15th Cali Local Time 10 am

"Reminds me of a knackers yard," Lev said waving a hand before him. "Bodies on hooks, organs for sale."

Rows of impounded vessels floated in magnetic slings while scavengers, just like they were, circled like gulls.

Mac barely acknowledged the comparison, his gaze sliding past the salvage hunters to focus on nothing. For the past twenty-four hours, he'd been cycling between hyperactive preparation and moments like this, distracted silence. His parents' arrival loomed in his mind like an approaching storm front, and he'd never been so terrified. Both for his new appearance and because he had just put their lives at risk.

"You're thinking about your parents again," Lev observed, voice low enough that nearby salvage hunters couldn't hear.

Mac's eyes snapped back to focus, caught. "That obvious?"

"No one else could, but I can read your tells, I've lived and breathed with you the last few years remember?"

"Some things don't change, I guess." He ran a hand across his jawline; the bone structure still felt foreign under his fingertips. "Do you think they'll recognize me at all?"

"No," Lev said with characteristic bluntness. "That's the point. Dr. Chen's work was thorough; they won't even recognize your voice."

"I hope something comes across as me," he replied.

"I don't, because that means anyone who knew you is a risk."

Mac looked his way, "You mean like Markov, or Talia. Your contacts?"

"Pretty much, yes. They know us."

"Undercover us, not our real identities."

"Bounty on our heads," Lev added, "With full ID and DNA tags."

Mac sighed. "You're right, we need to keep them close."

"Agreed. Hence, we did the Ghost run too, not just for the money for the rep."

Lev brought up images of several lots on his datapad, and Mac's forced himself to focus. "Lot's coming up."

Mac ignored him. "Being a stranger to your own family is..."

"Hard," Mac continued, his voice barely audible. Lev frowned. "You really are out of sorts. Focus. We bag a hull, we make payroll. Without it, their arrival becomes a different risk."

"With yesterday's Ghost network payment, we're actually ahead of payroll," Mac corrected. "But that money came from smuggling. Do I tell them their investment is being supported by federal crimes?"

His HUD pinged. Peyton. <<Quarantine is extended. Customs found the neuro-frequency signature more 'concerning' than anticipated. Sorrel's trying to convince them it's a medical device interference pattern.>>

<<Copy that, Captain,>> Mac replied, his expression tightening. Another complication in an already precarious situation. <<We've got this end covered.>>

<<You'd better,>> Peyton said. <<Parents or no parents, we need that second hull.>>

Mac glanced to the lots, then cataloged the threats around them automatically. The crowd had three potential surveillance assets.

"You've seen them?" he asked Lev.

"Two o'clock, they seem to be interested in the same Hull we are."

Two men stood with a shorter, yet stockier woman. "Acquisition specialists and I'd say at least one undercover security officer."

<<That's the Captain of the SteenKizzer,>> Doli chimed in. <<Captain Feath Crai. The two men with her are indeed security, but also known pirates across this whole side of space. Jerry Miller and Drew Bozloe.>>

<<How?>>

<<I'm scanning every face in here, they've personal rap sheets longer than your arm.>>

Lev laughed, <<Funny Lia. But understood. We're watching them, even if they don't know we're here.>>

<<They don't.>>

<<I'm not a believer of coincidences,>> Mac added. <<They suspect something. Think they could have tracked us at all?>>

"It is possible, but we're nobody." Lev added.

<<Yet,>> Lia said. <<This is their territory, and we outsmarted them.>>

Holo projectors blossomed across the bay. "Lot 47 includes partial title to one Manta-S class freighter, registry flagged, plus lien-set obligations on three auxiliary repo units." The auctioneer announced. "Bidders acknowledge acceptance of restoration contracts in lieu of cash settlement."

"₵150k might get us the hull, sure—but we've got to fix three others or lose everything."

<<I can do it.>> Lia said. <<With Nyx, Peyton, a week of access to the yard's diagnostics grid—we'll finish it faster than they can audit.>>

"You're crazy," Mac said. "But I'm in."

A man to their left laughed. "You'd bid on a deadliner just to earn more deadliners? Waste of slush."

