CALI – LOCAL TIME – 8:12 AM

It had been eighteen hours since we'd detected the data bleed and twelve hours since Sorrel and Lev had crawled through Cali's ventilation system installing the Ghost network nodes. Six hours since we'd found the Epitaph slug and Lia had fed the Brakers false shipping data.

Now we were betting everything on a single cargo run, with Mac's parents arriving soon. I didn't know if they expected to see a legitimate shipping operation, but we were sure going to try. As I looked around my friends I knew one thing, they would not be expecting to see four exhausted fugitives running on nothing but caffeine and desperation.

With care, I ran my palm along the Faulkner's hull plating one final time, feeling for the subtle vibrations that spoke of our ship's health. The metal was cold and steady, there wasn't any misbeat to her heart, no flutter from loose couplings and no harmonics suggesting structural fatigue. She was as ready as we were, even if we weren't.

The contract from Mac's family had arrived with our cargo manifest, all business, and nothing else. It was simple and at this moment in time, I liked simple.

LYNX TRANSPORT CONGLOMERATE SUBSIDIARY BACKING AGREEMENT - FROST ENTERPRISES

Principal Amount: ₵7,112,000 (Port Authority Requirements)

Interest Rate: 9.5% per annum Term: 18 months maximum Payment: Net profits from cargo operations, minimum 60% allocation

Collateral: Vessel registration, cargo contracts, facility liens. Guarantors: All Frost Enterprises principals

Default triggers: 90 days missed payment, criminal conviction, breach of operational security

Either party may terminate this agreement with 30 days' notice.

Corporate backing extends to insurance, fuel cooperatives, and route licensing.

Signed – Peyton Tachim – CO of Frost Enterprises.

I had questioned Lia on the numbers. And she had run them three times to convince me it was a good contract. I still wasn't so sure, but I had trusted her and signed it. Now, we had to follow through and today was it, our first real shake down mission as Frosts' Enterprises.

My hands shook slightly as I sealed the external hatch, not just because of my ongoing tremor but because of actual exhaustion. When had I last slept? Forty-eight hours ago? The Ring-14 activation. The inspection. The subpoena, and the Ghost network installation. They blurred together in a haze of adrenaline and necessity.

"Pre-flight complete," Mac announced from the CIC.

His voice carried the same edge of fatigue we all felt. The Sterling Ascendant was on time, it would dock tomorrow, and we needed to have more than dreams and stolen fusion cores to show for ourselves even if we had Dr. Chen's full backing, we needed more.

My HUD flashed up orange, indicating that the port thruster gimbal was acting up. It wasn't critical yet, but I'd watch it. Then the atmospheric recycler also flashed amber, it cycled two seconds longer than spec. It was probably a clogged filter we'd need to replace at our next stop.

All these little job that would constantly need checking on, fixing, it was part and parcel of running a ship, even one as newly built as the Faulkner. In fact more so, things would go wrong the moment you needed them. What was it Murphy's law?

"Comprehensive diagnostics complete," Lia reported, her voice unusually tense. "However, I'm detecting anomalous neural activity patterns in Mac's prefrontal cortex. Stress markers elevated 23% above baseline."

"First-mission jitters," he muttered, but her concern was warranted. The Academy had trained us to recognize when nerves crossed the line into performance degradation. His hands were steady, his reflexes sharp, but her readings didn't lie.

"Recommendation: delay departure until neural stability improves."

"Not an option." I headed for the cargo bay, just to check things. It wasn't that I didn't trust my friends, but seeing was believing, right. "We've got delivery windows to meet."

And parents to impress, I thought but didn't say. Mac's stress was understandable. He'd explain to his family why their prodigal son was flying stolen ships with wanted fugitives.

The truth of course was much more complex. Every hour we delayed was another hour for the Brakers to tighten their net around us. Ring-14's legal troubles were mounting, the Lynx family expected results, and our credibility as a legitimate shipping operation hung on this single start up run.

