The safehouse living room felt different now; it was more like a company meeting room than a place of rest. Holographic projections floated above the table as we studied our market acquisitions.

"Bottom line," Mac said, swiping through the financial projections, "we've got enough to look legitimate but not enough to be viable long-term." The numbers scrolled by, predominantly amber, turning red in the third month.

CALI PORT AUTHORITY — MANDATORY INSURANCE & FUEL ESCROW

Hull-loss & third-party liability bond ......................... ₵6,800,000

High-energy fuel hedge (first local run, 90t deuterium blend) ....... ₵312,000

TOTAL UPFRONT REQUIREMENT .................................... ₵7,112,000

The math was beautifully simple, and that was a local commercial run. Nothing spectacular.

Commercial operations required capital we just didn't have.

Over seven million of it.

"Frosts isn't even off the ground, and it's failing already," Lia surmised.

I leaned forward, studying the metrics. "We need better margins on the transport routes."

"And that's our fundamental problem." Mac's voice turned serious. He hesitated, tapping his fingers on the table, then continued, "There may be a solution, but it comes at very high risk."

Sorrel raised an eyebrow. "More risk than what we're already taking?"

"Different risk." Mac closed the projection and opened a new file containing transport route maps spanning three sectors. "These are the high-value lanes we need access to. Luxury goods, specialized medical shipments, diplomatic transports."

Lev studied the routes with narrowed eyes. "Those lanes are locked up tight. Corporate licenses alone cost millions."

"Not if you already have them." His fingers turned from tapping to drumming.

"Wait," I said, connecting the dots. "Your parents?"

Mac nodded, a mixture of pride and discomfort crossing his face. "As I said, Captain and First Officer of the Celestial Empress, pride of the Interstellar Transit Authority."

Sorrel said, eyes widening. "Those High Line carriers are practically small cities."

"That they are," Mac confirmed with an exaggerated bow from his seat. "And well, the family name—they run Lynx Transport Conglomerate, the 'high line' in VIP transport services."

Everyone went silent. We knew his family was big, but this big….

<<Searching public records for Lynx Transport.>> Lia's voice filtered through my consciousness. <<Found. Significant corporate entity. Annual revenue exceeding 1.2 billion credits. Primary services include diplomatic courier routes, luxury passenger transit, and high-security cargo.>>

Lev was the first to break the silence, and he broke with, "Mac, that's not just connected; that's Alpha-level corporate power."

"They shape policies, not conform," Sorrel added.

"I don't get why you were even at the Academy," I said.

"Like Sorrel," he said. "I don't want to inherit it, any of it. I wanted to live my life, not theirs."

I studied his expression, trying to really see my friend under the new face and Sorel was nodding. "I get that."

"What does that mean for us though? We'd just be taking handouts? How is any of that earning our place in the universe?"

"Talking to them is not asking for a handout," Mac replied. "It means we're taking this seriously. We're not playing games here, they'll blanket us with their insurance policy, and the Authorities know if we fail, they'll pay the bond."

"We still have to do the work," Lev said. "In fact, the work we take on would be significantly harder with their backing."

"Higher level than we're qualified for," Lia admitted.

"So, no hand out, you just want to contact your parents to ask them to float Frosts," I said, not a question but a statement.

"I need to," Mac replied. "Without their connections, trade route knowledge, and potential backing, Frost's won't even get out of the dock."

Sorrel shook her head. "Any communication off-station risks exposure. The Brakers monitor everything."

"Not everything," Mac countered. "There are ways."

Lev's posture shifted slightly; his usual stillness was broken by what might have been interest. "Probability of security breach depends on methodology. Standard channels: near-certainty. Alternative approaches..." He paused, calculating. "Still high risk."

"Calculate all you want," Mac said, "but the math is simple. My parents can provide legitimate cover that changes the equation."

I studied him, seeing beyond the urgency to something more profound—a fracture line in his composure. "There's more to this than business margins."

His eyes met mine briefly before looking away. "My last message home was over six months ago. Standard check-in, nothing suspicious. Then the Academy happened, and..." He didn't need to finish.

"They think you might be dead," Sorrel supplied quietly.

"Or worse, that I'm compromised." Mac's voice hardened. "They've spent decades navigating interstellar politics from the bridge of luxury liners. But before that? My parents weren't just ship officers. They were. ONI."

<<Office of Naval Intelligence,>> Lia clarified for me. <<The most elite and secretive of the military branches.>>

Mac nodded. "They'll have drawn their own conclusions about my silence, and none of them are good." He stood abruptly, and moved to the window, we did nothing but exchange worried glances.

