Watching the sunrise before everyone else woke was bliss. I'd put the filtered coffee on, and the wafting aroma, though muted for me, would rouse them for sure.

<<They sleep like the dead,>> I said.

<< They needed it, just like you did. Their alarms have gone off, and they're awake.>>

<<That's fair,>> I replied.

<<You also slept well. Sleep quality increased by 55%, remarkably efficient neural pathway integration overnight,>> She reported. <<Motor control pathways are now at 93% completion. Recommend a live-environment stress test.>>

Oh, that stress test was coming all right. The trip out today would do everything and more.

Trait Progression: Hybrid Neural Architecture Foundation [95% ↑]

Trigger: Near-complete integration of nanite-enhanced neural pathways

Function: Optimal human-AI hybrid consciousness achieved

Status: Treatment objectives exceeded expectations

Sorrel was first through the door. "That coffee smells divine," she said heading straight for the pot then turning to face me, she poured it and stirred in creamer.

Lev walked in next, half-dressed from the shower, his muscles catching the sun in an odd light that made him look even larger. I caught Sorrel's extra lingering look, but Lev didn't. He was oblivious.

He did however blink at her, look to her mug, then back. Sorrel turned her mug around and gave it to him with a sigh, turning to pour herself another.

"Hey," I said.

Lev drank long, then smiled. "That is good." He looked at me. "Why are you up so early?"

"Good morning to you, too," I replied, stretching with newfound ease. "Excited, I guess."

"Feeling better?" Sorrel asked.

"Yes, the soreness has almost gone, and I'm moving normally." I sighed. Normal was very needed.

"Someone spike the morning coffee?" Mac asked, stepping through the door with a bundle of clothes, he gently placed the pile on the table. "This isn't just a stroll this time."

<<New uniform,>> Lia said.

Sorrel put her mug down and stood before him, fixing his collar. "Damn, you look amazing,"

"Thanks," he said. "New threads for you all." He reached for the coffee pot, which was almost empty.

"It's an amazing blend," Sorrel said. "But it's not spiked."

"You'll wish it were. We have a long day ahead of us."

"The market again?" I asked, sorting through the pile to find anything my size. It was of higher quality than our usual attire and functional, but with subtle touches that suggested legitimate business aspirations.

"First stop is actually the Free-Port Licensing Bureau," Sorrel explained, sliding a data slate across the table. "Dr. Chen secured all the necessary documentation. Today, Peyton Tachim becomes a legitimate business owner."

Lev pulled out a shirt, checked the collar size and passed it to me, then picked another. He slipped it over his bulk and finished dressing in front of us.

Sorrel laughed. "You could have—"

"What? Not like you haven't seen all of us naked before, right?"

She pulled her own clothes out and, though shaking her head, quickly dressed.

I picked up the slate and scanned its contents: incorporation documents, registration forms, and trade license applications. "Frost Enterprises," I read aloud, feeling a strange thrill at the name.

"Then we hit the markets," Mac added. "And this time, we're not just window shopping. We're stocking up the rest of the Faulkner."

"Strategic acquisitions," Lia announced.

My pulse quickened. This was something that could hit the Brakers where it hurt.

"We've got enough," Lev winked at me.

Mac tapped his wrist-slate. "Our funding appears legitimate, and small business development loans are processed through three different financial institutions. We can apply for those once we're established."

"Assuming Braker corporate intelligence hasn't pre-flagged the applications," Sorrel cautioned.

"They haven't," Lia said.

"I slipped the application through a maintenance subnet," Mac countered with a grin. "If they spot it, we'll already have established transponder codes and operational security."

"Probability of Braker detection today: 18%," Lia offered.

"Eighteen is practically a vacation," I said, adjusting my collar and catching my reflection in the galley panel. Peyton Tachim looked back at me, confident, composed, and ready for business. "I'll take it."

