Chapter 4: The Weight of Secrets
Claudius emerged from the maintenance tunnel, his heart still pounding from the chase. The narrow passage had spat him out into another part of the sprawling spaceport, one filled with less traffic but still bustling with low-level activity. He leaned against the cold metal wall for a moment, catching his breath and trying to quiet the storm of thoughts in his mind. He had escaped the cybernetic man, but for how long?
The box inside his jacket felt heavier with each passing minute, like a lead weight pulling him into deeper and deeper danger. He hadn't expected this. Draven's deal seemed simple—too simple now. He was just supposed to deliver the package, but no one had warned him about being chased by a man with cybernetic limbs, or the shadows that seemed to follow him since he left Neoterra.
Claudius looked around, trying to assess where he had ended up. The area was a tangle of metal corridors and towering stacks of cargo containers. Low-ranking spaceport workers bustled around, but none paid him any attention. That was good. For now, he needed to stay invisible. But how long could he hide? If that man had found him so quickly, others might be on his trail soon.
Claudius pushed himself off the wall and started walking, blending into the crowd. His mind was racing, trying to calculate his next move. He couldn't afford to sit around waiting for Draven's contact any longer. He needed information. He needed answers.
Phobos' main spaceport complex was divided into sectors, some reserved for military use, others for cargo operations, and a small portion for travelers and transporters moving through the system. Claudius knew if he wanted to find out more about who might be after the package—and who was supposed to receive it—he needed to head to the information district, a shadowy corner of Phobos where favors were traded as often as credits.
The district was located in a part of the station less frequented by legitimate traders. It wasn't quite illegal, but it was the kind of place where people asked fewer questions, and where secrets could be bought—if you knew the right people. Claudius had been here once before, years ago, when he had accompanied his father on one of his rare jobs to repair old data servers for a broker who worked in the underbelly of Phobos. He remembered the twisting corridors and the stale, recycled air that always carried a hint of ozone from poorly maintained electrical systems.
As he approached the sector, the atmosphere shifted. The clean, crisp lines of the more official parts of the spaceport faded into grungier surroundings—walls covered in grime, dim lights flickering intermittently, and the low buzz of hushed voices dealing in quiet exchanges. This was a place where deals were struck in the shadows, and Claudius hoped it would offer him a lead on what exactly he was caught up in.
He made his way to one of the small kiosks nestled between two towering buildings. The sign overhead flickered faintly, the letters half-burnt out, but Claudius could still make out the name: Alton's Nexus. This was a place where traders and drifters came to exchange information, often for a steep price. It wasn't the most reliable source, but Claudius figured it was his best shot.
Inside, the air was heavy with smoke and the faint hum of old electronics. The room was small, cluttered with data terminals, holographic screens, and piles of ancient tech parts. At the back of the room sat a man in his mid-forties, leaning back in his chair, his legs propped up on the counter. His face was lined with years of experience in shady dealings, and his sharp eyes flicked up from the datapad in his hand as Claudius entered.
"Help you with something, kid?" the man asked, not bothering to move from his relaxed position.
"I need information," Claudius said, stepping up to the counter.
Alton lowered his feet and sat up, studying Claudius with a more focused gaze. "Information doesn't come cheap. You got something to trade?"
Claudius hesitated. The box felt like a stone in his pocket, pressing against his ribs as if to remind him of its presence. He didn't dare mention it, but he knew he needed something to offer. "I've got credits," Claudius said, pulling out a small chip and sliding it across the counter.
Alton glanced at the chip, his expression unimpressed. "Not much, but it'll get you a name or two. What are you looking for?"
"I'm trying to find someone," Claudius said, choosing his words carefully. "They're expecting a delivery here on Phobos. Someone tried to intercept it, though, and I need to know who might be after this person."
Alton raised an eyebrow. "That's pretty vague, kid. A lot of people are expecting deliveries on Phobos. You'll have to be more specific."
Claudius clenched his jaw. He couldn't risk giving too much away, but if he didn't, he'd get nowhere. "A man with cybernetics tried to take the package from me," he said, lowering his voice. "I need to know who he is and who he works for."
Alton's eyes narrowed, and he leaned forward, his fingers tapping idly on the counter. "Cybernetics, huh? You sure know how to get mixed up in dangerous business."
"I don't have a choice," Claudius said, his voice firm. "I need to know what I'm dealing with."
Alton sat back, scratching his chin thoughtfully. "Alright, I think I know the type you're talking about. Sounds like someone from the Harrow Syndicate."
Claudius' heart sank. The Harrow Syndicate was a notorious criminal organization operating throughout the Outer Colonies, known for its black market deals, smuggling, and occasional assassination jobs. If they were involved, it meant Claudius had stumbled into something far more dangerous than he had realized.
"Why would the Syndicate be after this package?" Claudius asked, trying to keep his voice calm.
Alton shrugged. "Could be anything. They deal in all sorts of contraband—illegal tech, stolen goods, data that people don't want getting out. If they're interested in what you're carrying, it's probably worth a lot more than what you think."
Claudius took a deep breath, trying to steady himself. "And the contact I'm supposed to meet? Who's expecting this package?"
"That's harder to say," Alton replied, leaning back again. "Could be anyone with enough credits or influence. But if the Syndicate's interested, then your contact is likely someone important—or someone who's crossed them."
Claudius bit his lip. He was no closer to finding Draven's contact, but at least now he knew who was after him. The Harrow Syndicate wasn't something he could handle on his own. He needed to find the contact and deliver the package before things spiraled out of control.
"Alright," Claudius said, pushing the rest of his credits across the counter. "I need one more thing. A safe place to lay low until I can make the delivery."
Alton eyed the credits, then nodded toward a side door behind the counter. "There's a back room you can use for a few hours. But after that, you're on your own, kid. I don't want any trouble with the Syndicate."
Claudius nodded, grateful for at least a brief reprieve. He couldn't afford to stay hidden for long, but he needed time to think, to plan his next move.
He slipped through the side door into a small, dimly lit room. The walls were lined with old tech, and a single cot sat in the corner. Claudius sat down, his mind racing as he tried to piece together what he had learned. The Harrow Syndicate was after the package, and someone on Phobos was expecting it. Draven's contact could be anyone, but whoever they were, they had to be important.
Claudius reached inside his jacket, pulling out the small, metallic box. He stared at it for a long moment, the weight of its secrets pressing heavily on him. What could be so valuable, so dangerous, that both the Syndicate and Draven's contact wanted it?
His fingers hovered over the latch. He had promised Draven he wouldn't open it, but the more he thought about it, the more he realized he needed to know what he was dealing with. Information was power, and right now, Claudius was playing a dangerous game in the dark.
Slowly, he began to unlock the box.