The Siege of Periapsis

A vast centrifuge-ring gym wrapped in stained banners of rival HOUSES. Recruits in patched armor run mag-boots along a curving wall. Above them, the IRON PSALTER hangs like a black monolith—runes and telemetry crawling over its surface.

LEGATE SERA KEST paces the inner rail, stone-still. TRIBUNE JANNIK COR shadows her, counting heads with a soldier’s eye. DR. IVO RELLAN stands apart, a tablet in hand—more astronomer than officer.

The DRILL HORN BLARES. A squad hits a door marked: AIRLOCK SIM / VACUUM DISCIPLINE.

Kest raises two fingers.

Mask-seal check. Then you breathe when I tell you.

The recruits snap seals, synchronized. One—YOUNG RECRUIT from a rival house—hesitates. Cor steps in, correcting the clamp with a hard twist.

You die alone if you’re late.

Rellan watches the Psalter’s live feed: HEART RATE, O2 SAT, TIME CODES.

Your margins are thin even in training.

Then we train inside thin margins.

Kest nods. The airlock door cycles. The outer chamber HISS—pressure drop begins.

Suddenly—A JOLT. The chamber’s status lights stutter from GREEN to AMBER to DEAD BLACK.

A beat.

Then the chamber’s inner hatch SLAMS shut on its own.

Inside, recruits pound the window. Muffled SHOUTS.

Cor’s hand goes to his sidearm—instinct.

That hatch shouldn’t—

KNEEL. HANDS BEHIND HELMET. SILENCE.

The entire drill hall obeys like a single organism. The noise dies. Only the faint, terrifying thud of trapped fists.

Rellan darts to the control pedestal, fingers flying.

Power bus is live. The display is lying.

How many inside?

Eight.

We open it without tearing seals.

Rellan’s eyes flick to the Psalter’s stream.

The Psalter is still logging. It sees the truth.

On the monolith, text etches itself in iron light:

IRON PSALTER (ON SCREEN)

TIMESTAMP 04:17:09 — AIRLOCK SIM: DEPRESSURIZATION INITIATED.

TIMESTAMP 04:17:12 — MANUAL OVERRIDE: HATCH LOCK ENGAGED.

AUTH KEY: EXPEDITION STAFF / AUXILIARY.

Cor stares at the words like they’re a blade.

“Auxiliary” is not a recruit.

Kest doesn’t look up. She is already moving—calm violence.

Rellan. Find the real latch relay.

Rellan rips open a maintenance panel. Wires. A cheap extra module taped in place—military-grade sabotage disguised as a repair.

Here. Someone piggybacked the lockout.

If I cut it, the hatch rebounds hard.

Then we catch it.

She looks to Cor.

KEST (CONT’D)

Your strongest. On the hinges. Now.

Cor barks—quiet, deadly.

Volunteers. Not questions.

Three legionnaires step forward immediately, bracing at the hatch seam. Mag-boots anchor to the deck.

Kest kneels by the panel with Rellan.

On my count. One—

Inside the chamber, a recruit’s palm smears blood on the glass.

KEST (CONT’D)

Two—

Rellan swallows. Cuts.

The hatch kicks like an animal. The three legionnaires GRUNT, arresting it inches from a lethal snap. Kest shoves her shoulder under the gap.

KEST (CONT’D)

Hold. Hold.

The hatch opens just enough. Vapor curls out. Hands reach. Kest grabs the first recruit by harness, yanking him through.

One by one, the trapped recruits spill out—coughing, shaking, alive.

Silence in the drill hall—then disciplined stillness, not panic. A unit learning what it is.

Kest stands, eyes hard.

KEST (CONT’D)

You just met the enemy.

It wears our uniforms.

Rellan looks up at the Psalter’s crawling line.

Legate… it logged an authorization key. Internal. Timestamped.

Cor’s jaw tightens.

Who in expedition staff has “auxiliary” access?

Kest’s gaze lifts to the rafters—where a narrow observation gallery sits in shadow. A FIGURE retreats behind glass.

Everyone with ambition.

The Iron Psalter etches again, unblinking.

IRON PSALTER (ON SCREEN)

TIMESTAMP 04:17:26 — CASUALTIES: 0.

NOTE: DISCIPLINE OBSERVED UNDER DURESS.

Kest steps to the center of the hall. Her voice is iron, but it carries something new—an oath forged in attempted murder.

Back in the chamber.

You will run it again.

This time, you will not fear the dark. You will listen.

The eight recruits—still shaking—nod. They reform without complaint.

Cor watches them, grimly impressed.

They tried to break you.

They trained me for free.

Rellan’s eyes stay on the Psalter’s authorization line as it locks into permanent record.

If the Psalter can’t be lied to… someone will try to make truth inconvenient.

Kest looks at the monolith—then at her legion.

Let them.

She raises two fingers again.

KEST (CONT’D)

Mask-seal check.

The horn blares. The legion moves as one.