"Mom," Mac started. "It's ok—"

"No, it isn't." Oh, she was angry, her face reddening, that perfect calm, gone. "You want to talk about corruption? Really? About crossing lines?" She faced her husband directly. "How many innocent people died during our intelligence operations? How many times did we compromise our principles for operational necessity?"

"That was different—"

"It wasn't," she said firmly. "We told ourselves it was service to a greater good, but at the end of the day, we killed people. We destroyed families. We broke laws and justified it as duty." She gestured toward Mac. "Our son and his team are fighting the same enemy that tried to murder them. If they've had to compromise some ideals to stay alive, then that's a price I understand."

Thomas's fury wavered, uncertainty creeping into his expression. I felt sorry for both of them, she was pure fire when pissed.

<<Remind me never to cross either of them,>> Lia said.

"Look at him," Catherine begged. "Really, look at him. Yes, his face is different. Yes, he's had to do things we didn't teach him. But the core of who he is. The loyalty. The intelligence. The courage to fight for what's right. That is very much still there."

"Dad, I'm sorry." Mac's voice was barely a whisper now. "I know it's not what you wanted for me."

Thomas studied his son for a long moment, his eyes tracing over the unfamiliar features, the worn clothing, and the subtle signs of exhaustion. "What exactly are you fighting for?"

"Justice," I answered. "The Academy burned. Our friends died. The people responsible are still out there, still destroying lives. We're going to stop them."

"By becoming criminals?"

"By using every tool available," Catherine interjected. "Including the ones that make our hands dirty." She moved to stand beside Mac. "Thomas, this isn't about the boy we raised anymore. This is about the man he's chosen to become. And I see courage in that choice, even if the methods aren't what we'd prefer."

I pulled out Ashley's chip, feeling the weight of what it represented. "This contains evidence of everything they did. Names, dates, financial records. Proof of systematic murder and corporate conspiracy spanning decades."

I handed it to him. <<You're giving them everything?>> Lia asked.

I didn't need to reply to her.

Thomas inserted it into a data port in his wrist, and I waited.

His expression shifted as the data flowed into his consciousness—shock, then horror, then a cold fury that reminded me exactly where Mac had learned his tactical instincts.

"Fuck me," he said. Catherine squeezed his arm. The words didn't seem right coming from a man of his caliber.

"Three hundred and forty-seven students," he said quietly, reading from the data stream. "Systematic elimination disguised as training accidents. And the corporate backing..." He looked up at me with new understanding. "This isn't about money at all, is it?"

"The smuggling keeps us funded," I admitted. "But no, it's not about money. It's about making sure they can't do this to anyone else, that some weapons don't get into the wrong hands."

Thomas was quiet for several minutes, processing both the intelligence data and everything he'd learned about his son's new life. When he finally spoke, his voice carried a different tone.

"The neural cores you smuggled," he said. "What were they planned for?"

"Medical research, according to our contact. AI-assisted surgical procedures."

"Saving lives," Catherine observed. "Not taking them."

Thomas nodded slowly, his fury giving way to something that looked like grudging respect. "You're right," he said to his wife. "About all of it." He turned to Mac. "I'm sorry. I judged before I understood."

Mac's relief was visible. "Dad—"

"You've become someone I didn't expect," Thomas continued. "But someone I can respect. The methods may be questionable, but the mission..." He gestured toward the data chip. "This changes everything."

"Your war just became our war," Catherine said.

Thomas stood and extended his hand to me. "I was wrong about you. About all of this. You didn't corrupt my son—you gave him a way to fight back."

I shook his hand, feeling a weight lift from my shoulders. "He gave me a reason to fight back."

"Then let's finish what they started," Thomas said, his voice carrying the steel of a man who'd spent decades in intelligence operations. "Let's bring these bastards down."

***

Catherine's words still echoed in the recycled air over an hour later, but wars weren't won with declarations alone. They required infrastructure, funding, and the kind of cold calculation that weighed lives against acceptable losses.

All things I didn't know how to handle just yet.

<<You'll learn, as will I.>>

Lev and Sorrel were cooking up a storm in the freshly kitted-out kitchen, and I was setting the table.

<<I don't like it,>> I admitted and sat at the table watching them.

<<The more I see of your world, some of the people… I don't like it too.>>

<<What do we do?>>

Mac hadn't come back. He was walking around the station with his parents, hopefully bringing them up to speed with everything we were, had been, and wanted to become.

<<As Thoman Lynx just said. We bring the bastards down.>>

<<Whatever it takes?>>

<<Yes, whatever it takes.>>

<<You can do that, keep detached.>>

Lia laughed then. <<Do you see where I am, what we're becoming together? No, I can't keep detached. But I will do as I must.>>

Mac had promised to be back for dinner, but that was over an hour ago.

