14th May still

"They're hailing us on an old pirate frequency," Lev said. "But the EM fingerprint, the sharp tri-spike at 8 GHz, is not Braker telemetry,"

"Contact bearing two-seven-mark-fifteen," Lia reported. "Displacement approximately 400 tons. Configuration suggests sensor sloop—minimal armament, maximum surveillance capability."

"That's a thirty-metre canoe next to our two-hundred-metre bruiser." Mac added.

"Where there's one, there's more, though, right?" I asked.

"Agreed. Swat it if it sneezes." Mac replied.

"They're keeping their distance," I observed, watching the contact maintain a parallel course just outside of our weapons range.

Four more blips appeared on screen.

I swallowed, but Mac never missed a beat. "They'll have a command ship nearby," He turned to Lia. "Can you find it?"

"Cycling deep-lidar sweep, tight beam, long lag. Looking for a hull shadow behind the noise."

This was it. The real test of whether our misdirection through the Epitaph slug had worked. If the false shipping data we'd fed them had been believed, their patrols should have entirely focused on the wrong sectors.

The gunboats executed a lazy figure-eight pattern, their sensors sweeping our hull with active radar pulses. Each ping felt like fingers probing for weakness. The Faulkner's stealth systems held—some of our modifications wouldn't show up on standard scans.

"Broadcasting on multiple frequencies," Mac added. "Standard pirate challenge codes, but they're not demanding our cargo manifests."

"Because they already know what we're carrying," Sorrel said, her medical scanner forgotten as she studied the tactical display. "This isn't a shakedown. It's an assessment."

The Pirate ships adjusted course, closing to 25,000 kilometers, still beyond our neuro-burst's effective range but close enough to get fairly detailed sensor readings.

"Got it," Lia announced. A massive red dot materialized on our tactical display.

Designation: Rael-Class Missile Barge (Pirate Variant)

Alias (SteenKizzer): "Porcupine"

Displacement: 30000 t dry / 55000 t with pods

Length: 110 m (core)

Drive Stack: 900 MN fusion-impulse tugs, ∆v reserve ~10 km/s

Jump Load: 2 slurry shots (₵1.1 M total)

Crew: 6–8 permanent; +12-20 boarding crew in cold-ride stow

Armament:

– 40 expendable micro-missile pods (8 km/s eject velocity)

– 3–5 parasite shuttles (200–300 t boarding craft, short-burn capable)

– Spine-mounted kinetic spall gun (low-rate deterrent)

Sensor Package: High-gain passive net; off-axis lidar forks; old Navy scout firmware mods

"They want us to run," Mac realized. "Standard response would be to dump cargo and flee. They're measuring our reaction to classify the threat we represent."

<<Deep-lidar return: confirms hostile profile.>> Doli updated. <<Plume mass twenty-eight kilotonnes, torch exhaust nine percent deuterium-rich. Not a freighter.>>

"Eight klicks-per-second closure." Lia reported. "They own the initiative. Unless we light ₵120k worth of torch-slush right now."

"What do we do?" I asked.

"We're a ₵58 M hull with a ₵6.8 M bond riding on a gamble." He looked directly at me. "Permission to gamble harder?"

"Permission granted."

Mac smiled, rubbing his hands together. "Now we test our mettle, and we disappoint them."

"General Quarters," I announced. Red lights pulsed along with a vibration at my collar.

Lev said. "Weapons?"

"Neuro-burst system online," Lia reported. "Targeting solution locked."

<<You're still healing,>> then warned. <<Recommend reducing field strength by 15%.>>

<<Noted.>>

Lev's hands moved across his console, fingers calling up their threat assessment, which flashed up on screen.

INTERSYSTEM WARRANTS DIGEST

"Porcupine" — Rael-class murder-tug

3.4 years in the killing business

No fixed dock—parasites off dead Oort stations and ice rigs

GREATEST HITS:

"Spindle Descent Massacre"

Helix 5 mining corridor

Fake distress beacon, real swarm missiles. Two haulers, 41 civilians dead for ₵12.4M in blood money. Tier-3 warrant—shoot on sight.

