The Sky-Spire District's skeletal towers clawed higher daily, a defiant monument against Aeridor's skyline. Inside the Citadel's bustling command center within the Velarian Spire, however, tension crackled sharper than a plasma torch.
"Confirmed," Dr. Aris Thorne spat, slamming a data-slate onto the central holo-table. Lines of red text scrolled – shipment manifests, rejection notices, and Orion Dynamics' smugly legalistic seals. "Kaelen Torvin just embargoed all refined chroniton exports to 'unverified experimental projects'. Our entire Helios quantum-battery prototype line is frozen. Without that chroniton lattice, the adaptive shielding is inert scrap."
Commander Roric's knuckles whitened on the table edge. "That little viper. He waited until we were committed. How long?"
"Weeks, at least," Baroness Elara Vane replied, her silver hair coiled tight as her expression. She manipulated the holo-map, zooming in on the asteroid belt. "Orion controls eighty percent of the primary chroniton refineries. The Purist Front's tentacles are deep. Conventional suppliers are terrified."
Vaeron stood silhouetted against the panoramic view of the rising Sky-Spire. "Options?"
"Option One: Conclave appeal," Thorne said, pushing up his spectacles. "Waste of time. Kaelen's buried us in procedural quicksand. By the time we surface, Helios momentum is dead."
"Option Two: Find alternative suppliers," Elara offered. "I have feelers out. But refined chroniton? It's like finding water in a desert. Small quantities, maybe. Enough for prototypes? Impossible through normal channels."
"Option Three," Lyra spoke from the shadows, her crimson eyes reflecting the scrolling red text. "We don't play by his channels."
Vaeron turned, his amethyst gaze sharpening. "Explain."
Lyra stepped forward, activating her gauntlets. A complex overlay appeared on the asteroid belt map – tangled webs of ownership, smuggling routes, known independent miners. "Orion controls the refineries, not the rocks. There are pockets. The Rust Belt Reclaimers. They operate beyond Conclave jurisdiction, salvaging derelict stations and mining unstable asteroids Orion deems 'uneconomical'. They're rough, distrustful... and they hate Orion."
"They deal in raw ore," Elara countered. "Unrefined chroniton is uselessly unstable. We need the lattice."
"We have Intellectuals," Vaeron stated, a plan crystallizing. "Thorne. Can we refine it ourselves? Small-scale, mobile?"
Thorne's green eyes lit with fierce calculation. "Theoretical... yes. The core principles are public domain. Orion just monopolizes the industrial-scale process. A portable field refinery? High-risk, inefficient... but possible. We'd need schematics, materials..."
"Acquire them," Vaeron ordered. "Use every backdoor, every academic contact, every archived patent Orion doesn't own. Lyra, find the Reclaimers. Offer fair trade – power cells, medical tech, discreet transport. Whatever they need that doesn't trace back to us. Emphasize we're not Orion."
"And Kaelen?" Roric growled. "He'll be watching the skies."
"Let him watch," Vaeron said, a cold edge entering his voice. "While he's looking up, Dr. Thorne will bury him in Conclave chambers. Baroness, leverage your guild contacts. Start rumors about Orion price-gouging other Conclave projects affected by this embargo. Make Kaelen's 'security concerns' look like a naked power grab hurting Origin itself."
Three Days Later - The Rust Belt, Aboard the Reclaimer Barge "Scrap Queen"
Captain Jaxa Rostova, her face a roadmap of welding scars and deep-space grit, eyed Lyra suspiciously. Her crew, a motley assembly of augmented humans and hardened spacers, watched from the shadows of the cluttered salvage bay. "Orion dogs," Jaxa spat, her voice like grinding gears. "Why should we trust Velarian's shiny Citadel?"
Lyra stood relaxed but alert, her gauntlets subtly monitoring the hostile vibes. "Because Orion bleeds you dry. Because we offer direct trade, no middlemen. Power cores that don't need Orion-certified fuel. Med-kits that work without their proprietary codes. And..." She gestured to a crate Roric's kinetechs had hauled aboard. "...discrete grav-sleds. Faster salvage runs, less exposure to Orion patrols."
Jaxa kicked the crate. It hummed steadily. Her eyes narrowed. "Raw chroniton ore. It's volatile. What do you need it for?"
"For something Orion fears," Lyra replied simply. "Something that threatens us all, not just your profits. Help us build it, and you hurt Orion where it counts."
Jaxa stared at Lyra, then at the humming grav-sleds. A slow, fierce grin split her weathered face. "Alright, Ghost Hand. We'll play. But if this is a trap..."
"You'll melt us down for scrap," Lyra finished, a ghost of a smile touching her lips. "Understood."
Back in Aeridor, Thorne faced Kaelen across a crowded Conclave sub-committee chamber. Kaelen lounged, radiating smug superiority.
"Your appeals are noted, Dr. Thorne," Kaelen drawled. "But the safety protocols exist for a reason. Perhaps the Citadel should focus on less... ambitious projects?" Murmurs of agreement came from Purist-aligned delegates.
Thorne didn't flinch. He activated a massive holo-display. "Ambition? Or necessity?" The display split: one side showed the bustling Sky-Spire site; the other showed crumbling infrastructure in a Purist-controlled district – delayed repairs due to 'resource reallocation'. "While the Citadel builds resilient power grids with adaptive security – security Orion's embargo hinders – Purist districts suffer. Is their safety less important? Or is this embargo purely political?"
Kaelen's smugness faltered. "That's—"
"Furthermore," Thorne overrode him, pulling up complex energy cost projections. "Orion's chroniton prices have risen thirty percent since the embargo announcement. Coincidence? Or monopolistic exploitation under the guise of 'security'? How many Conclave projects are now over budget? How many citizens pay higher energy taxes?" He turned to the committee chair. "I move for an immediate audit of Orion Dynamics' pricing structure and its impact on Conclave-mandated infrastructure projects."
The chamber erupted. Kaelen Torvin, master of legalistic warfare, found himself suddenly fighting a public relations fire of Thorne's making. The Purist Gambit was starting to backfire.