"Smells good," I said, standing to peek into one of the pans.

"I know that's a lie," Sorrel replied, stirring something that looked suspiciously like protein ration packs with recycled vegetables.

"Fair point." I frowned. "I have to pretend."

"You don't need to pretend with us," Lev said, settling into one of the chairs. "Should I give him a knock?"

I looked toward the door. "Lia?"

A 3D holographic image materialized above the table—the trio were inside one of Dr. Chen's new lab spaces. Catherine moved through the converted laboratory with careful precision.

"We have audio if you'd like?" Lia asked.

"No, that would seem wrong," I said.

"Mac knows nothing is private in here, especially with me around."

"Still," I said. "There's a big difference between eavesdropping and being in the room."

Catherine's optical implant, barely visible unless you knew what to look for, was working hard. "What's she looking for?" I asked.

"Structural weaknesses and tactical advantages," Lev said without hesitation. "As professional as they come. The way his father moves. Damn, fine footwork there."

"Really?"

"You can see where Mac got it all from. Yes, very professional."

Thomas maintained the measured pace of someone accustomed to threat assessment, his fingers occasionally tapping like Mac did. They were evaluating us—not just our facility, but our capabilities, weaknesses, and potential value as operational assets.

What struck me was the way they didn't speak to each other at all.

"They can talk internally," Lia observed.

"I don't think they're even talking like that," Lev said.

Mac stood on one side of the room, and his parents on the other. The tension was evident in his stiff shoulders. His reconstructed features bore no resemblance to his parents, but seeing them together, the family connection was clear. They were family.

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"They're heading back," Sorrel announced, and snatched the spoon from Lev. "I'll get this dished up."

Ten minutes later, Mac entered with his parents in tow. They had both changed out of the crew uniform now into something smart but casual. As Catherine settled into her chair, I caught glimpses of something softer underneath. The way her eyes lingered on Mac's face, cataloging changes surgery couldn't hide. The subtle protective positioning that mirrored Lev's behavior around Sorrel.

"Dinner smells..." Thomas paused diplomatically.

"Terrible," Lev finished. "We know. Eat it anyway."

"I wasn't going to comment," Mac chuckled. "Can we sit, eat, and talk?"

Sorrel served the food, and to my surprise, placed a bottle of wine on the table.

"It's not that bad, but the wine will help," she added. "Peyton managed to burn water last week."

"Hey," I protested. "That's not entirely fair."

"Water doesn't burn," Catherine said automatically, then caught herself. "Unless you managed to electrolyze it first?"

"Plasma feedback from a damaged heating element," I admitted with a frown. "Turned the galley into a light show for about thirty seconds."

Thomas barked a laugh, and finally I saw the father shine through. "Robert had a talent for creative disasters himself when he was a child. Remember the chemistry set incident?"

"I was twelve," Mac protested, but his ears reddened. "And technically, the garage roof was structurally unsound anyway."

"Structurally unsound because you had already launched a model rocket through it the month before," Catherine added, reaching for the wine and pouring us all some. "Your father spent three days convincing the neighbors it was a gas leak explosion."

I watched Mac's posture shift, his hand unconsciously touching his jaw.

"The face changes," Thomas said quietly, also noticing the movement. "The boy underneath doesn't."

Sorrel and Lev served us all full plates of dinner. "It doesn't smell bad at all," Catherine added, taking her plate. "We're very grateful."

"You two work well together," Thomas observed as he tucked into his own food. "It is good, thank you."

"Professional efficiency," Lev replied, holding out a plate for me.

"I—"

"Eat," Sorrel said.

"Fine," I took the plate though was reluctant still.

"Eat," Catherine echoed.

"Do I also need to say it?" Lia added.

I picked up my spork. "No, I'm eating."

We settled in to eat, the casual banter good for us all, and the wine was soon gone.

I sensed a deeper evaluation happening, though.

<<You are correct. Two experienced operatives studying your team cohesion, loyalty, and pressure points,>> Lia confirmed.

When Lev opened a second bottle of wine, I refused the glass, but the others accepted. Mac's parents shared more than a few stories from his childhood—enough to paint a picture of the boy who'd become the man we knew. The funniest being when he snuck into classified briefings to ask about alien biology.

"Robert insisted on learning seventeen different languages, for emergencies," Thomas said, his pride truly showing.

I found myself studying their interaction with fascination and something deeper—envy, perhaps. The casual intimacy of shared history, inside jokes that spanned decades, the unconscious way they anticipated each other's words, or needs. It was everything I'd never had, everything Lia and I had tried to build from fragments and determination.