"Yardskin Hollow Job"

Kepler drydock fringe

Ghost-launched from scrap cover, vented a Navy escort's crew quarters, and walked away with command override codes. Navy now flags all Porcupine-class as "priority isolate."

PETTY CRIMES & BAD HABITS:

IFF spoofing (17+ flavors and counting)

Bootleg Navy AI firmware

Counterfeit jump slurry peddling

Ransom-and-dump (2 counts—even pirates have standards)

"So they're doing exactly that, waiting and gauging our fuel compared to our size?" I asked, studying the approach vector. The pirate's Captain was cautious, keeping his distance while gathering intelligence.

"Exactly," Lev agreed. "Pure reconnaissance."

"Blocking all," Lia confirmed. "They can't penetrate enough for the finer details."

"They're mapping us, though," Lev observed. "Hull composition, reactor output, drive efficiency. Building a complete tactical profile."

"For what?" Sorrel asked.

"For when they send something bigger," I replied.

The thought sent a chill down my spine. Pirates building a file on us, categorizing our capabilities and weaknesses for future reference, was as worrying as the Brakers doing it. At least with the Brakers, we knew their capabilities. These pirates were an unknown quantity.

The ships completed another lazy orbit, then transmitted on a narrow-beam frequency: "FK 202, this is Steenkizzer Delta-Niner. Prepare for boarding."

Trait Progression: Shadow Network Protocol – 89% ↑

Trigger: Escalating from covert smuggling to direct confrontation with enemy forces

Function: Operating a criminal enterprise while maintaining a legitimate business cover

Risk: Direct enemy engagement may expose the entire operation

I keyed the response channel. "This is Captain Tachim of the FK-202. We decline your kind invitation."

A pause that stretched like a held breath. Then: "Your vessel exhibits valuable cargo signatures and interesting engine modifications. Prepare to be boarded and surrender your manifest, Captain."

Ice water replaced the blood in my veins. Six million credits worth of neural interface hardware in our hold, plus whatever other secrets we were carrying. A pirate boarding wouldn't just mean losing everything—it would mean watching them tear apart equipment that could save lives while they decided whether to space us or sell us to whoever paid best.

"Not a fucking chance," Lia spat. Our screens lit up with weapons ready indicators.

We held our course.

The comm crackled again. "Captain Tachim, this is Steenkizzer. We've been watching your burn profile for the last hour. Nice torch work—that's military-grade acceleration you're throwing around."

Lev's face had gone stone-cold professional. "They've been tracking us since the jump exit."

"How long do we have?" I asked.

"If they follow standard Porcupine doctrine?" Mac's voice was tight. "They'll bleed us dry first. Force us to burn fuel until we can't run, then board at their leisure."

The pirate captain's voice came back, casual as discussing the weather. "Now, Captain, we can do this the easy way, or we can do this the educational way. Your choice entirely."

"Peyton," Sorrel's voice carried new urgency, "if they board us with those neural cores..."

"Here's my choice," I replied. I knew this weapon would hurt me—had felt the feedback building in my implants since we'd installed it. But watching pirates tear apart medical equipment while my crew died wasn't an option. To Lia: "Let's give them indigestion."

The neuro-burst primed with a low hum I felt in my bones—a 38 Hz carrier riding on a 100-kilowatt directional microwave beam, effective range about five thousand kilometers against unshielded civilian sensors. "Targeting their sensor array. Fire in three…"

The story has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.

"Two…"

Lev's finger hovered over the firing control, trusting my judgment completely.

"One."

The focused pulse went out. The enemy ships' sensor arrays glittered white and then dark on the holo. The larger ship then slewed fifteen degrees, lost its vector, and limped away like a drunk losing a bar fight.

The CIC went silent, and then we collectively exhaled. Lev actually clapped just once.

"What exactly did we just do?" Mac asked, his eyes still fixed on the retreating blip.

"Like shoving a migraine through their radar," I explained, wiping blood from my nose. "Thirty to forty hertz matches human neural oscillation patterns. We just gave their sensor systems the electronic equivalent of a seizure."