Cryo steam wreathed Lev like stage fog as he floated the last pod into its cradle. Eight glossy sarcophagi, each holding five hundred liters of hyper-cooled medical isotopes, clicked into magnetic clamps with a satisfying thunk that vibrated through the Faulkner's deck plates and my boots.

"That, my friends," he announced, "is a perfect sixty-forty mass balance. The Faulkner will sing."

Sorrel tossed him the mass-reader and smirked. "Off by point-oh-three kilos on the port side."

Lev examined the readout and frowned. "Impossible." He stared at the reader and re-checked a calculation on his slate, then he shot her a suspicious glance. "Did you add weight?"

"Just my superior intellect," she quipped.

It wasn't hard to see something had definitely shifted between them. The way Sorrel's tired smile lingered when she looked at Lev, the careful way he steadied her when she swayed from exhaustion. Whatever had happened in those vents had changed more than just our network security and I was glad. Even I knew they'd not taken that 'talk' yet. Maybe they would soon. For me, they belonged with each other. Connections like that never happened twice.

I swallowed and turned away. My HUD chimed.

"Encrypted message," Lia announced.

"Patch it in," I replied.

It had the Ghost network's distinctive blue cipher. I glanced at the timestamp—sent three minutes ago.

PRIORITY DELIVERY REQUEST

Destination: Kelso Refinery Package: Restricted AI neural cores (3x units)

Debt to Ghost Network: 1/10

Hazard pay: ₵1,000,000

Pickup: Bay 7-Alpha, Maintenance Level Time window: 15 minutes

I stared at the message, mind racing. A million credits—more than our legitimate cargo run.

<<Carrying restricted AI components is a federal crime, not just a regulatory violation.>>

"Problem?" Sorrel asked, noticing my expression.

"Opportunity," I replied, showing her the slate. "The Ghost network has a rush delivery for us."

"Cashing in already, they said it wouldn't be that often." Lev grumbled.

Mac must have been looking at the cameras over my shoulder from CIC. "AI neural cores? That's serious contraband."

"It's also serious money," Lev pointed out, ever practical. "Now that makes the run worthwhile."

"You can see why others turn to crime," I said.

"It triples our risk," Sorrel countered. "If we're caught with those..."

"Federal prosecution," Mac finished. "My parents' backing would evaporate instantly, we'd be out on a limb."

I studied their faces, seeing the conflict playing out. We agreed to occasional transport services for the Ghost network, but none of us had expected it to happen so soon or with such high-stakes cargo.

"Fifteen minutes to decide," I said. "Whatever we choose, we're all in it together."

Lev spoke first. "I say we take it. We need the credits, and the Brakers are focused elsewhere thanks to our misdirection."

"The medical isotopes provide perfect cover," Sorrel added slowly. "Same environmental requirements, same security protocols. They'd be hidden in plain sight."

Mac was quiet for a long moment. "My parents are going to expect legitimate business practices," he said finally. "But they also expect results. The run itself buys a lot of legitimacy. But we can't pass up on the credits, or pay back for services already rendered."

"Decision time," I said, finger hovering over the reply button.

Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.

"Do it," Mac said, surprising me with being first. "But we do this smart. No unnecessary risks."

"Agreed." Both Sorrel and Lev said in unison.

I sent the confirmation and grabbed my tool kit. "Lev, with me. Sorrel, Mac—prep the cryo-bay for additional cargo. We've got ten minutes."

Bay 7-Alpha was a forgotten corner of Cali's maintenance level, dimly lit and reeking of coolant. The Ghost network contact was waiting—a station engineer whose coveralls hid nothing unusual except for the metallic briefcase at her feet.

"You're the Frost Enterprises crew?" she asked without preamble. "Denna."

"That's us," I confirmed.

"Three neural cores, each about the size of your fist. Military-grade encryption, biometric locks, the works." Denna handed me the case. "They need to stay below minus forty Celsius and can't be exposed to EM fields above 0.1 tesla."

"Same as our isotopes," Lev observed. "Convenient."