The transit pod pulled us away from the residential ring, and I pressed close to the transparent hull, drinking in the view of Cali Station. From this angle, it was a matte-black super structure lit by gaudy commerce on one rim and sober habitation on the other, beautiful in its deliberate chaos, like a city that someone had rolled into a hoop and flung into space.

"I never really appreciated this view before," I said.

"Different when you're not stuck in a medical bay," Sorrel agreed, joining me at the viewport. "Even better when you realize part of it might soon be yours."

The bureau occupied a sterile block of admin space on the commercial-residential boundary, designed to be forgettable, right down to the bored clerks and the holographic banner:

BUILD TRADE. BUILD TOMORROW.

A somewhat ironic slogan, considering Braker Corporation's financing had constructed half the station's docking infrastructure.

We joined the queue of hopeful entrepreneurs, dock workers, and logistics agents. For once, we didn't stand out—just another group starting a small business venture on a station with thousands of them.

"Remember," Sorrel whispered. "Medical freight specialization, neural injury recovery, no Academy references."

When our turn arrived, a synthetic-voiced avatar scanned our documents.

"Applicant: Frost Enterprises," it intoned. "Principal owner Peyton Tachim. Scope: independent haulage and medical freight. Transponder block A-114 reserved. Submit a 20,000-credit bond."

"That's a hefty sum too," I said.

"We're good for now, but our funds won't last for long. Shit here is expensive." Mac said.

His slate pinged with the transfer notification. One thumbprint later, the avatar declared, "Provisional license active." A green sigil burned on the screen, the first official mark of Frost's Enterprises' existence.

"That's it?" I asked as we moved away from the kiosk. "We're a real company now?"

"On paper, at least," Mac confirmed. "The rest we build with our hands. Speaking of which..." He grinned, gesturing toward the market entrance. "Time to celebrate our corporate birth with some strategic shopping.

It wasn't long before we were heading into the Floating Markets. They erupted around us in a sensory feast—three towering levels of platforms connected by transparent walkways, each teeming with vendors, customers, and commodities from across known space. Holographic advertisements shimmered between levels, music flowed from cultural enclaves, and the constant hum of commerce formed a backdrop that energized rather than overwhelmed.

"Where first?" I asked, genuinely excited in a way I hadn't been since before our escape.

"Food," Sorrel declared, surprising me. "No business decisions on an empty stomach. The noodle stalls on level two are legendary, according to Miss. Avast."

"A responsible corporate officer would go straight to equipment vendors," Lev observed, though his typical severity seemed softened today.

"A responsible corporate officer knows morale affects performance," Mac countered, already leading us toward a transparent walkway that rose to the second level. "Besides, we just established a legitimate business. That deserves a celebration."

The noodle stall Sorrel recommended was crowded with station workers, which was always a good sign. The elderly vendor worked with a hypnotic rhythm I could have watched for hours, her hands blurring as she prepared each bowl. When our order arrived, steam rising from vibrant broths, we found a small table overlooking the market's central atrium.

I couldn't taste the complex flavors, subtle hints, but that was it. Over the last week I'd learned to appreciate food differently. The texture of the noodles, the temperature variations throughout the bowl, the satisfying resistance against my teeth.

"Not bad for our first corporate meal," Mac remarked between bites.

"To Frost Enterprises," Sorrel proposed, raising her water glass in a mock toast.

"To profitable revenge," I amended quietly, clinking my glass against hers.

After eating, we moved through the markets with a purpose disguised as casual browsing. We began acquiring the foundations of our operation:

Mag-coil compressors for Faulkner's main drive. Mac haggled the vendor down to a price that made even Lev nod with approval, professional but not desperate, knowledgeable enough to command respect.

"These will boost thrust efficiency by at least fifteen percent," Mac explained, examining the components with obvious pleasure.

I took one off him. "She's already one of a kind, but you've really thought about this."

<<We have,>> Lia said in our command chat. <<The Faulkner is one of a kind, but there's always room for improvement. You'll see.>>

"She will outrun standard patrol craft. Now she'll do it with fuel to spare."