<<We don't need three ships. We need one monster. This one.>>

Spec Category

Value/Detail

Class

Manta-S (Super freighter variant)

Displacement

440 000 tons (dry); 610 000 loaded

Length

382 meters

Beam

112 meters (hull + ventral bulge pods)

Thrust

3 000 MN torch stack (tri-core D-T)

Max ∆v (slush full)

~7 800 m/s

Tankage

1 200 tons cryo-slush

Jump Capacity

3 slurry shots (₵1.65 M value)

Cargo Volume

~240 000 m³ (triple-deck modular)

Crew Requirements

6 min / 12 optimal

Docking Ports

2 side, 1 ventral shuttle receiver

Shuttle Compatibility

Supports parasite craft ≤ 500 t

Sensor Suite

Tier-2 industrial (upgradeable)

Bridge Systems

Outdated—pre-modular HUD integration

Auction Data – Lot 47, Manta-S Repo

Item

Status

Declared Hull Value

₵94.8 M

Minimum Starting Bid

₵11.3 M

Bond Requirement (12%)

₵6.8 M (secured via Lynx link)

Jump Stack Condition

1 shot functional, 2 degraded

Fuel Lines

Partially occluded (diagnosed)

NavCore

This story originates from a different website. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.

Locked under warrant block

Potential Refit Cost

₵2.4 M–₵4.1 M range

Auction Mechanics

Item

Notes

Opening Bid

₵150 000 (minimum)

Asset Type

Seized freighter with legal encumbrances

Total Assumed Debt

₵22.1 M (in default repair contracts)

Lien Structure

Bidders must refit 3 smaller vessels within 30 standard days or incur penalty

Article 6 Indemnity

Lien-bonded systems include technical crew under default labor contract. Transfer of title implies assumption of bonded personnel obligations unless explicitly waived by yard authority.

Warranty Clock

Refit clock starts on transfer of title

Performance Clause

Failure to deliver 3 ships = forfeiture of Manta hull

Assessment: Fixer Upper Viability

System

Issue

Est. Cost (₵)

Notes

NavCore

OS lockout, encryption tethered to court lien

₵500 000

Replace with open-stack variant

Jump Stack

Two slurry pods decayed

₵1.1 M

One good for now; risky without fix

Fuel Lines

Partial obstruction

₵380 000

Can be cleaned or replaced with alloy flex

Life Support

Filters past spec

₵90 000

Upgrade to match extended crew size

Sensor Stack

Tier-2 civilian-grade

₵250 000

Could piggyback Faulkner's targeting mesh

Total Likely Cost

₵2.32–₵4.1 M

Variable depending on parts salvage & AI help

"Then let's win that ship," Mac's eyes lit up, momentarily forgetting his preoccupation. "If you all want it. Let's win it."

"If we land this, we could do so much more, even those extra fixes will win us favor," he continued, letting professional focus temporarily silence his anxiety. "It could pay off all our debts."

"Or we could just handle larger smuggling contracts," Mac added, then immediately regretted the words. Even thinking about expanding their criminal operations felt like a betrayal of everything his parents had taught him.

"Starting bid is at 150k," the announcer said.

Lev raised his hand.

"200," Captain Crai called.

"Fuck."

220k... 235... 250k.

The man behind the captain was shaking his head. But the man on their in a charcoal suit and silver lapel pin raised his hand and with a bored wave countered with 265k.

"That guy's not here to win," Lev muttered. "He's running eyes. Crai's crew are the real buyers. He's here to track who's buying what."

Lev raised to 270k.

Mac's threat assessment kicked into high gear.

Operational Intelligence Assessment - 87%

Status: Active/Automatic Function: Real-time threat analysis and surveillance detection protocols

Effect: ↑ Situational awareness, ↑ Counter-intelligence effectiveness

Trigger: Hostile intelligence assets in operational environment

Risk: Hypervigilance, difficulty distinguishing threats from civilians

That man's positioning wasn't random; he could observe the entire auction floor from his vantage point. His bid pattern suggested unlimited authorization rather than budget constraints. He was definitely a corporate intelligence asset. He was possibly running surveillance on the auction participants rather than seriously bidding.

<<Time to cheat.>> Doli said.

<<Agreed,>> Lev loaded the Deep-Space escrow forge. Packet latency 120 ms—just enough to slide through the auction AI's grace window before finality. He punched in 275k.

The auctioneer said: "Current high bid 275,000. Verification pending."

Lev murmured, "Spoofing block confirmations. Thirty seconds."

Mac shifted his weight, his eyes fixed on Captain Crai. The woman's attention had shifted from casual observation to active interest. "She's watching us."

"Of course she is," Lev replied, not looking up from his slate. "We're bidding against their interests."

"Come on," Mac clenched his fists.

"Ten seconds," Lev counted. "Nine. Eight..."

