15th May l2pm

Sorrel signed the final datapad with a surgeon's flourish. "We're clear to go now?"

"Yes, but we're keeping an eye on you," Station Security Chief Tork said.

"Noted," I replied and walked past them and straight out the doors.

<<We good? On time?>>

<<Yes, but you still need rest.>>

<<Later,>> I told her, flexing my fingers to test the nerve response. The tremor in my left pinky had worsened, stress wasn't doing me any favors. "Today is about family. Mac's. And they're due in any moment."

Sorrel scooted up beside me. "That was not what I was expecting."

"We'll know if there's ever a next time."

"There won't be, I'll make sure of that."

Mac and Lev were waiting for us, and I dipped my head at him. "You good?"

"All good, we're ready."

Nice and steadily we made our way over to Doc 12. Entering the lounge, we could easily see the ship, and she was massive.

"She's stunning," Sorrel said. "This might take a while."

"Forty-five minutes before they start to move the VIPs off first." Lev said.

"Your parents?"

"Likely in with normal foot passengers, so maybe an hour and half."

There was still a lot of time for us to hang around. "Food?" I suggested and waved over to the bar.

"Food sounds good," Sorrel rubbed her stomach.

"They not feed you in lock up?"

I laughed and moved away to find us a table, within ten minutes the bar had filled up and we were tucking into full plates.

Sorrel scraped hers clean first, and Lev wasn't far behind her despite eating more. "That was needed."

"Agreed," I picked up my coffee and sat back. That's when Lev's postured changed in a flash.

"What is it?" I asked.

"We've got company," he replied.

I didn't look, knowing if I did it would be even more suspicious. "Who?"

"Captain Cai."

Mac carried on eating, but his face had paled. "With the same two men?"

"Yes," Lev said. "There's another woman with them as well."

"Can you get an ID on her Lia?"

"Nothing as yet."

"What are you thinking?" I asked Lev.

"That she's with someone of importance."

"I have an ID and public stats," Lia said.

"Show us."

What came across for us all to see, made Sorrel physically gasp.

Full Name: Dr. Elaine Mireya Hinada

Aliases: N/A Current Affiliation: Unified Colonial Health Directorate (UCHD) Role: Chief Neural Systems Advisor (Neurocognitive Ethics Division) Location: Listed as "Mobile–Interstational Liaison (Clearance 3)"

Degrees

PhD Neural Systems Arch., Montaux Inst. of Biomed Sci.

MSc Cognitive Ethics, Calibar Station U.

BMed, U. New Manila

Cited work

"Subjective Consent Under Induced Threat-State" – 200+ ONI ethics citations

Active IP (annual royalties)

MEDA ₵400 M • COHEART ₵225 M • AURIX ₵140 M • CHORD ₵60 M

UCHD adoption

3 of 4 flagship projects now in 37-93 % of colonial clinics

Public stance

"Neural suppression ≠ autonomy override"

Controversy

Unproven links to ONI inhibition firmware

Flagship tech snapshot

Code

What it does (7 words)

Status

AURIX

AI co-pilot halts surgeon fatigue errors

37 % deep-space ORs

MEDA

Universal neural prosthetic adapter standard

93 OEMs licensed

COHEART

Cold-oxygenated blood substitute for decompression

Standard med-kit item since 2120

CHORD

AI-medic PTSD triage & dampener

UCHD baseline firmware

Annual IP revenue: ₵ 760-890 M

"Autonomy isn't optional. It's the first principle."

<<She's clean—on the surface. No arrest warrants, no ONI direct employment tag. But every citation trail loops back to deep compliance firmware. Sorrel didn't just inherit a brain for ethics—she inherited the woman who wrote the override code half the field uses to suppress them.>>

"Oh gods no. Why the hell is she here?" Sorrel asked.

"You didn't know she was out this far?"

"Who's with her?"

"There's three other guards behind them," Lev said.

"My father?"

"Doesn't look like it, just women."

"What are they doing?" I asked, scraping the last bit of my breakfast onto my fork.