"Sorrel would know what this is like," he said. "What growing up with parents that run a billion-credit company."

"I do," she said and was nodding again.

"I was ten when I figured out the holidays we were taking, weren't holidays. They were intelligence missions. We'd dock at these amazing places, but I wasn't allowed out to play with the other kids; instead of movie theatres, I had to sit in on corporate dinners, made to recall conversations from three tables away."

He paused and looked at us. "Before I was twelve, I could spot surveillance teams and encode messages in my homework that would cripple the teacher's computers."

"That's why you are so good at this, all of this," I said and waved a hand around us.

"It's also why this isn't just me calling them up and asking for money," he continued, turning back to the cityscape. "Everything my parents do is a test."

"And if you fail this test?"

"Then we're not just broke. We—I will be marked as incompetent by the most connected family in interstellar commerce. We'd never clear that reputation. Ever."

I weighed the variables, feeling the pressure of leadership. This wasn't just about expanding our operation; it was about human connections, the very thing the Brakers had tried to sever when they took my face and identity.

It was also about trust. Mac had just revealed that our entire operation might succeed or fail based on his family's assessment of his worth. That was a lot to put on him.

"What will you tell them?" I asked. "The truth?"

"A modified version, I won't have the space for all of it."

"And if they investigate deeper?"

"They will," he said with certainty. "But by the time they do, we need to look exactly like what we're claiming to be."

"Show me how we do this with acceptable risk," I said finally. "I want options."

"You have only two," Lev said. "Mac's messages work, or we go underground. I have a contact that could do that. It goes by the name Vex."

"Underground is alerting others that we're already up to no good. I'd prefer normal methods, even if there's still some risk. Underground is all risk, right?"

He nodded. "Any agent can be compromised. It's been a long time since I talked with Vex."

This book was originally published on Royal Road. Check it out there for the real experience.

"Then let's try Mac's way first," I said.

Lev nodded and stood. "I'll get it set up with Lia's and Nyx's help."

"One more thing," he said, and they turned back to him. "There's no going back to being small time if I do contact them. My parents don't think single ship operations or modest profits. They think in terms of fleets and market domination."

"Is that what you want?" Sorrel asked.

"It's what we need," I answered for him.

"It's what I need," Lia interjected.

"Then let's hope I can convince them with some choice words that we're worth the investment."

***

The next few hours felt like preparation for surgery again. I caught myself checking in on them a couple of times, and I paced the living space often.

Sorrel sat a mug of something steaming on the table. "Drink," she insisted.

I picked it up and smelled, well, nothing. I sighed. "Good stuff?"

"Yes," she replied and indicated I sit. "Not doing yourself any favors with all the pacing."

I sat, "Sorry, just—"

"Nervous?"

"Realistic," I replied. "If this fails—"

"But what if it succeeds?"

"I guess we're worth their time," I said and drank deeply.

She was quiet for a while, drinking her own herbs. "Seems tonight is family confession time," she said.

I almost asked her, but I could see she wanted to talk. No need for prodding.

"He's got quite the upbringing with his parents," she said.

"Indeed, we all have families that are complicated."

"They are," she studied me for a while. "What about you?"

"Me?"

"Yeah, don't you know anything?"

I put the mug down, suddenly hot and sweaty. "Not much to tell; you got the gist of all of it at Razors."

"Really?"

"Everyone has a story to tell, especially someone who ended up at the Academy despite, well, despite not having our advantages."

"You mean family and money?"

"Yes, because—"

"I was passed from pillar to post," I admitted. "Seven different orphanages before I was twelve. Had my first jabs and never any others. They wouldn't pay for someone who was as sickly looking as I was."

"Sickly?"

"I was a runt, a sick child who no one wanted. That meant no hope for getting their vaccination fees back. So, no more vaccinations and no offers for placements in good homes."

"I was too weak for manual labor, too poor for education despite outshining any kid ten years older than me."

"How did you survive?"

"You learn to be useful in ways that don't require size or strength. I could fix things—electronics, mostly. Jury-rig broken equipment, hack security systems for other kids who wanted to sneak out or sneak extra food." I managed a bitter smile. "Turns out desperation makes you creative."

"Then you were spotted by the owner of Marts and Sparks?"

"Orla," I smiled at her memory. "She was a dragon, but a kind one. She fed me, gave me lots of space after hours, and even saved for when I'd eventually get bored."

"And that's another reason you broke into the Academy? You were what, bored?"

"Yes," I nodded. "You know the rest."

"Your family would have been proud," she added.