"Not coincidence," Denna replied. "We've been planning this for weeks. Your legitimate cargo makes the perfect cover."

Back in the Faulkner's cargo bay, we worked quickly. The neural cores were sleek obsidian spheres, I was sure each was worth more than Faulkner herself.

<<Not likely,>> Lia said. <<The Faulkner is worth upwards of fifty million.>>

<<And with you, a lot more, we established that with Ashley.>>

Lev designed a custom housing that nested them inside the isotope containers, making them invisible to casual inspection, if we had someone board us.

"Thermal signature matches the surrounding isotopes," he reported. "Magnetic shielding is redundant—the cryo-pods already block EM fields."

"Perfect," I said, watching the last core disappear into its hiding place. "Anyone looking will see exactly what we want them to see."

"Anyone except a full customs inspection," Sorrel warned.

"Then we make sure that doesn't happen," I replied.

Nyx, perched on the gantry above us, dead-panned, "Leaderboard still stands."

"Heh," Lev said. "You got owned."

Sorrel shot back, "Talk to me after you break fifty-one meters, crawl-boy."

I watched the exchange with fascination. They were bantering, and the sound filled a hole in my chest that I hadn't realized was still empty.

I shoved those thoughts aside and concentrated on the task at hand.

"Nitrogen boil-off at current containment rate: 1 kg per 645 liters of gaseous expansion at 1 atmosphere," Lia calculated, over-laying the thermal patterns across the cryo-pods. "Containment nominal. Team integration metrics: social cohesion increased by 17% since Ring-14's activation."

She didn't mention the hidden cargo—the AIs had agreed to maintain plausible deniability about our smuggling activities.

I silently acknowledged her analysis. The data only confirmed what I could feel in my bones. We were becoming more than conspirators or colleagues, something like a crew, maybe even a family.

A family of criminals now, I thought with dark amusement. But criminals with a good set of morals.

"Let's fly," I said, heading for the CIC with the others. Behind me, the cargo bay sealed, securing our first mixed payload.

I slid into the second chair, which hugged me like a memory, my fingers finding control without conscious thought. Lia's HUD display blossomed across my visor:

Δv PROGRAM: 4,200 m s⁻¹

MAIN DRIVE 94%

KELSO REFINERY 0.065 MILLION KM

INERTIAL WINDOW 0.50 g

The slate-grey consoles gleamed under our low-blue tactical lighting. Cali's station rotated majestically through the forward viewport, its docking spines trailing ships like sea creatures with metallic appendages.

"Everyone strapped? Dr. Chen, are you reading us?"

His voice was perfect from Ring-14. "Loud and clear."

"How's the facility prep going?" I asked, settling into the acceleration couch.

"Faraday mesh installation is sixty percent complete," Chen replied. "The neural surgery bay should be fully shielded by the time you return. I've also been coordinating with the Port Authority about our subpoena response, and Nyx is working directly with Talia over security."

Mac's head snapped up. "Response?"

"Lia has been working on that," Chen continued. "Full disclosure on the fusion core procurement, with detailed technical specifications that should keep their inspectors busy for weeks while revealing nothing about our real capabilities."

<<Legal document filed thirty-seven minutes ago,>> Lia confirmed privately. <<Probability of acceptance: 73%. Estimated review time: 12-15 days.>>

That bought us some breathing room, at least. By the time port authorities had finished analyzing our "complete" technical disclosure, we'd have established operational patterns that made us look exactly like what we claimed to be.

"Copy that." I grinned and thumbed the ignition. Seven-hundred-eighty meganewtons of torch thrust slammed the Faulkner forward. The couches bit into my ribs at a steady half-gee, and the stars smeared into white streaks.

"Fifteen minutes on the boost to reach cruise," Lia reported. "Then four hours' coast at four-point-two kilometres per second, followed by another fifteen-minute decel burn."

"Fuel draw is on point. About forty tonnes of deuterium," Mac added, glancing at the mass ledger. "That's ₵120000 straight into hot plasma—good thing your parents covered it with the advance."