"Looks like they're waiting on someone from the ship, too?"

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"VIP?"

"I don't know," Lia replied.

"Captain Crai has spotted us," Lev said.

Fuck. "Coming over?"

"Yes," Lev said and buried his head in his coffee.

Captain Crai approached our table with the predatory confidence of someone who held all the cards. Her augmented eyes swept over our group, cataloging faces and assessing threats. The neural disruption from the repo bay had left her with a slight tremor in her left hand, but her fury was unmistakable.

"Well, well," she said, stopping just within conversation distance. "Frost Enterprises, wasn't it? Funny how you disappeared right after half my crew ended up in the med bay."

I kept my expression neutral, though every instinct screamed danger. "I'm sorry, do we know you?"

Her laugh carried no humor. "Captain Feath Crai, SteenKizzer. Your trick at the repo hall cost me an expensive hull and gave my crew some unpleasant medical bills."

"Sounds like a bad day," Mac said casually, though his hand had shifted closer to his belt. "Maybe next time, don't bid against us."

Captain Crai's augmented eyes focused on him with laser intensity. "Interesting advice from someone who cheats."

"You can't prove that," Lev's posture had shifted to combat ready, but I caught his eye and shook my head fractionally. Too many civilians, too much exposure.

"Not this time," she said. "But I'm watching you."

"You seem quite upset about losing a bid," I said, standing slowly. "But that's how auctions work. Sometimes you win, sometimes you lose."

She countered, stepping closer. "Sometimes you steal ships with people still aboard."

The words hit me like ice water. "People?"

"Sorry," Mac said.

<<Lia?>>

I frowned at him, damn, people? He really was off his game.

"My brother, Derek," Captain Crai said, her voice dropping to a dangerous whisper. "He's part of the bonded crew on that Manta-S you just bought. Article 6 Indemnity means you now own his labor contract. Along with forty-one other souls."

<<Cross-referencing auction documentation,>> Lia said urgently. <<Article 6 Indemnity clause confirmed. Transfer of title includes assumption of bonded personnel obligations.>>

The repo auction. The fine print they'd glossed over in our rush to secure the hull. Bonded crew meant indentured labor. People working off debts they could never hope to repay, essentially slaves with legal paperwork.

"Congratulations, Captain. You're now a slaver."

Beside me, Sorrel made a slight sound of horror, but her attention kept flicking toward where her mother stood.

"We didn't know," Mac said, though the words sounded hollow.

"The paperwork said exactly what it needed to say," Captain Crai interrupted. "Article 6 Indemnity. Bonded personnel obligations transfer with the title. You could have looked it up. But you were too busy cheating to read the fine print."

"What do you want?"

"I want my brother back," she said simply. "And I want the people responsible for putting him in that situation to pay." Her gaze shifted to encompass our entire table. "Guess which category you fall into now?"

"The contract can be dissolved," Mac said desperately. "We can transfer the crew obligations—"

"To who?" Captain Crai laughed bitterly. "The system that put them there in the first place? They're bonded for life unless someone pays off their debts. All ₵22.1 million of it. Which, according to the auction records, you now owe."

Across the lounge, passengers were beginning to disembark from the Sterling Ascendant. Mac's eyes tracked the movement with growing anxiety. "I have to go," he said suddenly.

Then he was already moving, pulling up his hood and heading toward the passenger exit. His parents would be in that crowd somewhere, and he had to reach them before anyone else did.

Captain Crai watched him go with predatory interest. "Friend of yours in a hurry?"

"We all have places to be," I replied, noting how Sorrel was practically vibrating with anxiety as Dr. Hinada's scanning equipment swept the crowd.

"That crew have been trapped for sixteen months," Captain Crai continued, her attention returning to me. "Sixteen months of eightenn-hour shifts, protein paste meals, and sleeping in a cargo hold. All because some corporate exec decided his maintenance contract was worth more than his freedom."

Sorrel finally spoke, her voice barely a whisper. "She's coming this way."

