Interstellar: Return of the Villain
Chapter 259: The Ace Card

Chapter 259: The Ace Card

Chuck let out a heavy sigh of resignation.

At this point, they had no choice but to call in their last resort. Slapping his hand down on the table, Chuck declared, "Then let’s bring in the big guns."

Cohen, already knowing exactly who Chuck was referring to, managed a wry smile and nodded. "I’ve already instructed the medics heading back to Wyrmtrace to pass along the request."

Meanwhile, back in the medical ward on the main ship, Thierry and Mandy were receiving emergency treatment.

Thierry, still haunted by the loss of his squad mates, stared vacantly at the ground. His voice, thick with exhaustion, broke the silence. "Do you know why Lyra didn’t deploy with us?"

Mandy, seated beneath a treatment device with her bloodstained uniform clinging to her skin, looked up at the ceiling. "You and I have known Lyra for years, Thierry. You know why she wouldn’t come."

Thierry gave a bitter nod. Lyra’s motivations were never a mystery—she moved only when it served her interests.

No matter how many soldiers she healed, the battlefield’s chaos wouldn’t grant her enough leverage or recognition to make it worthwhile.

Lyra didn’t give her all for nothing.

Around them, soldiers filled the ward, their faces weary and pale. The air was thick with the quiet despair that accompanied heavy losses and the dread of an ongoing battle.

Back on Wyrmtrace, the medical corps had returned with the injured and wasted no time seeking out Lyra.

Following directions, they were led to a large hall where a soft, glowing dome, nearly ten meters wide, dominated the center of the room.

"She left this here," one of the attendants explained. "Anyone who needs healing can step inside."

The medics exchanged skeptical glances. "Are we sure this thing works?"

Without waiting, Zarek—clutching his ravaged arm—limped into the dome.

As he collapsed within its boundary, a gentle, rain-like energy cascaded over him, and his wounds began to heal visibly, the damaged tissue regenerating rapidly.

The other soldiers watched in shock before stepping into the dome themselves, each letting out sighs of relief as the healing took effect.

"Thank heavens... but where’s SHE?" one soldier asked.

"Apparently, she’s... fixing the base," a medic replied, his tone uncertain.

The medics who had just returned couldn’t hide their shock. "The enemy is practically on top of us, and she’s busy with repairs? Captain Whyte ordered her to the front lines!"

Without another word, one of them sprinted off, determined to locate her.

Zarek, lying on the floor as his injuries mended, chuckled under his breath.

Lyra’s "healing dome" was still doing its job even in her absence. She was intentionally keeping herself out of the line of fire, fixing the base under the pretense of being indispensable elsewhere.

She wouldn’t budge unless the military gave her what she really want.

Zarek smirked, wondering if the higher-ups would finally relent to her terms this time.

Meanwhile, Lyra stood atop a crumbling wall, overseeing the workers as they restored the base with surprising speed.

She had called in extra help, including Koros and a few others.

"Prioritize the communication base," she instructed. "We need clear lines of contact ASAP."

Just then, the medic from earlier came running, his face flushed and breathing labored. "Ensign! Captain Whyte insists that you come to the battlefield—he wants you on the front lines!"

The workers paused, glancing up, waiting for Lyra’s response.

Lyra, unfazed, raised an eyebrow, her gaze steady. "I’m a doctor. Why would I join the battle?"

The medic stammered, "But... you used to serve in the Special Forces!"

"Perhaps," Lyra replied smoothly, "but I’m now assigned to the logistics division, and according to protocol, I’m supposed to be under protection, correct?"

"But, ma’am..."

"There’s no ’but,’" she said sharply, her voice carrying across the repair site as she looked down at him from her perch. "Relay exactly what I said to Captain Whyte."

At that moment, Koros’ voice called out from a distance, "Communications are back online!"

Lyra nodded, a glimmer of satisfaction crossing her face. She turned back to the medic. "Perfect timing. Now, go tell Cohen."

The medic, still bewildered by Lyra’s curt refusal, walked into the makeshift command tent and relayed her exact words to Cohen.

Cohen’s initial relief at the restoration of communications was swiftly overshadowed by mounting frustration.

Just then, he received a terse transmission from Admiral Dale, confirming Cohen’s worst fears: Dale’s fleet had indeed been intercepted by the Empire.

And if that weren’t bad enough, an update from Planet Nagano confirmed that reinforcements wouldn’t arrive for at least two more days.

Taking a deep breath, Cohen braced himself to face the stark reality of Lyra’s refusal.

He had once believed he understood her pragmatism and could even respect her strict sense of self-interest. But he now saw he had deeply underestimated her resolve.

Lyra was willing to stand her ground—no matter what, no matter who it affected.

With grim determination, he opened the comm line directly to her.

"Ensign Lyra," he began, barely containing his anger, "are the lives of so many soldiers and civilians really not worth you bending, even a little? And what about all the effort you’ve poured into Wyrmtrace? Doesn’t it mean anything to you?"

Her reply came back, sharp and resolute. "Of course, it means something. That’s why I’m staking billions of credits on Wyrmtrace’s survival. But the real question is, who values this planet and those lives more? Your military, with all its grand ideals, or me with my investments?"

Her words echoed in the silence that followed, sinking into Cohen with a brutal clarity.

They both knew the answer.

The burden lay with Cohen, with the military, with those who had sworn to protect the civilians on this war-torn planet.

Lyra could afford to make demands; she could afford to gamble. They could not.

The silence stretched, charged with tension, until Cohen’s hand tightened around the comm.

"Fine," he muttered through clenched teeth. "I’ll escalate this to the admiral," he spat, ending the transmission. He couldn’t bear the icy calm that had seeped into her voice.

As the line cut, Cohen leaned over the tactical map, his gaze hardening.