"Δv equals specific impulse times g-nought times natural log of mass-ratio," Lia whispered, the equation unfurling across my visor. "Beautiful, isn't it?"

"Yes. Yes, it is."

The main drive's 14-hertz sub-audio thrummed through the deck and into my bones. Familiar, right. For the first time since waking up with a stranger's face, I felt truly alive.

Even if that life now included federal crimes.

"Drive signatures are clean," Mac reported. "Masking protocols holding. To any watching eyes, we're just another medical transport making a routine run."

"With a hundred and eighty-five thousand credits worth of contraband in our hold," I added quietly.

"Details," Mac replied with a grin that looked forced.

"Let's keep it that way," I replied, "Take her out."

Mac eased the Faulkner into our designated vector. The holo-tank projected our trajectory in a teal wireframe, a graceful arc away from Cali's gravity well toward the Deep-Transfer Corridor and then to our destination.

After we cleared Cali's immediate traffic control zone, some of the tension eased from my shoulders. The familiar rhythm of what I'd grown to know for space travel, the gentle lull of our life support systems, and the not-so-quiet efficiency of a well-run ship combined to create something approaching peace.

The knot in my stomach kept me on edge though, we were carrying contraband after all.

"So," Sorrel said, unstrapping from her acceleration couch and floating over to the observation deck, "anyone else feeling like we just barely pulled this off?"

Mac laughed, but there was exhaustion in it. "You mean the part where we went from dead fugitives to a legitimate shipping company in what? Four days?"

"While stealing a fusion core, fighting a legal battle, and installing illegal communication networks," Lev added dryly. "Perfectly routine."

"Don't forget about us becoming smugglers as well," Sorrel added with dark humor. "That's new as of twenty minutes ago."

I joined them at the viewport, watching Cali Station shrink behind us. "When you put it like that, it does sound moderately insane."

"Moderately?" Sorrel arched an eyebrow, but leaned on me. "We've crossed seventeen different lines in the past week."

"Make that eighteen with the neural cores." Lia added.

Sorrel laughed again. "I'm pretty sure we're well past 'moderate' anything."

"There is no going back now though, right," Mac said quietly, and something in his tone made us all look at him. "Tomorrow, when my parents dock, this becomes real. Not just our little rebellion, but an actual business with consequences. We will have other people's lives in our hands."

"Having second thoughts?" I asked.

"Not just second thoughts, third and fourth thoughts," he admitted.

I sighed.

"No, not about backing out. Just... processing it all." He gestured at the stars ahead. "This time a few years ago, I was Robert Lynx, heir to a shipping dynasty. Now I'm Mac Taves, a co-conspirator in grand theft starship and federal contraband smuggling."

"How does it feel?" Lev asked, surprising us all with the personal question.

Mac was quiet for a moment. "Terrifying," he said finally. "And more alive than I've felt in years."

Sorrel moved closer to Lev, her shoulder brushing his. "What about you? Any regrets about ditching your old life for this madness?"

Lev was quiet for a long moment, and I held my breath for his answer.

Again, he surprised me, and pulled Sorrel into his side getting a soft squeak from her, but nothing else, she stared up into his eyes, also waiting.

I stepped to Mac's side, giving them room. "The past few weeks have taught me something," he said finally. "Working with people you trust, people who have your back—that's worth more than any predictable career."

His eyes met Sorrel's, and something passed between them that made Mac and me suddenly interested in our HUDs.

"What about you?" Lev asked. "Miss being Dr. Hinada yet?"

"Dr. Hinada was dying slowly in a corporate lab even with my parent's promises," she replied. "Sorrel might die quickly in a ventilation shaft or even a federal prison, but at least she's living first." She paused, then added with a small smile, "Besides, where else would I get to crawl through air ducts and smuggling military AI tech?"

"When you put it like that, it sounds almost reasonable," I said.

"Almost," Sorrel agreed. "If you squint and ignore most of the details."