The damage was manageable this time—Lia's modifications to the field strength had worked. Although still uncomfortable, there was no immediate brain damage.

"Directional beam, tightband focus," Lia elaborated. "Field strength falls off with the square of the distance. At that range, we fried every unshielded sensor on their hull."

"They'll report this," Lev noted, pragmatic as always.

"To whom?"

"Whoever they work for," Mac said.

"Let them," I replied. "By the time they figure out what happened, we'll have evolved our countermeasures, right?"

"Correct," came Lia's reply.

"More importantly," I added, "pirates talk. Word will spread that we're not easy prey. That's worth more than avoiding one boarding."

"The reputation helps," Mac said with satisfaction.

"For now," Sorrel cautioned. "But word travels both ways. Pirates and worse will know we're carrying something worth protecting."

"Time is all we need," I replied. "By the time they organize a serious response, we'll be established enough to handle bigger threats."

"And we'll have delivered our first contraband shipment," Lev added quietly. "That opens doors the legitimate business never could."

WARNING: MICRO-LESION DETECTED — TEMPORAL LOBE 2.4 mm

Sorrel appeared at my side with a medical scanner. "Let me see," she said quietly, running the device near my temple. The display showed three bright spots against the brain scan background. "Chen, are you getting this?"

"I am," he replied over comm. "Microlesions, approximately two millimeters each. Hyperintense focus. The neuro-burst created feedback in his implants."

"I'm fine," I insisted, though the throbbing behind my right eye suggested otherwise.

"You're not," Sorrel countered, but there was no judgment in her voice, only clinical assessment. "But you will be. We'll adjust the shielding before the next burst, right, Lia?"

"Yes," Lia replied. "On it now."

The victory felt hollow, tempered by the cost. Every neuro-burst would compound the damage. Eventually, the neural cascade would kill me—but that was the price of keeping my crew alive.

"How many more times can I do that?" I asked quietly.

"Unknown," Sorrel replied honestly. "Each burst compounds the damage. Eventually..." She didn't finish the sentence.

"Eventually, we'll have other options," Lev said firmly. "Other weapons, other tactics. You won't have to carry this burden alone."

Trait Unlocked: Calculated Self-Destruction – 78%

Trigger: Asking "how many more times" while planning to continue neuro-burst attacks anyway

Function: Conscious decision to trade lifespan for team protection capability

Risk: Progressive neural cascade failure; eventual cognitive death from repeated use

I nodded, grateful for the support even as I wondered if he was right. The neuro-burst was our most effective weapon against hostile forces, but it was literally killing me one pulse at a time.

"Let's focus on the positive," Mac said. "We just turned away a pirate raid without losing cargo or revealing our true capabilities. More importantly, they never got close enough to scan what we were carrying. That's a win in my book."

He was right. Whatever the long-term costs, we'd achieved our immediate objective.

Hours later, the Kelso Refinery came into view. It was a dark iron spindle orbiting nothing of interest.

The approach went smoothly—there were no additional hostile contacts, gravitational anomalies, or system failures. After the morning's excitement, the routine docking procedure felt almost anticlimactic.

"Standard isotope delivery," I announced to the Kelso quartermaster as we transferred the cryo-pods. "Plus, some specialized components for your AI maintenance division."

"AI components?" he asked, checking his manifest.

"Special order through your Ghost network contacts," Lev said smoothly. "Should be listed under 'miscellaneous medical equipment.'"

The quartermaster's expression didn't change, but he tapped a different section of his tablet. "Ah, yes. Internal transfer. All in order."

They loved our isotopes. ₵180,000 were transferred with a cheery "Come again!"

The neural cores disappeared into Kelso's maintenance bay through a discrete side transfer, earning us the additional ₵1 million in untraceable credits that would never appear on any official ledger.

"Smooth vector approach," the quartermaster commented as the transaction was completed. "Not many pilots navigate the scallops that cleanly."

