis,” Lawrence grinned, expression spreading like sunrise over battlefield wreckage, ”sixty years of trust. Not gonna stop now.”

Words that should’ve warmed her. Did warm her. But they carried weight too—sixty years of shared history, shared faith, shared blood spilled for freedom’s cause. If Xi Corp had broken that trust, turned her brother into their weapon...

No. Wouldn’t think that way. Not yet. Not without proof.

They took a shuttle from the main hangar. Just them alone in a cramped cockpit while stars wheeled outside like distant promises nobody’d kept. Jayde’s hands moved over controls with automatic precision—someone who’d been flying since before she could properly reach pedals, fingers finding switches by muscle memory carved deep as bone.

Coordinates burned in her mind, never written, never shared. She made sure Lawrence couldn’t see navigation displays, couldn’t track their route through hyperspace jumps. Not from suspicion—well, not entirely—but from habit. Some secrets are too important to risk, even with family.

”Where we headed, Sis?”

Lawrence settled into the co-pilot seat with the easy confidence of someone who’d shared thousands similar flights.

”Patience, damn it.”

Fondness outweighed irritation, but barely.

He tried again, boyish curiosity that’d gotten them both in trouble more times than she could count. ”Come on, just a hint—”

”Patience.”

Sharper this time, but still warm underneath.

Third time he opened his mouth, her glare cut him off like a plasma blade through hull plating. He laughed—warm, familiar sound that’d been her anchor in the dark—hands raised in mock surrender.

”You’re really milking this mystery. I’m impressed. And hooked.”

Her heart hammered against her ribs as the nav system chimed an approach to the final jump point. This moment mattered more than any battle, any mission, any choice made in sixty years of warfare. She needed to see his face, read his reaction, know in her bones whether her brother was still her brother.

Because if Xi Corp had broken him, if they’d planted something dark in his mind, she needed to know. Eden depended on it. Twenty thousand souls depended on it.

More than that—she needed to know if the one person she’d never doubted, the constant in her universe of betrayal and loss, was still real.

Shuttle dropped out of hyperspace. Eden filled the viewport like a promise made manifest—blue and green and alive, wreathed in clouds that sparkled with moisture instead of industrial toxins. Lawrence had never seen it before. No one had, except refugees she’d brought here and trusted operatives who’d helped build it.

”Holy stars.”

Lawrence breathed the words, eyes wide as he drank in the sight. ”Jayde, this is...”

She watched his face like a sniper studying a target, looking for calculation, any sign he was memorizing details for a future report. What she saw instead was wonder. Pure, unguarded amazement at the sight of a world existing outside corporate control.

This was the test. If Lawrence was Xi Corp’s creature now, if they’d broken and rebuilt him as their tool, this moment would reveal it.

Wouldn’t it?