Mac's breathing shifted to the controlled pattern he used during high-stress operations, the technique his father had taught him during their first surveillance exercise. Inhale for four counts, hold for four and exhale for six. Manage the adrenaline, maintain cognitive function, and stay operational. "What's our contingency if the spoof fails?"

"Run," Lev said simply. "Plan B is always run."

His parents lived by the principle of always having an exit strategy and being ready to abandon everything and disappear.

The captain's gaze snagged on Lev's. Mac felt the situation shift from uncomfortable to actively dangerous. She tapped a wrist cam and zoomed it towards them.

<<Security drones detached from ceiling rails, lenses irising.>> Lia reported.

"Peyton, we've been flagged," Lev reported.

"Hold the bid." Came Peyton's order. "Whatever it takes, hold out."

Mac shifted his posture. His combat-ready stance just about masked beneath civilian casualness. "Exposure risk rising," he murmured. <<If they ID me now...>>

<<It would be a lucky coincidence.>> Lia said.

Mac didn't believe in coincidences….

"They won't," Lev assured him, though Mac sensed the uncertainty beneath his confidence.

"But… What if they know my parents are on the way."

"Your parents' arrival is 100% undercover."

The captain was speaking rapidly into her collar now, her eyes never leaving Lev's.

"Contingency protocols," Lev decided. "Riot metrics."

Mac tensed. Lev was about to weaponize the crowd, turn innocent civilians into chaos, and cover for their escape. The tactical part of his mind approved, effective, efficient, necessary. The human part recoiled at the collateral damage they were about to inflict.

His parents had always emphasized the moral weight of intelligence work. Every action had consequences beyond the immediate tactical benefit. Every civilian casualty was a failure of precision, a compromise of the principles they'd taught him to uphold.

The same principles he'd already compromised by smuggling contraband. How many lines was he willing to cross?

Lev's fingers tapped his slate. The ad billboards lining the bay flared white, then pulsed 15 Hz. An illegal frequency on public screens. The neural disruption pattern hit the crowd like a wave.

Mac watched the chaos unfold with as much professional detachment as he could muster, even as guilt clawed at his chest. Half the crowd screamed, clutching heads as the seizure-inducing frequency overloaded their visual cortexes. Their bodies dropped, convulsing. Both the men with Captain Crai collapsed first, their augmented contacts amplifying the signal directly into their optic nerves. Other around them staggered, disoriented.

His parents would be horrified. They'd taught him that innocent people were never acceptable casualties, that there was always another way. But watching civilians writhe in pain, he realized how far he'd already fallen from their teachings.

Chaos bloomed in ever expanding circles. Security drones spun wildly their targeting protocols overwhelmed by the sudden shift from a peaceful auction to a mass medical emergency. Some of them turned to render aid while others searched for threats, their conflicting directives creating a feedback loop of confused motion and they danced to and fro, then just froze stopped dead in the air before dropping and smashing to the ground.

"Move, now." Mac slid quickly through the crowd, creating a buffer between Lev and the nearest drones.

The captain was last to go down but she wasn't unconscious, her military-grade implants having partially protected her from the worst effects. Blood leaked from her ears, but her eyes tracked Lev's movement with a predatory focus.

Just as the announcer spoke clearly: "Lot 47 sold to party Frost Enterprises. Transfer complete."

"I'll find you," the captain mouthed.

Victory, but at what cost? Mac counted at least twelve civilians down, three in active seizure, one whose augmented eyes were smoking from electrical overload. The mathematical part of his mind calculated acceptable losses against mission objectives, but the human part his parents had raised wanted to vomit.

Trait Progression: Acceptable Casualty Calculus [89% ↑]

Function: Rationalize civilian suffering as tactical necessity

Effect: Reduced empathy response during operational stress

Status: "Innocent people were never acceptable casualties" → abandoned principle

This was what he'd become in less than a week. Someone who could watch innocent people suffer and call it necessary. His parents had raised a son who believed in justice; that son had died at the Academy. The person wearing his memories was something else entirely.

"Exit path clear," he reported to Lev. "Southeast corridor."

They moved through the aftermath of their violence, stepping over victims. Sirens whooped. Med-bots swarmed the collapsed bidders, their diagnostic scanners painting the scene in red emergency lighting. The Braker officer filmed everything through his wrist-cam, his hands shaking from neural trauma but his surveillance instincts intact.

"That was messy," Mac said once they'd reached the maintenance corridor, the sounds of chaos fading behind them.

