Chapter 109 - The Sub-Deck Reckoning
David moved through the industrial veins of the *Aegis Invictus* not like an infiltrator, but like an executioner.
He knew ship layouts. The *Invictus* might have been built with non-terrestrial composites and powered by gravimetric reactors, but its internal architecture still conformed to classic military doctrine: heavy conduits ran along the central spine, weapon silos clustered around the primary reactors, and access tunnels bypassed the command decks to allow damage control teams to move during decompression events.
He bypassed the main transit elevators. Using an emergency service ladder, he climbed six levels through an exhaust shaft, the intense heat of the dormant plasma drives blistering the paint on his stolen carbine.
Every breath was agony. The electrical burns on his arms were weeping fluid, the raw flesh rubbing against the rough fabric of his torn uniform. But the pain was useful. It burned away the confusion. It burned away the ghost of his childhood, the memory of the flag-draped casket at Dover, the sting of his mother’s insults in the ballroom, and the hollow pride of the Silver Star.
He was no longer Arthur Vance's son. He was no longer Eleanor’s scapegoat or Julian’s brother.
He was Major David Vance, United States Army Special Forces. And he had a target.
He reached the primary maintenance catwalk directly above Launch Tube Alpha.
Below him lay the vast, cavernous firing chamber. Three massive, cylindrical kinetic projectiles—each thirty feet long, forged from solid tungsten and tipped with depleted uranium penetrators—hung suspended in magnetic cradles over the open firing tubes. These were the "Rods from God," orbital kinetic bombardment weapons capable of striking the surface of the Earth at Mach 10, carrying the destructive yield of a tactical nuclear warhead without a single grain of radioactive fallout.
Standing on the primary control platform at the end of the catwalk was Arthur Vance.
He was alone, flanked only by two high-ranking Directorate officers who were monitoring the digital fire-control displays.
"Target coordinates locked," one of the officers reported, his voice echoing in the vast metal chamber. "Raven Rock command complex is centered in the crosshairs. Impact time after release: two minutes, fourteen seconds."
Arthur looked at the digital chronometer on his wrist. "My son's timer has expired. Vent Containment Cell 0-4."
"No need, General," a voice called out from the dark above.
Arthur froze.
Slowly, deliberately, the old man turned around.
David dropped from the overhead catwalk, landing twelve feet below on the steel grating of the platform with a heavy, rolling impact. He came up in a firing crouch, the captured kinetic carbine leveled directly at the chest of the Directorate officer on the left.
*Thump-thump.*
The suppressed weapon spat two heavy rounds. The officer’s chest imploded beneath the kinetic transfer, and he was hurled over the railing into the abyss of the open launch tube below.
The second officer reached for his sidearm, but David didn't waste ammunition. He swung the buttstock of the carbine in a vicious horizontal arc, shattering the man’s jaw and sending him sprawling across the fire-control terminal.
The terminal sparked violently, its holographic displays short-circuiting into cascades of red error codes.
Arthur didn't draw a weapon. He didn't run. He stood his ground, his hands clasped behind his back, his amber synthetic eye glowing with a terrifying, incandescent fury.
"You killed my guards," Arthur said, his voice dropping an octave into a low, rumbling growl. "You severed your cuffs on a high-voltage line. You climbed the exhaust shaft."
"You taught me how to read maintenance schematics when I was four, Arthur," David said, stepping forward until the muzzle of his carbine was three inches from his father's heart. "You always said: if you want to kill the dragon, don't chop at the scales. Cut the throat."
Arthur looked down at the barrel of the gun, then slowly lifted his head, a dark, terrifying smile spreading across his weathered face.
May you like
"Yes," the old man whispered. "I did say that. But you forgot the most important lesson, David."
Before David could pull the trigger, Arthur's left hand moved with a speed that was physically impossible for a seventy-year-old man.