"Speaking of which," I said, "how are you feeling? After last night?"

Her expression grew more serious. "Two percent processing delay, permanent but manageable. Dr. Chen says adaptive pathways will compensate within a few weeks." She shrugged. "Small price for what we accomplished."

"You shouldn't have had to pay any price," Lev growled.

"It was my choice," Sorrel replied firmly. "My risk to take."

"Not anymore," he said simply. "From now on, we watch each other's backs. No unnecessary risks. If we need to abandon any mission, we do."

"Does that include the cargo we're carrying?" Mac asked pointedly.

"Especially that," Lev replied. "We're all in this together now. No one takes unnecessary chances. But the decisions come from all of us."

Sorrel studied his face for a moment, then nodded slowly.

"All right," she said. "Partners."

"Partners," he agreed.

Mac and I exchanged glances. Whatever had happened in those vents definitely changed things between them.

<<Electromagnetic pulse detected,>> Nyx announced suddenly, breaking the moment. <<Origin point: Ring-14. Dr. Chen is testing the Faraday mesh.>>

"Chen, you copy?" I called.

"Testing complete," his voice came back. "Neural surgery bay is now completely isolated from external EM fields. Even if the Port Security scan us with military-grade sensors, they won't detect anything unusual."

"Perfect timing," Mac said. "My parents will want a complete facility tour tomorrow."

"They'll see exactly what we want them to see," I confirmed. "A legitimate medical research facility with proper safety protocols and full regulatory compliance."

While underneath all of that, we'd be building the tools for our revenge.

"I've also received preliminary responses to our equipment requisitions. Most suppliers are willing to work with us, now that we have Lynx backing, and extra money."

"What about the specialized neural interface hardware?" Sorrel asked.

"Three-week delivery window, but I've got it down to one." Chen replied. "Which gives us time to complete the facility preparation and establish our cover operations."

Perfect. By the time our real work began, we'd be so thoroughly established as a legitimate business that no one would think to look deeper.

"We'll be in touch on our return trip," I said. "Faulkner out."

As Sorrel wobbled, Lev steadied her. "You need rest."

"We all need rest," she replied. "But we also need to stay alert."

"I'll take first watch," I said. "Mac, you should sleep for a few hours before we reach the refinery."

"I'm fine," he protested, but I could see the strain around his eyes.

"I'm not asking," I said. "Get some sleep. That's what co-pilots are for."

"Yes, Captain." Mac dipped his head and left. Sorrel and Lev also moved to leave. They didn't head down to the crew's quarters, they found spots in the common area, not quite sleeping but resting with their eyes closed on opposite chairs.

I settled back into the pilot's chair. The next few hours would be monitoring the displays, checking the systems, and watching for threats. It was meditative in its own way, a counterpoint to the past few days.

<<How are you holding up?>>

<<Tired. Worried. Excited.>> I replied. <<All at once.>>

<<Team dynamics are evolving positively. Social cohesion metrics continue to improve.>>

<< They're becoming friends. Real friends.>> I watched Sorrel shift in her sleep, unconsciously moving closer to Lev. <<Maybe more than friends, in some cases.>>

<<Human pair-bonding exhibits interesting patterns under stress,>> Lia observed. <<Shared danger appears to accelerate emotional attachment.>>

<<Speaking from experience?>>

<<Observing your attachment patterns to this crew,>> she replied. <<You care about them more than optimal tactical doctrine would suggest.>>

She was right. <<Is that a problem?>>

<<Unknown. But it makes you more human, which is arguably an improvement over your previous operational parameters.>>

I smiled at that. Leave it to her to find a clinical way to say I was learning to care again.

A red dot erupted on the screen and our klaxons sounded immediately.

"Contact?" Mac asked.

"Gunboat," I replied.

"On my way," Mac reported. "Lia?"

"Already on it, came her reply. "Weapons hot."

If you find any errors ( broken links, non-standard content, etc.. ), Please let us know < report chapter > so we can fix it as soon as possible.