Between critical purchases, we allowed ourselves small indulgences. Sorrel found a vendor selling rare botanical extracts, some of which could be synthesized into advanced pharmaceuticals. I discovered a stall offering custom navigation interfaces that responded to neural signatures, which is potentially useful for integrating with Lia's systems.

Even Lev showed unexpected enthusiasm at a security outfitter's booth, testing the balance of non-lethal restraint devices with the careful appreciation of a craftsman. His spend there alone came to over ₵ 100,000 through and the items would only be delivered to the ship in lock boxes. High security.

"You're actually enjoying yourself," I noted quietly to him.

"Acquisition of quality equipment is satisfying," he replied, though the slight upward curve of his mouth betrayed more emotion than his words.

Unauthorized duplication: this narrative has been taken without consent. Report sightings.

<<I thought there was quality gear already onboard?>>

<<There is,>> Lia confirmed, <<But most of that can't be seen in public. Covert missions only. Lev needs quality gear he can show off.>>

<<That makes a lot of sense.>>

We continued our methodical progress through the markets, balancing strategic purchases with genuine exploration. At a medical supply vendor, Sorrel secured specialized monitoring equipment designed for neural integration during space transit—1,156 ₵ for a portable unit that could maintain my treatment protocols during extended voyages.

A technology vendor provided communication systems with encryption protocols far exceeding standard commercial specifications. The ₵ 2,103- investment would be essential for maintaining secure operations.

"These will be useful when we establish our isotope route," Mac murmured, securing the purchase in an inner pocket. "Braker monitoring systems won't recognize the compression algorithm."

We had to be running out of funds now. They were spending it hand over fist.

<<You're still green,>> Lia informed me.

Most important for me was I found myself increasingly comfortable in Peyton Tachim's skin. The face that had seemed alien in the mirror days before, now felt natural. The outing had done two jobs. I was glad.

Someone gasped up ahead and moving to take a look we paused where a street performer manipulated gravity spheres into complex dance patterns, drawing enthusiastic claps, and whoops.

I glanced around and for a moment, we were just four friends enjoying a local attraction, laughing at particularly impressive moves, dropping credits in the performer's collection sphere, forgetting momentarily about Brakers and vengeance and neural reconstruction.

It felt good. Normal. Human.

As the performance finished, I found myself drawn to a small vendor to the left, she was specializing in memory capture technology. Not unlike old camera's a few decades ago, except these captured 'memories'. The displays showcased devices designed to record and preserve experiences with varying degrees of sensory fidelity.

My curiosity was noted by the old woman operating the stall. Her question had the subtle harmonics of an extraterrestrial voice when she questioned, "Looking to hold onto something important?"

"Something like that," I replied. "I've experienced some neural restructuring. Some memories are harder to access now."

She studied me with surprising perception, then reached beneath her counter to produce a small silver device unlike any of the others on display. "This one might help," she said. "It captures not just visual records but impression patterns, the feeling of moments."

I examined the device carefully. "How does it work with neural modifications?"

"It creates secondary pathways," she explained. "When direct recall fails, the device provides alternative access routes through associated memories." Her eyes held mine for a moment longer than was comfortable. "Sometimes what we lose in one domain can be recovered through another."

The price she named, 870 credits, was reasonable, and I completed the purchase without haggling. Something about the device resonated with the future I was beginning to envision, a tool that might help me preserve who I had been while becoming who I needed to be.

"Good find," Mac commented as we moved away from the stall. "Those memory assistance devices were originally developed for deep space explorers dealing with stasis-induced recall degradation."

As we continued exploring, Lev's posture suddenly shifted, his casual demeanor tightening almost imperceptibly.

"What is it?" I asked quietly.

<<Station security just seeded three trackers,>> he replied through our command channel. <<Pattern matches corporate audit, not random spot-checks.>>

<<Which corporation?>> Mac asked, though we all knew the answer.