<<Observing family bonding patterns. Your cortisol levels indicate emotional stress.>>

<<Not stress,>> I replied. <<Recognition. This is what we're fighting to protect.>>

Dr. Chen appeared in the doorway, drawn by our voices and the smell of food, no doubt. "I trust I'm not interrupting a classified briefing?"

"Nothing classified about terrible cooking," Lev replied, but he pushed out a chair. "Though Sorrel's medical expertise might explain why we're all still alive."

"Barely," Sorrel added, checking her medical scanner as it registered our various stress levels. "Peyton's heart rate suggests either romantic anxiety or an impending neural episode."

"Just processing," I said, feeling heat rise in my cheeks. "Family dynamics are... complex."

"Your parents?" Catherine asked gently.

"Never knew them," I admitted.

Catherine nodded. "We're not normal parents, but we've had moments over the years. We are very proud of Robert and where he's ended up."

"Even if it's here?"

"Especially because he's here. It seems this is where things change our future for the better."

"Hear, hear," Dr. Chen agreed and stepped into the room to take the offered seat.

"Dr. Chen," Thomas said, standing to shake his hand. "Your work on neural interface adaptation is remarkable. We've read your papers on consciousness transfer and bioelectric compatibility."

"Classified work, mostly," Dr. Chen replied, shaking his hand before taking a plate of food from Sorrel. "Though I suspect you've read more than just the published versions."

"We've had considerable interest in adaptive neural architectures," Catherine confirmed. "Particularly after recent developments with artificial consciousness."

"Are you meaning me?" Lia asked over the ships general comms.

"Yes, very much—meaning you, Lia."

The conversation was dancing around Lia's existence without naming her directly. I felt her presence sharpen. Her awareness ready to withdraw if necessary.

"Speaking of neural research," Thomas continued, "this 'visit' wasn't just about seeing our son. We…"

"We have a job for you," Catherine said and looked to Sorrel, then Lev. "We're hoping that it's not out of your range of specific expertise."

"What is it?" Lev sat forward, focused on her every word.

"We have a colleague desperate for a shipment into the dark. Dr. Sarah Martinez on Kepler Station."

"She's been studying consciousness transfer in extreme environments." Catherine added. "Work that complements Dr. Chen and what's been happening with Peyton and Lia."

Dr. Chen's eyes lit up with genuine enthusiasm. "Sarah Martinez? I've followed her exobiology publications for years. Her theories about adaptive neural networks in exotic matter fields are revolutionary."

"She's been requesting advanced medical equipment for months," Catherine explained. "Standard shipping companies consider Kepler Station too remote and dangerous. But for an operation like yours..."

Catherine produced a different matte-black briefcase, setting it on the table.

"What is it?" I asked.

"Enough to put Ring-14 on the map." Thomas waved his hand around. "You've done wonders already, but this needs serious backing."

"A hundred and fifty million credits," Catherine added, locking eyes with Mac. "This is just what we can move immediately without triggering alerts. As you prove yourselves, we'll start transferring our real assets. Safe houses, equipment caches, the works."

"You knew this was coming?"

"We've been preparing for this war for decades," she said.

"Why now?" Mac asked.

"Why not now?" His father bounced back.

"We were the catalyst," Mac said. "Your personal funds though…"

I nearly choked on the last of my wine. "Personal funds?"

"It was our contingency, yes."

"That's why you had to come in person?"

"It was." Catherine leaned toward him, placing a hand on his arm. "This is non-traceable, anywhere."

"This is too much," I said.

"How much is Dr. Chen down for?" Thomas asked.

"That's…. not really relevant."

"One hundred and forty-nine million," he confirmed.

Catherin smiled. "Then we outmatched him just enough."

"There's a lot more where that came from," Thomas added. "We have several wealthy investors across the galaxy."

"But..." Sorrel's voice was barely a whisper. "We have to prove ourselves, right?"

"You already have," Catherine said firmly. "Every time you chose each other over easy money. Every time you risked everything for strangers. You've proven what you are."

"These funds aren't a loan," Thomas continued. "They're ammunition for a war we should have fought decades ago."

"We can get some serious upgrades for the ship," Lev said, but his voice carried uncertainty.

"You'll need more than upgrades," Thomas replied.

"Upgrades?" I thought the ship was the best of the best. Prototype?

"You're talking about your ship the Faulkner." Thomas's voice softened as he spoke her name. "Ashley Kuba's prototype. We know all about it—every bolt, every circuit, every dream she poured into those schematics."

My chest tightened. Ashley's name in his mouth felt like a violation.

"It's a beautiful ship," Catherine added gently. "But Ashley designed it as a proof of concept, not a warship. She always planned to build something bigger, more capable. The Faulkner was just... the first step."