I followed her gaze to see Dr. Hinada approaching our table. Her eyes paused on Sorrel for half a second longer than the others. No recognition. Just... calculation. The titan of a woman was looking right through her own daughter.

But before she could reach us, she paused, listening to whatever message was coming through her comms, then she turned toward the passenger exit. "Captain Crai," she called. "We move now."

"Our patient is disembarking," Captain Crai said, gesturing toward the main exit. "Priority One medical escort required."

Medical escort? At least the medical VIP explained why they had hired guns. The threat hung in the air as she joined Dr. Hinada's medical escort formation. Whatever VIP they were expecting from Sterling Ascendant took priority over immediate revenge, but the countdown had started.

"You have twenty-four hours," Captain Crai said, her voice carrying absolute finality. "Release my brother and compensate the rest of the crew, or I file formal charges for assault with illegal weapons and human trafficking. Your choice."

We all exhaled slowly as the two women with guards left.

Sorrel exhaled shakily. "That bought us time."

"Not much," I replied. "And now we know they're working together."

"Mac," Lev said into his comm. "Status?"

"Nothing yet," came Mac's tense reply. "Passenger flow is heavy, but I don't see them."

We moved quickly toward his position, weaving through the crowd. Mac stood near a maintenance alcove, his eyes scanning every face in the stream of people flowing below.

The passenger flow thinned. VIPs had cleared first, then business class; now, the general section was nearly empty. Mac's parents were nowhere to be seen.

"They should have been in the first wave," he said as we reached him, anxiety bleeding through his controlled voice. "General passenger section. They should be out by now."

"Maybe they missed the ship?" Sorrel suggested gently.

"No," Mac said firmly. "They confirmed departure. They're here. They have to be here."

The last of the general passengers emerged: elderly couples, families with children, and business travelers. No sign of the intelligence operatives who'd raised Mac in the shadows.

"Crew manifests," Lev said, pulling up ship records on his slate. "Maybe they're listed as ship personnel?"

The passenger exit fell silent. Sterling Ascendant's main disembarkation was complete. Mac stared at the empty doorway, his face a mask of controlled desperation.

"They're not coming," he said quietly.

That's when the pain hit him. I saw it in the way his shoulders sagged, the careful mask of operational calm cracking to reveal the lost son underneath.

Sorrel moved to his side immediately, her medical instincts overriding everything else. "Hey," she said softly, her hand finding his arm. "Intelligence-trained parents don't just disappear. There's a reason."

"What if something happened to them?" His voice was barely a whisper. "What if the Brakers found them? What if—"

"Stop," Sorrel said firmly but gently. "Catastrophic thinking won't help. They're professionals. They have contingencies."

Lev was monitoring ship communications on his slate when he looked up sharply. "Crew manifest shows departures beginning."

A new stream of people emerged from a different exit—These weren't paying passengers; they were working people in coveralls and utility uniforms, carrying tool bags and personal effects.

Mac's head snapped up, scanning the new crowd with desperate intensity.

His face changed in an instant.

There they were.

Thomas and Catherine Lynx emerged with the ship's maintenance crew, their clothes worn and practical, their faces tired but alert. They carried themselves like people who'd spent weeks doing manual labor, but their eyes moved with the trained awareness of intelligence operatives.

Two bags in his father's hands. Nothing else. Minimum everything.

Working class, it was perfect cover.

"Mom," Mac breathed, barely loud enough for us to hear.

Catherine's eyes found him across the crowd. For a moment, confusion flickered across her face. But then something deeper kicked in, maternal instinct overriding visual inconsistencies.

Thomas followed her gaze, his hand automatically moving to cover Catherine's as understanding dawned.

Mac stepped forward, his hood falling back.

The reunion was swift and careful. Catherine reached up to touch Mac's face, her fingers tracing the unfamiliar lines Dr. Chen's surgery had created. "The eyes," she said softly. "I'd know those eyes anywhere."

"We need to move," Thomas said, his intelligence training asserting itself even in the emotional moment. "We're still exposed here."