Pride surged through my friends. I could feel it in the way Mac straightened, in Sorrel's pleased smile, in the fractional relaxation of Lev's perpetual vigilance. Our first mixed run as Frost Enterprises was completed without a hitch.

Well, apart from my brain damage.

Back in the jump seat, Mac flashed the ledger. "Ring-14 invoice covered. Plus, serious beer money."

"One win doesn't change our entire math problem," I said as Lia showed me the revised finances.

2125-05-14

Transaction

Debit ₵

Credit ₵

Running Balance ₵

Opening balance

Docking day-rate (Day-7)

4200

74469

Safe-house rent (Day-3)

3200

71269

Meals / incidentals

400

70869

Pre-flight maintenance

2800

68069

Thruster gimbal service

1200

66869

Recycler filter

450

66419

Nav calibration

800

65619

Cryo-pod rental (×8)

12000

53619

Medical-isotope purchase

85000

-31381

Cryo-coolant supplies

8400

-39781

Mass-balance kit

650

-40431

Fuel burn (Δv 4 200 m/s)

1200000

-1240431

Fuel reimbursement – Frost Enterprises

1200000

-40431

Kelso docking fee

2400

-42831

Processing fee

900

-43731

Customs filing

1500

-45231

PET-isotope freight fee (8 t @ 2 % haz-rate)

160000

114769

Ghost-network courier bonus (3 AI cores)

114769

Port & lane charges / reactor duty / customs

32000

82769

Consumables & spares (10 h round-trip)

2,000

80,769

[ENCRYPTED] Ghost delivery 85000 3953969 [NO INVOICE]

"Much better," Mac studied the numbers. "Without the smuggling run, we'd have barely made even."

"And the risks," Sorrel pointed out.

"Risk is priced into the compensation," Lev replied pragmatically. "The Ghost network pays well because they're buying our discretion along with our transport services."

"Profitable, but barely," Mac said. "The fuel costs are killing us. We need higher-margin cargo or shorter runs."

"We need consistent volume to stay ahead of the loan payments," I agreed. "Single-ship operations won't cut it."

"There's a repo auction next week," Lev mentioned, checking his slate. "Several heavy freighters are coming up. Could double our cargo capacity."

"With what money?"

"The Lynx line of credit," Mac said quietly. "If we're going to ask my parents to back us, we need to show we're thinking beyond one lucky run."

I studied the financial projections, running scenarios in my head. "We'd need at least three more runs like this to justify the expansion. Can we guarantee that kind of volume?"

"Dr. Chen's contacts in the medical supply chain think so," Sorrel replied. "Isotope transport is steady business, especially if we can establish reliability."

"And the Ghost network seems to have regular needs," Lev added. "High-risk, high-reward cargo that fits perfectly with our legitimate operations."

"And if we can't?"

"Then we're back to smuggling," Lev said with his typical bluntness. "Which pays better but comes with higher risks."

"We're already smuggling," Mac pointed out. "The question is whether we keep doing both or go full criminal."

"Both," I decided. "Legitimate business provides cover for the profitable work. A perfect symbiosis."

I filed that strategy away for future consideration. The dual-track approach gave us flexibility and plausible deniability.

Sorrel leaned on Lev's console. "Not bad for the first day at the office," she said.

I noticed Lev's hand shift slightly, his knuckles brushing against hers, a subtle gesture that might have been accidental except for the deliberate way their eyes met.

"Think your parents will be impressed?" Sorrel asked Mac.

Mac's expression grew thoughtful. "Impressed might be strong. But they'll see we're serious about making this work." He paused. "The real test will be whether they believe we can scale up."

"We'll make them believe," I said with more confidence than I felt. "By tomorrow night, they'll see Frost Enterprises as the best investment opportunity in the sector."

"Even if they don't know about our most profitable revenue stream," Lev added with dark amusement.

"And if they don't?"

"Then we find another way," I replied. "We always do."

Mac let the Faulkner pivot toward home. The ship felt very much alive and ours. The consoles hummed with familiar energy, and the hull creaked in a way I was already learning to recognize.

"You know what the strangest part of all this is?" Mac said as we settled into the return journey.