That's why she was never worried about me taking it, it had served its purpose.

Ashley's excited voice echoed in my memory: "This is just the beginning, Piotr. Wait until you see what comes next."

The room tilted sharply.

There would be no next.

Not for her.

"Her father's been waiting," Thomas continued, oblivious to the devastation his words were carving through me. "The Kuba shipyards have been waiting for her final designs in secret. Ships that could end this war in months instead of years."

"Ships she'll never see," I whispered.

The silence that followed was deafening.

Lev set down his glass. "They really need this out there, don't they?"

"We all need this," Thomas said, his voice was heavy with years of buried grief. "Every parent who lost a child to the Academy. Every family destroyed by experiments. Ashley died believing her work would save people. We're going to make damn sure she was right."

Everything around me blurred. Ashley's face crashed through my defenses—her laugh when I'd fumbled the first docking sequence, her fierce concentration while coding new targeting algorithms, the way her eyes lit up when she talked about the future… but it hit me then, she never once said it would be together.

Not once.

It was almost as if she knew.

Tears cut down my cheeks before I could stop them. I shoved back from the table, the chair screeching against the deck.

"Piotr?" Sorrel's voice echoed from far away.

I couldn't breathe; I clawed at my neck, gasping. I couldn't think past the crushing weight of loss and responsibility of everything going on around me here. The terrible certainty that I was going to fail everyone who'd ever believed in me.

"I—" The words shattered in my throat.

"Piotr," Sorrel soothed. "It's okay, we're here, breathe for me."

"You loved her?" Catherine's question was impossibly gentle.

"I did," I managed, and saying it aloud broke something fundamental inside me. "She was... I wanted to… I wanted all of this with her..."

The sobs took me then, violent and raw. Sorrel's arms wrapped around me first, then Lev's, creating a fortress of warmth against the cold certainty that I'd never be enough to honor Ashley's memory.

"We've got you," Lev's voice was fierce with protective fury. "We've always got you. Do you understand that? Always."

I could barely hear him over the roar of grief and guilt.

"Please, help him." Lia begged them.

They were trying, but this hadn't hit me this hard, not since…

"I don't understand why she had to die," I gasped between sobs. "Why her and not me. Why any of it. I just—I can't—"

Lev's massive hands framed my face, I tried to look away, but he forced me to meet his eyes. "Listen to me," he said, his voice carrying the absolute certainty of someone who'd never lied to me. "You might not have known your birth family. Where you came from. But I'm telling you this now: You've got family. Real family. The kind that bleeds for each other. The kind that would burn the galaxy down to keep you safe."

Sorrel pressed closer, her own tears falling silently. Mac appeared beside him, his hands steadying us all.

When my legs gave way, they went with me. I should have been more professional, more…

I couldn't.

I let them hold me, let their comfort soothe my soul. The grief didn't disappear—it never would. But they made it survivable.

For Ashley. For all of them.

For the family I'd found in the ashes of everything I'd lost.

Trait Evolved: Chosen Family Acceptance [COMPLETE]

Trigger: Breaking down about Ashley and receiving unconditional team support

Function: Full acceptance that chosen family provides genuine emotional security

Status: "You've got family. Real family. A family that would do anything for you."

Eventually, my sobs subsided, and I patted Lev's arm. "Thanks man."

They helped me to stand, well wobble and I looked to the table. Catherine was tucked into her husband's side, and he was holding her tight. Even he now wore his emotions on his face.

"I'm sorry," I said. "It just…"

"Don't be," Thomas said as Catherine turned to face us, wiping at her eyes. "What you have been through, is nothing ever to be ashamed of."

Dr. Chen didn't know where to look, but he poured me some water.

"We do this for Ashley, and for Admiral Kuba," I said, raising my glass.

We clinked glasses. "To business," Thomas said.

Before I could even sit down again, Dr. Chen's communicator chimed softly. He glanced at it, then stood with obvious reluctance. "I'm sorry to interrupt, but Nyx needs me in Bay 7. Our new ship and crew requires immediate attention."

"The new ships' crew," Mac said quietly, his expression darkening. The emotional high of family reunion crashed back to reality—Forty-two people trapped in legal slavery because of their auction bid.

"Derek specifically requested to speak with whoever's in charge," Dr. Chen continued. "Apparently there are some complications with the ship's systems that weren't disclosed in the auction documentation."

I felt Thomas and Catherine's attention sharpen with professional interest. "Complications?" Thomas asked.

"Unknown at this time. But if we're going to resolve their... contractual obligations... we need to understand what we're actually dealing with."

I made to move, responsibility settling back on my shoulders. "I should handle this."

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