<<Ping frequency aligns with Braker logistics spiders.>>

Of course. They hadn't tried to stop us; they'd simply noticed a new competitor buying capacity they used to own. The game had begun.

Mac immediately adjusted our route, angling us toward an art installation—shimmering triangulated holo-glass that made perfect visual cover against electronic surveillance.

<<We exit on the service lift, not the main concourse,>> he instructed, his tone professional but not alarmed. <<Sorrel, are any purchases left on your critical list?>>

She shook her head. <<We've acquired the essentials. The rest can wait for another excursion.>>

<<Then we complete the circuit naturally,>> Mac decided. <<No sudden movements. Lev, have Talia mark our purchases as shipyard refurb in the port registry.>>

As we continued our seemingly casual browsing, I found myself noticing details I'd missed before, the subtle security presence throughout the market, the carefully positioned surveillance nodes, and the invisible currents of information flowing alongside the visible commerce.

Strangely, I felt no panic at being noticed by Braker Systems. The fact that they'd flagged us meant Frost Enterprises was already on the board. We were a piece worth tracking. The hunters had become the hunted, even if they didn't realize it yet.

Trait Unlocked: Operational Identity Mastery – 78%

Trigger: Successful completion of first public operation as Peyton Tachim

Function: Natural performance of cover identity under stress

Risk: Over-identification with false persona; loss of core self-awareness

We completed our market circuit, stopping at a confectionery stall near the exit where a vendor created elaborate sugar sculptures with molecular precision. The display provided the perfect cover for a final conversation while waiting for our transit pod.

"All things considered," Sorrel said, "a successful first outing for Frost's."

"And a good day," I added, realizing it was true. Despite the security alert, despite the lurking awareness of Braker's presence, I'd genuinely enjoyed myself.

The transit pod arrived, and we boarded with our purchases secured in various bags and containers. As the doors closed and the pod accelerated toward our residential sector, Sorrel performed a quick neural scan.

"Integration holding steady at 95%," she announced, studying the readings with satisfaction. "Stress response remained within optimal parameters despite the security alert. You're holding up remarkably well."

"How do you feel?" Mac asked.

"Good," I said, surprised by how much I meant it. "Better than good. I feel... like me."

Mac nodded, then flicked a data-packet to my slate. Projected cashflow tables appeared: purchase costs, license fees, projected revenue on three possible trade loops. The numbers bled red today, amber in two months, black inside six if everything held.

I studied the projections and was already seeing ways to accelerate the timeline. "Damn," I said. "This is not good."

Mac raised an eyebrow. "Let's talk in depth when we're back."

When we returned to the safe house, the spaces that had seemed like a sanctuary now felt cramped and temporary. Lev went straight to the fridge, while Sorrel distributed our purchases, cataloging each item. Mac and Lia were discussing secure storage options. The whole atmosphere was different, focused but lighter, and the weight of recovery and hiding giving way to planning and building.

Frost Enterprises Ledger flashed between them, and I noted that the paperwork for Ring-14 had also gone through. The company on paper was huge, backed privately, by Dr. Chen.

<<Worried?>>

<<A little, yes. We need to be able to buy him back.>>

<<We will, I am sure of it.>>

Running Ledger (I have put in a date, but I never did in the main series, it can still work I think.)

A Date

B Transaction

C Debit (–₵)

D Credit (+₵)

E Balance (₵)

F Notes / ref

2125-05-07

Opening balance — crew funds

1038000

1038000

Piotr 7 200 • Rob 365 000 • Kerry 371 000 • Sylvk 294 800

Fuel top-up (75 % tanks)

85000

953000

dual D-T fusion

Docking fee (36 h)

11472

941528

Port tariff

Med-suite security bond

2000

939528

refundable

Med-quarters Day-1

8600

930928

Meals / incidentals

400

930528

2125-05-08

Med-quarters Day-2

8600

921928

Meals / incidentals

400

921528

Forged ID packs (4×100k)

400000

521528

new identities

Level-∞ neural map

88140

433388

Chen diag.

