Ana Rix
Character
The resort station drifted above the planet like a jewel suspended in black water and starlight, its polished viewports and gilded promenades meticulously designed to project an air of effortless luxury. Soft music floated through the upper concourse from hidden speakers, blending seamlessly with the low murmur of diplomats, corporate executives, and minor nobles who were all pretending tonight was about galactic unity rather than political leverage.
Ana already hated it, though she was careful not to let it show. Years spent navigating the realities of criminals, brokers, slicers, and people wealthy enough to outsource their own morality had taught her how to wear neutrality like armor. She moved through the crowded atrium with a practiced calm, keeping one hand rested lightly against the slim datapad tucked beneath her arm while the station's internal network scrolled quietly across the lens of her wrist display.
The data painted a chaotic picture, revealing three security outages in the last hour, two encrypted relay spikes, and an unauthorized access attempt buried so deeply beneath routine maintenance traffic that most system administrators would have missed it entirely. Unfortunately for whoever was trying to hide their tracks, Ana noticed patterns for a living.
Her dark, understated formal attire blended neatly into the atmosphere of the gala without truly participating in it, favoring structured lines and minimal ornamentation that remained practical enough to allow quick movement if the situation demanded it. She looked less like a guest attending a diplomatic summit and more like an auditor deciding whether the entire operation deserved to continue functioning, an assessment that was becoming increasingly accurate by the minute.
A server carrying critical diplomatic schedules had gone down twenty minutes ago, a private communications channel belonging to an attending delegation had been briefly mirrored through an external relay before vanishing, and the station's primary surveillance system kept dropping exactly seventeen seconds of footage from Corridor Aurek-Three every forty-one minutes. It was never random, and Ana knew better than to treat it as a coincidence.
Stepping away from the main ballroom entrance toward a quieter observation alcove that overlooked the lower casino decks, she finally allowed herself a slow breath away from the oppressive noise, perfume, and endless political laughter. Below her, luxury speeders drifted gracefully between docking platforms while the storm-wrapped oceans of the planet reflected a faint silver light far beneath the station, presenting a view that was beautiful, entirely artificial, and wildly expensive.
The entire venue was balancing on the brink of a massive systems failure that someone was trying very hard to disguise, prompting her to slide her fingers across her datapad to isolate yet another corrupted packet trail just as the station lights flickered. It happened only once, so subtly that the distracted crowd ignored it entirely, but Ana went completely still as a hidden relay signature surfaced for less than half a second across her display. This was no malfunction, but rather a deliberate handshake, confirming that someone inside the summit was actively communicating with an entity they absolutely should not have been talking to.
Jack Sheltrak
Ana already hated it, though she was careful not to let it show. Years spent navigating the realities of criminals, brokers, slicers, and people wealthy enough to outsource their own morality had taught her how to wear neutrality like armor. She moved through the crowded atrium with a practiced calm, keeping one hand rested lightly against the slim datapad tucked beneath her arm while the station's internal network scrolled quietly across the lens of her wrist display.
The data painted a chaotic picture, revealing three security outages in the last hour, two encrypted relay spikes, and an unauthorized access attempt buried so deeply beneath routine maintenance traffic that most system administrators would have missed it entirely. Unfortunately for whoever was trying to hide their tracks, Ana noticed patterns for a living.
Her dark, understated formal attire blended neatly into the atmosphere of the gala without truly participating in it, favoring structured lines and minimal ornamentation that remained practical enough to allow quick movement if the situation demanded it. She looked less like a guest attending a diplomatic summit and more like an auditor deciding whether the entire operation deserved to continue functioning, an assessment that was becoming increasingly accurate by the minute.
A server carrying critical diplomatic schedules had gone down twenty minutes ago, a private communications channel belonging to an attending delegation had been briefly mirrored through an external relay before vanishing, and the station's primary surveillance system kept dropping exactly seventeen seconds of footage from Corridor Aurek-Three every forty-one minutes. It was never random, and Ana knew better than to treat it as a coincidence.
Stepping away from the main ballroom entrance toward a quieter observation alcove that overlooked the lower casino decks, she finally allowed herself a slow breath away from the oppressive noise, perfume, and endless political laughter. Below her, luxury speeders drifted gracefully between docking platforms while the storm-wrapped oceans of the planet reflected a faint silver light far beneath the station, presenting a view that was beautiful, entirely artificial, and wildly expensive.
The entire venue was balancing on the brink of a massive systems failure that someone was trying very hard to disguise, prompting her to slide her fingers across her datapad to isolate yet another corrupted packet trail just as the station lights flickered. It happened only once, so subtly that the distracted crowd ignored it entirely, but Ana went completely still as a hidden relay signature surfaced for less than half a second across her display. This was no malfunction, but rather a deliberate handshake, confirming that someone inside the summit was actively communicating with an entity they absolutely should not have been talking to.