"What's that?" I asked.

"Twenty-four hours ago, I was terrified about my parents' arrival. Now, I'm looking forward to showing them what we've built."

"Even the illegal parts?" Sorrel asked with a smirk.

"Especially the illegal parts," Mac replied. "Well, not showing them those specifically, but knowing we've accomplished something they said was impossible."

"What did they say was impossible?" Lev asked.

"That I'd ever amount to anything without the family name propping me up." Mac's voice carried old hurt, but also new confidence. "They're going to see a profitable shipping operation with real contracts and actual revenue. Built from nothing in four days."

"Built from stolen ships and fusion cores and federal contraband smuggling," I pointed out.

"The best kind of nothing," he said with a grin.

The conversation was interrupted by an incoming transmission from Cali Control. The traffic controller's voice filled the CIC.

"Faulkner, this is Cali Control. We're showing neuro-frequency anomalies in your drive signature. Prepare for extended quarantine and inspection upon docking."

"How extended?"

"Eighteen to twenty-four hours minimum. Station Security wants a full technical review of any weapons systems that might have caused the signature."

Mac's face went pale. "My parents arrive soon."

"We'll be okay," I reassured, though dread was already settling in my stomach. "Request docking at Bay Seven."

"Negative, Faulkner. You're assigned to Quarantine Bay Twelve. Prepare for immediate containment upon arrival."

As we approached Cali Station, the docking procedure felt ominous rather than routine. Instead of the usual automated guidance, armed security personnel escorted us along our approach vector.

"There's the welcome committee," Sorrel observed grimly, watching the security craft take formation around us.

Mac's hands were steady on the controls, but I could see the tension in his shoulders. "At least my parents aren't here yet."

"Mac," I said quietly. "You'll be fine. Just do as they ask."

We docked at Quarantine Bay Twelve with a resounding clang that sealed our fate. Through the viewport, I could see six station security officers waiting on the dock, their weapons visible and their posture suggesting this wasn't going to be a routine inspection.

"Faulkner crew, exit slowly with hands visible," came the announcement over the external speakers. "You are suspected of unlawful discharge of neural disruption weapons in civilian space."

"Medical device interference," Sorrel said immediately as we prepared to disembark. "I can provide full documentation—"

"Save it for the interview, Doctor." Station Security Chief Tork stepped forward. Her scanner was already active. "Dr. Kosta, Captain Tachim, you're coming with us for questioning. Standard procedure for suspected weapons violations."

"Commander Taves and Mr. Vaytas may assist our investigators."

Mac looked stricken. "How long?"

"Depends on what we find," Tork replied, her scanner sweeping over me. The device immediately started chirping warnings. "Interesting. Significant neural implant activity, recent electromagnetic exposure, and..." She frowned at the readout. "What exactly happened out there?"

"We encountered a pirate vessel," I said carefully. "Used defensive countermeasures to avoid forced boarding."

"Countermeasures that registered on three different monitoring stations as a neural disruption burst," Tork countered. "That's a federal offense if used inappropriately, Captain."

Lev stepped forward. "Chief, we have urgent business—"

"Your business can wait." Tork nodded to her team. "Separate them. I want individual statements, and I want that ship swept for prohibited weapons systems."

<<Lia?>>

<< Don't worry, they will not find anything untoward.>>

<<How? and how did they even know? This makes no sense.>>

<<Captain Crai, she's reported it. I'll show you when you get back. For now, just do as they ask.>>

<<Will do.>> I replied.

As two officers moved to escort Sorrel and me away from the others, I caught Mac's eye. The weight of everything—his parents arriving early, the inspection, the mounting pressure. It was written across his face. No hiding it this time.

"Medical examination first," Tork announced, leading us toward the station's security medical bay. "Need to document any neural damage from whatever weapons you were playing with out there."

As the security doors closed behind us, separating our team, I realized we'd just lost our most critical window, and Mac and Lev were on their own.

The medical scanner lit up, and I prepared for what would either be a routine procedure or the beginning of our exposure as federal criminals.

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