"This way," I said, leading them toward the service corridors. Lev had already cleared a path to our extraction skiff, ensuring we moved unseen through the station's maintenance network, blocked by Lia.

Within minutes, we were aboard the small transport, the hatch sealing with a pneumatic hiss that marked the transition from public space to private refuge. Mac sat with his parents in the cramped cabin, three people navigating the strange tension of being both strangers and family.

Mac inhaled sharply beside me. "They dyed your hair," he whispered. "You hate dye. Always said it was vanity disguised as operational security."

"It's really you," Catherine said, studying her son's altered features with the intensity of someone memorizing a map.

"It's me," Mac confirmed. "Changed, but still me."

Thomas gripped his son's shoulder with fierce protectiveness. "We're here now. Whatever you need. You have it."

As Lev started our skiff's engines and pulled away, a familiar wave of dizziness washed over me. The stress of the last few days was pushing my damaged neural pathways toward their limits again.

Sorrel was at my side instantly, with a medical scanner in hand. "No more heroics today. Your brain needs time to consolidate the damage before we push it further."

"No promises," I replied, though the metallic taste in my mouth suggested she was right.

From across the cabin, Lev watched our interaction with careful attention. When Sorrel made her way back to the pilot's station, her hand brushed his arm as she passed—a gesture too deliberate to be accidental.

<<Is he that jealous?>>

<<He is,>> Lia confirmed. <<But he also reigns it in fast. He knows.>>

I looked back to Mac and his family. The professional distance they'd maintained during their extraction finally cracked. Catherine reached for her son, her trembling fingers tracing the unfamiliar lines of his face, mapping the changes that surgery had wrought.

"It is me," Mac confirmed.

"I know," she whispered, tears threatening despite her intelligence training. "I'd always know."

There were many words spoken in hushed tones, and I blanked all of it. This was their time.

What seemed hours later, we came into view of Ring-14. Home.

"This is yours?" Catherine asked, placing a hand to the viewer, as though she hoped to touch it.

"Yes," Mac replied, his voice shaking slightly. "Ours, together as Frosts."

Thomas set his bag down and pulled out a metal briefcase, the kind of reinforced container that suggested valuable contents. "This was collateral in case we died in transit," he explained. "Neural keys, weaponized leverage against corporate assets. You'd better have something comparable, son."

I hesitated, guilt clawing at my chest. How do you tell a father that his son has become a federal criminal under your leadership? That the idealistic young man they raised now smuggled contraband for money?

"Before I show you this," I began carefully, "there's something you need to understand about what we've had to do to survive."

Thomas's eyes narrowed, his intelligence training kicking in. "What kind of 'something'?"

"The financial records you'll see show legitimate shipping revenue," I continued, forcing myself to meet his gaze. "But that's not the whole story. We ran contraband to make ends meet yesterday. Federal contraband."

The silence that followed was deafening. Mac's face went pale, realizing I was laying bare their criminal activities to his parents without warning.

"How federal?" Thomas asked, his voice dangerously quiet.

"Restricted AI neural cores. Military-grade encryption. The kind of cargo that carries life sentences if you're caught," Lev added from the front.

"You turned my son into a smuggler." Thomas pushed to his feet with the kind of control that only comes from training—or fury. Maybe both. My stomach turned. He hadn't even raised his voice, but I could feel the judgment rolling off him like heat.

"Thomas—" Catherine began to stand.

He cut her off with a wave of his hand. "We raised him with principles. We taught him that there are lines you don't cross, no matter how desperate you become." He glared at me. "And you've made him into exactly the kind of person we spent his childhood teaching him to fight against."

The accusations hit me like physical blows. Every word was true—I had led Mac across lines, many lines. "You're right," I said quietly. "About all of it."

Thomas's hand moved to his belt, where the ceramic blade rested. For a moment, I thought he might actually draw it. "You corrupted him."

"I gave him a chance to survive," I replied, though the words felt hollow even to me. "We did what we had to do."

"No," Thomas said firmly. "You did what was profitable. There's a difference."

Catherine stood then, her voice cutting through the tension like a blade. "Stop this, now."

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