Cryo-lattice nanites

142600

290788

QESL vault-link upload

76400

214388

Sovereign-Mind bond

310000

-95612

cash in red

Phase-II reconstructive suite

820000

-915612

5-hour sedation

Phase-III pattern-consolidation

910000

-1825612

14-hour stasis

Post-op rehab & booster pharmacopeia

180000

-2005612

90 days

Full facial re-sculpt — Piotr

210000

-2215612

Phase I

Discrete facial re-sculpts — Rob / Kerry / Sylvk

600000

-2815612

₵ 200 000 each

2125-05-09

Chen clinical retainer

5000000

2184388

clears deficit

***Crew personal funds repaid***

1038000

1146388

Pays back

Docking day-rate (Day-2)

4200

1142188

Med-quarters Day-3

8600

1133588

Meals / incidentals

400

1133188

2125-05-10

Docking day-rate (Day-3)

4200

1128988

Med-quarters Day-4

8600

1120388

Meals / incidentals

400

1119988

Free-Port licence bond

20000

1099988

opens Market-Day

Market Buys

1099988

Mag-coil compressor set

68000

1031988

Boost Faulkner main-drive thrust ≈ +15 %

Public-grade restraint kit (Lev)

100000

931988

Visible security gear he can show in port inspections

Neural-responsive nav interface

8500

923488

Ties directly to Piotr's/Doli's neural link

Rare botanical extract batch

4900

918588

Sorrel's pharmacopeia R-&D

Portable neural-integration monitor

1156

917432

Keeps Piotr stable in transit

Encrypted comm pack

2103

915329

Hardened algorithm beats Braker filters

Memory-capture device

870

914459

Records sensory 'impression patterns' for Piotr

General consumables & tooling

7140

907319

Misc. ship upkeep

907319

184669

2125-05-11

Docking day-rate (Day-4)

4200

903119

Med-suite bond (refund)

2000

905119

Safe-house security bond

5000

900119

move-in

Safe-house rent Day-0

3200

896919

Meals / incidentals

400

896519

Chen Ring-14 cap-ex

1440000000

1440896519

Chen funds build

Lease-purchase ⅛ torus

590000000

850896519

Class-7 clean-rooms

290000000

560896519

Regenerative / neuro-lab line

410000000

150896519

Integration / contingency 25 %

150000000

896519

asset complete

2125-05-12

Docking day-rate (Day-5)

4200

892319

Safe-house rent Day-1

3200

889119

Meals / incidentals

400

888719

That evening, alone in my quarters, I activated the memory recorder I'd purchased. It pulsed once, searching for neural anchor points. Unlike my earlier attempts at reclaiming lost sensory impressions, I directed it toward today's experiences—the green "License Approved" stamp, the market's energy, and the strange joy of plotting revenge while eating noodles with friends.

The device hummed, capturing not just the visual memory but the sense of purpose that accompanied it. This wasn't nostalgia or grief; it was strategic documentation, a benchmark against which we would measure our growth.

<<Proprietary recorder algorithm shows unusual integration with our neural framework,>> Lia observed. <<Recommend Dr. Chen examine for potential enhancements to our operational capabilities.>>

I nodded, securing the device. Every tool, every license, and every credit in our accounts was now a weapon aimed at those who had wronged us.

Brakers had taken everything from me once. Through Frost's Enterprises, I would build the infrastructure to ensure they never took anything from anyone again. But I wouldn't lose myself in the process. I wouldn't sacrifice the humanity I'd glimpsed today among market stalls and noodle vendors and laughing companions.

<<Corporate shell established,>> Lia noted, her tone carrying unusual satisfaction. <<Empire seed germinated.>>

I smiled at her word choice. "Empire" seemed grandiose for our fledgling operation, but the sentiment was right. Today, we planted a seed. Soon enough, the Brakers would discover just how aggressively it could grow.

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