"Messy buys us 20,000 cubic meters of hold," Lev shot back, but Mac caught the defensive note in his voice. Even Lev felt the moral weight of what they'd done.

The post-adrenaline crash hit him like a wave. His hands shook as the combat chemicals faded from his system, leaving him alone with the implications.

His slate pinged: NEWSFLASH – "Thugs Spark Riot at Repo. Citizens Hospitalized."

Their trust meter slid another notch into the red. Irrevocable.

"My parents arrive in a few hours," he said quietly, leaning against the corridor wall. The countdown felt more urgent now, weighted with new complications. "To a quarantined ship, a public relations disaster, and a son they won't recognize."

The words hung in the recycled air between them.

"You're having doubts," Lev observed.

"No," Mac clarified quickly. "No."

"Good, we need to go over extraction again. Security will double down now after the repo incident." Lev led them into an abandoned maintenance office. They both did a quick sweep.

Mac activated a privacy screen from his belt, the device casting a low-frequency hum that would scramble any listening device.

He checked the time. "Three hours until they dock," Lev said, pulling up station schematics on his slate. "Peyton and Sorrel are still in Quarantine. We have a hot hull that will be flagged within seventy-two hours."

"And we have ₵1,000000 smuggling profits that prove we're not the legitimate business they're expecting to find," Mac added.

"That's clean untraceable funds," Lev said. "No one will know that."

"They will," Mac sighed. "How do I explain that we're making more money from crime than from honest shipping?"

"They'll understand."

Mac nodded. He was right. Of course he was, his thoughts were very much not his own right now.

Mac studied the docking manifests cross-referencing them with security protocols. "She'll dock at Bay 12. Normal carrier. Nothing suspect. They'll have standard customs inspection, but they'll have good cover."

"Any idea who they are?"

Mac scanned the manifest again. "Been a long time since they used any alias, they could be anyone on this list."

"No one stands out?"

He shook his head. "They will be on here," he said. "I'm sure of it. Unless…"

The implication hung between them like a loaded weapon. Corporate intelligence networks were vast, interconnected, and designed to find patterns in seemingly random data, but they would be on it.

"They'll have contingencies if something was amiss," Lev said, though his voice carried less certainty than his words. "Exit strategies, backup identities. They were the backbone of ONI in their time."

But even as his friend said it, doubt gnawed at him. His parents' survival strategies were built around invisibility, not active operations at least not recent ones. They hadn't been in the field for a decade. "You looked them up?"

"Be remiss if I didn't, as your head of security."

Lev pretended to also study the docking schedules, cross-referencing arrival times with shift changes in station security. "We need to control the meeting environment. Somewhere, we can brief them quickly and extract if necessary."

"We'll jump a skiff, take them to Ring-14," Mac suggested, though the location was another compromise. "They'll want to see it anyway. And it's legal now."

"It's a fair trip just to talk." However, he highlighted several transit routes on the station map. "Three possible paths from Docking Bay 12 to the transit hub. We'll need eyes on all of them."

<<You have eyes,>> Lia added.

"Thanks," Mac replied though it did nothing to ease his fears.

Mac stared at the logistics display, but his mind was elsewhere. The tactical planning felt surreal, as if he were orchestrating his parents' entry into a war zone. "What do I tell them?" he asked finally. "How do I tell them that I smuggled contraband and just watched civilians get hurt for tactical advantage? That I'm everything they taught me never to become?"

"Tell them the truth," Lev replied. "That you're fighting the same enemy. That you need their skills, not their sentiment."

"Cold, even for you."

"Functional," Lev corrected.

Trait Unlocked: Moral Framework Abandonment [91%]

Trigger: Recognizing complete departure from parental teachings

Function: Acceptance of becoming "everything they taught me not to be"

Risk: Permanent severing of moral anchor; operational sociopathy

And what he'd become, smuggler, fraud, someone who accepted civilian casualties as tactical necessities. That was something his parents had spent his childhood teaching him never to be.

"Status update?" Peyton asked. "We'll be out in about thirty minutes."

"Hull acquired," Lev reported. "Public trust compromised. Extraction complete."

"And Mac?"

Lev glanced at him, and Mac straightened automatically, falling back into operational mode. Whatever doubts he carried, whatever guilt gnawed at him, the mission came first. His parents had taught him that much, at least.

Even if they'd also taught him that the mission should never compromise your soul. Lesson learned, lesson abandoned.

"Operational."

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