"I don't have family," I said, then regretted that. "I didn't… I do now, I guess."

"To us," Sorrel raised her glass.

"To us," I reciprocated.

"We're ready," Lev shouted.

We both stood then squeezed through the door at the same time. Sorrel laughed. "Still need more weight on you."

It had been transformed into a makeshift communications lab; equipment salvaged from our purchases was now arranged in precise configurations. Holographic displays showed overlapping security protocols, each represented as a glowing mesh with points of vulnerability highlighted in pulsing red.

"Three layers of security," he explained. "Station comm monitoring is surface level—automated keyword filtering, bandwidth allocation checks. Relatively simple to bypass."

He gestured to the second layer. "Brakers corporate network surveillance is more sophisticated. They monitor for pattern anomalies and communication clusters that deviate from expected behaviors. Not just what you say, but when, how often, and to whom."

The third mesh was the densest, and its structure was complex and shifting. "Deep-packet inspection at relay points. This is where most security failures occur. Messages are disassembled, analyzed for encryption signatures, and reassembled. Even with advanced ciphers, the very presence of encryption flags attention."

I absorbed the information, visualizing it as a physical space to be navigated. "So we need to be invisible at all three levels."

"Not invisible," Mac corrected, stepping forward. "That's impossible. What we need to be is boring—expected traffic that doesn't warrant investigation." He produced his military dog tags. Nothing unusual there. "And I may have the solution."

Mac then pulled one of them apart and connected one half to Lev's technical systems. A completely new algorithm materialized on the displays, unlike any encryption protocol I'd encountered during my data systems training.

"The Lynx Cipher," he said simply. "My family's communication system."

Lev studied it, his expression shifting from skepticism to cautious respect. "This is... unexpected. The structure mimics standard shipping telemetry but contains nested data channels."

"Elegant," Nyx added. "The math's foundation is based on cargo weight distributions, it would appear random to standard analysis, but follow precise patterns when you know the key.

"My parents always said the best secrets were hidden in plain sight," Mac replied. "Luxury transports generate millions of data points every day. No one would ever think to look at shipping manifests."

"Can you work with it?" I asked.

Lev nodded slowly. "With modifications. Nyx and I will need time."

"How much time?"

"A few more hours," Lev said. "Maybe three if everything goes perfectly."

"Nothing ever goes perfectly," Sorrel said.

"Then four hours," I decided.

"I'll help," Mac offered. "The cipher has personal elements built in: family references and shared experiences."

<<His neural pattern indicates elevated stress. Recommend privacy for family disclosure,>> Lia suggested.

"We'll let you work," I said, understanding the unspoken need. "Sorrel and I will handle the logistics preparations."

As we left, I caught Mac's grateful glance. Some stories were harder to tell with an audience present.

***

Mac found me in my quarters much later that evening. I was reviewing Dr. Chen's proposed facility requirements with an open mouth. The cost to kit this out was just staggering, much more than I'd ever thought.

<<23.7 million credits just for basic genetic research equipment,>> Lia noted.

"Have you got a minute?" he asked, leaning against the doorframe.

I nodded, setting aside the slate. "Progress?"

"Lev thinks we can make it work." He entered, closing the door behind him. "But you should know what you're authorizing."

He sat opposite me, his usual confidence muted. "The Lynx Protocol wasn't designed for emergencies. It was created for patience."

He smiled faintly. "My earliest memories are on the Celestial Empress. A luxury liner that looked like a pleasure cruise but carried diplomatic pouches worth more than all the passengers combined. My parents would create games for me—encryption puzzles disguised as treasure hunts throughout the ship's three kilometers."

I could picture him as a young boy racing through passenger decks, solving clues while unwittingly learning tradecraft.

"By the time I was ten, I could encode a message in shipping manifests that would pass twenty security checks. By fifteen, I was creating my own ciphers." He paused.

"Your parents being ONI explains a few things about your skill set."

"When they founded Lynx Transport, they built their security systems on what they knew best. The Lynx Protocol looks like routine shipping data—cargo weights, fuel consumption rates, maintenance schedules—but contains layered messages in the micro-variations."

"Perfect for gradual intelligence gathering," I noted.

"And terrible for urgent communications," Mac finished. "It was designed to be invisible by being boring, information shared through patterns over time, not single transmissions."

I understand the problem now. "And we need to send everything at once."

"We're trying to compress months of gradual communication into one burst. It's the equivalent of whispering by shouting." His frustration was evident. "But we have no choice."

I considered the constraints, the unspoken question beneath his explanation. "Your parents—would they understand a partial message? Could they extrapolate?"

