The Extra's Rise

We timed the ring test to Luna Base's night cycle even though the moon doesn't care about clocks. Crews move smarter when the lights tell them it's late; mistakes get tired and honest.

"Two phases," Kade said at the briefing table—really a crate with a map pinned to it. "Phase one: controlled hits. Phase two: the sky forgets its manners. If the field wobbles, you pull, I patch, we try again tomorrow."

"Redeemers on corners," Rachel added. "If anyone kisses the floor, you don't drag them. You call. I come."

Captain Vyr's voice was dry as ever. "Outer cordon stands. If a drone blinks without a tag, it stops blinking."

"Chaos pass after Kade's first burn," Cecilia said. "I want to see the belt say no while it's busy."

"Don't break it," Kade warned.

"I specialize in near-breaking," she purred.

Rose slid a thin paper across to Vyr. "Standing writ: in a crisis, Redeemers' medical orders outrank perimeter orders. Signed by all five continents. I'd like no arguments later."

"No arguments now," Vyr said, and tucked the paper away like a weapon.

We took the warp to Crisium's edge. Earth was a dark coin now; the Yard lights behind us turned the dust into glitter. The belt hummed at low power, waiting to learn if it knew how to breathe.

"Phase one," Kade said, and lifted his hand.

Erebus obliged. From a shadow slit on the far rim, bone mortars unfolded—not weapons so much as tests with handles. The first shot climbed slow and dignified, a dull lump of stone humming with barely enough mana to count as alive. It fell toward us on a clean arc.

"Mesh," I said quietly. The field recognized a problem presented politely and dealt with it. The lump hit forty meters out, met a cushion of held air and mana, and rolled across the surface like a bored pebble.

"Again," Kade said. The second shot was faster. The belt softened, then firmed; it turned sharp into safe the way a mother turns fever into sleep. Rachel nodded. The Redeemers' obelisks drank the leftover wrong and gave nothing back.

"Chaos," Kade said without looking.

Cecilia slipped a twist into the belt's song: a misplaced heartbeat, a suggestion that true north was a little to the left. The field stuttered and refused the suggestion, correcting like a dancer who knows where her foot belongs even when the floor lies.

"Good girl," Cecilia whispered, and Kade glared at the sky so he didn't have to admit he agreed.

"Phase two," Kade said, and Erebus's mortars changed voice. The next cluster came hard and close, small and mean—micrometeors pretending to be a swarm. The field flexed. I felt the belt shiver, set a small truth in my hands—end there—and the shiver resolved into strength. The pieces hit the line like rain on a good roof. Dust lifted in plumes; none of it bothered the anchors.

"Hold," Reika said into the comm, not as a command to us, but as a reminder to stone. Sometimes the moon likes being treated like it can hear you.

Seraphina stood with one palm on the regolith, eyes half closed, listening for drift. "East tie-in is a hair high," she said.

Kade tapped a corner of his tablet. The tie-in breathed once and settled. "Better."

"Again," Kade said, because he has never met a problem he trusted until it bored him.

The sky obliged with one more polite test and then, like it had been waiting for the cue, forgot its manners.

The belt hissed in my bones before the first spark showed. Not sound—intent. Something small and fast and wrong slipped across the field off Tranquillitatis and started tasting our lines like a thief touching door handles in a dark street.

"Not ours," Valeria murmured, steel-cool in the back of my mind.

"Not dust," I said aloud. "Eyes up."

Captain Vyr didn't ask what. She shifted two squads without moving her feet. The Redeemers' lanterns dimmed to protect night vision. Rose lifted her head and frowned like a judge listening to a liar massage a timeline.

"I have it," she said. "It's reading, not touching."

"Make it read fiction," I said.

Cecilia was already drawing circles in the air. "Oh, let's give you a story," she crooned. Her Witchcraft curled into the very edge of the field—a lace of chaos so thin you'd mistake it for noise. Anything dumb would ignore it. Anything clever would see it and decide it was the truth. If it was demon tech, it would be clever.

"Rachel," I said.

"Purelight anchor on the Redeemers," she replied, calm, and set a soft peg in the line that made the belt remember what clean felt like. You can lie to a map. It's harder to lie to a vow.

The wrongness hesitated. It tasted Cecilia's fiction and decided it liked it. Rose folded space a hand's width around where the taste was sharpest; the fold wasn't a trap so much as a polite room. "Here," she said softly, and Reika flicked a lash of script across the fold.

No.

The wrongness hit the word and forgot how to continue. A bead the size of a fist flickered into visibility—sleek, faceted, too elegant to be human. It tried to move. The fold had opinions. It stilled.

Erebus's shadow leaned. A bone hand as gentle as a nurse took the bead away into a pocket of cold. "I will open it where opening won't be impolite," he said, and vanished.

"Report," Kade demanded, because tests are tests even when the sky misbehaves.

I lifted my palm, pressed it to the new pillar at Crisium, and listened the way he listens. The belt vibrated under my skin like a cat after a good meal. "Field stable," I said. "Your girl's fine."

"Don't—" he started, and then let it go.

We ran the rest of the night test without theater. Erebus threw three more clusters; the belt caught them and turned scythe to straw. Rachel bumped Redeemer lanterns when the tone tried to tilt. Seraphina adjusted two tie-ins by a breath. Cecilia layered one last harmless lie so anything else peeking would leave thinking the belt was ten percent weaker than it is. (I did not scold her. That's good practice.) Reika wrote a line no one else could see around an outer approach and told it Quiet. The regolith obeyed. It likes being told.

Kade looked up from his tablet when the last arc fell. "Enough," he said.

We stood under a black sky full of nothing you can touch and let the belt hum around our ankles. It wasn't pride. It was relief shaped like competence.

"Bring it down to watch," I said. "Night learnings stick better than day ones."

Back at Tycho, Stella had fallen asleep on three chairs borrowed from the canteen, slate under her cheek, a new page labeled belt response—lag vs amplitude. I tucked a blanket around her and took a photo for the family thread. Replies arrived fast: Seraphina's tiny heart, Cecilia's tell her I said nerd, Rachel's don't wake her, Rose's I added a footnote, Reika's good.

Elias leaned against the map crate and blew out a breath he'd been saving. "Stage two online," he said. "Aegis Luna is a thing."

"Name sticks," I said. "Kade, write it on your tablet so it stops being a joke."

He typed Aegis Luna without looking at the keys. He'll pretend he hates the name tomorrow.

I sent the courtesy round again. Belt holds under controlled and rude tests. One non-human probe intercepted; no field compromise. Redeemers will file the brief at dawn. South replied first—well done—then North—noted—then West—skull emoji—then East—we will drink tea to this—then Central with a line about shipping windows that made Elias grunt and start drafting schedules.

I walked out to the Yard's rim. Earth was a darker coin now, clouds veiling continents. The belt hummed behind me, lines we had drawn into stone agreeing to be more than stone. Valeria was quiet at my side the way swords get quiet when a fight is over and the clean-up is honest.

"We can breathe," she said.

"For tonight," I answered.

"For tonight," she agreed.

Then we turned and went to the next piece of work, because that's how shields stay true.