Hope flickered in his expression. "If anyone could, it would be them."

"Then we try. Tomorrow."

He was nodding, but I could see his apprehension.

***

The public communications center bustled with activity, travelers sending messages home, business people conducting remote negotiations, and families connecting across vast distances. Perfect cover for what we were attempting.

The irony wasn't lost on me, surrounded by people engaged in genuine, innocent communication while we prepared to commit what amounted to espionage. Every laugh from a family call, every casual business negotiation, reminded me how far we'd already traveled from normal life.

Mac sat at a terminal, his posture casual, expression bored—a businessman conducting routine research. The screen displayed market analysis queries for shipping futures, indistinguishable from dozens of similar searches happening around us.

I browsed nearby vendor kiosks, maintaining a line of sight while appearing to shop for travel accessories.

The normalcy of the scene felt surreal. Travelers were haggling over prices, children were complaining about delays, and the usual chaos of station life continued while we attempted something that could change everything. If this worked, we'd have access to resources beyond our current imagination. If it failed...

Lev's voice came through our secure channel: "Approach from the eastern concourse. The security drone pattern suggests a normal routine scan in progress."

"Acknowledged," I murmured, adjusting my direction to avoid the drone's path.

<<Station monitoring systems running standard protocols,>> Lia reported. <<No anomalies detected in our vicinity.>>

Mac continued typing, embedding the Frost cipher within what appeared to be market research queries. His fingers were smooth, never hesitating or showing unusual patterns that might trigger behavior analysis algorithms.

"First layer clear," he reported. "Proceeding to corporate network transmission."

Tension built between my shoulder blades as Mac pressed the transmission key, sending the first packet into the Braker-monitored network.

Five seconds passed. Ten.

"Come on," I whispered under my breath, pretending to examine a travel pillow while my heart rate spiked. Everything we'd built, everything we hoped to become, rode on the next few seconds.

"Nyx reports nominal transit," Lev's voice came through. "Proceeding to—" He stopped abruptly. "Security alert. Pattern recognition algorithm activated. Abort."

Mac immediately switched to a different query string, smoothly transitioning to legitimate market research as if that had been his intention all along.

"Surveillance drone redirecting to your position," Lev warned. "Casual dispersal protocol."

I picked up a travel pillow from a nearby vendor, examining it with clear interest while drifting toward the exit. Mac closed his session normally, gathering his slate and standing with unhurried movements.

We left separately, taking different routes back to our meeting point, the tension of near-discovery pulsing in my veins.

The walk back felt endless. Every security camera seemed to track my movement. Every passerby looked like potential surveillance. By the time I reached the maintenance tunnels, my shirt was damp with sweat despite the station's climate control.

"They're getting better," Lev announced when we reconvened in the lower maintenance tunnels. "Braker algorithms flagged microvariations in the transmission. Not enough to identify it, but enough to trigger a deeper inspection."

"They shouldn't have caught that," Mac said, scrunching his hands together. "The protocol was designed to be undetectable."

"Against older systems," Lev corrected. "Their neural-adaptive filters are evolving fast."

I leaned against the cool metal wall, weighing our options. "So standard channels are compromised."

"All of them," Lev confirmed. "Even with the Frost cipher, we can't risk another attempt through official communications networks."

"Then we go unofficial." I straightened. The decision was made. "It's time to call in Vex's offer."

Sorrel frowned. "They're a Ghost network, that means smuggling."

"Correct," Lev said.

"That's not just bending the rules, Peyton. That's breaking them."

"What choice do we have? I asked. "Besides, we're not using it for smuggling—just communication."

"Yet," she said.

The word hung between us. We all knew she was right. Once you started compromising and making exceptions, the line kept moving. Today, it was just communication. Tomorrow...

"I need to know you're all committed," I said, looking at each of them in turn. "Because once we make this call, there's no going back to being the good guys. We'll be operating in the same shadows as the people we're fighting."

Lev spoke first: "I've been in those shadows before. Sometimes, it's the only way to reach the light."

Mac nodded slowly. "My parents always said that honor isn't about the methods you use. It's about the reasons you use them."

Sorrel was quiet the longest. When she finally spoke, her voice was steady but sad. "I became a doctor to save lives. If this is what it takes to stop the Brakers from destroying more lives... then I can live with it."

Trait Unlocked: Shadow Network Protocol – 56%

Trigger: Team decision to use Ghost networks for secure communication

Function: Operating in illegal/underground networks while maintaining mission focus

Risk: Moral degradation; increasing criminal entanglement; loss of ethical anchors

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