"You think you can handle it?" Mac said, immediately standing with me. "We've all been drinking."

"How bad can they be?" I asked.

Yeah, I would regret that, I knew it. I did, however, pick up Sorrel's glass and finish her wine. "Dutch courage," I said, and walked out. Back straight, mind on what was waiting for us.

<<Anything you can tell me?>> I asked Lia.

"Linking in Sorrel," she said.

Subject: Matt Webb

Cognitive Load: 127% (safe: ≤ 85%)

Neural Port Decay: Stage 4/5

REM Sleep Phase: 12%

EEG Drift: 18.4%

Neurovascular Pressure: ↑

Autonomic Pulse: 42 bpm (bradycardic)

Retinal Bloodflow: 63%

Risk: Interface Collapse in < 1 week

"That's really not good," Sorrel answered, quickening her pace.

"Matt's the worst case," Lia said. "Recommend full detachment and triage rehab as soon as possible."

"What about Captain Crai's brother?"

Subject: Derek Crai

Muscle Mass: 84% baseline

Calcification (Right Shoulder): 31%

Cortisol Load: Elevated

Peripheral Nerve Response: Latency ↑ 1.6×

Joint Stress Markers: Chronic

Adrenal Loadout: Borderline hyper

"Condition: Functional. But every system is compensating. He's functional for now."

Moments later, we were in Bay 7, the docking tube from their ship to our ship visible at the far end. The bay, well, it had been hastily converted into temporary quarters, with sleeping pods and basic sanitation facilities jury-rigged from station supplies. They'd done a lot in a few hours.

Lev coughed, slapping his chest. "That's got a bite to it," he said. "Lia, can you compensate?"

"We're circulating faster, we can compensate, don't worry. Miss Avast is bringing supplies from medical."

All forty-two pairs of eyes were on us as we walked closer—men and women ranging from early twenties to late fifties, all carrying the lean, wary look of people who'd learned not to trust. Their clothes were ship-standard coveralls, worn but clean, and several bore the callused hands and neural port scars of people who'd spent years interfacing directly with ship systems.

A man in his thirties stepped forward. Derek Crai. The family resemblance was subtle but unmistakable in the set of his shoulders and the calculating intelligence in his eyes. Unlike his sister's augmented features, Derek appeared baseline human, though the neural interface ports at his temple suggested extensive technical training.

"You're the ones who bought us, Frosts?" He asked without preamble. No accusation in his voice, just a flat statement of fact.

"We bought a ship," I replied carefully. "I didn't know about the crew obligations until your sister informed us."

Derek's laugh carried no humor. "Article 6 Indemnity. Standard repo language for salvage operations. Means you own our labor contracts until our debts are satisfied." He gestured to the group behind him. "Combined debt load is ₵22.2 million, accruing interest at twelve percent annually."

Thomas moved forward, though Derek stepped back. "Easy," I said. "We're on your side."

"We don't have a side," Derek said. "We're owned."

I looked at Mac. "Fucking hate that, can—"

Mac was shaking his head.

"How did you end up bonded to the ship?" Thomas asked.

"Corporate restructuring," Derek replied bitterly, eyeing the older man warily. "Merdan Shipping went bankrupt after losing three vessels to 'pirate attacks.' Those are the ships you have to fix, too, by the way."

"Noted," I replied.

"Turned out the attacks were Braker subsidiary operations."

"Brakers?" Lev growled.

"They started forcing smaller companies out of business, the easiest way to clear out systems, dominate the trading routes."

Catherine's expression hardened. "Asset seizure disguised as market forces."

"Exactly. When Merdan collapsed, their outstanding labor contracts were transferred to the ship as collateral. We had a choice. Accept bonded status or lose our certifications and face criminal charges for abandoning contracted positions."

A woman in her forties stepped forward. Dr. Maya Vasquez, according to the name tag on her coveralls. "I was Merdan's chief medical officer. Fifteen years of service, and they converted my pension obligations into debt when the company folded."

"Systems engineer. Matt Webb. They claimed my neural interface training was proprietary technology worth ₵180,000," added a younger man with the precise speech patterns of someone who'd spent years talking to ship AIs. "Made me responsible for 'training costs' when they seized the ship."

The pattern was clear—corporate manipulation designed to create a permanent labor force that couldn't escape its obligations. Legal slavery with the paperwork to make it legitimate.

"Peyton Tachim." I finally introduced myself. "This is Dr. Chen, whom you've already spoken to, these are all my business partners," I stalled on introducing the others, but Mac stepped forward hand outstretched. "Commander Mac Taves. My parents," he waved to his side.

"Thomas," he nodded at Derek, "My wife, Catherine."

"Chief of Security, Lev Vaytas."

No one else volunteered names, so I asked the real elephant in the room. "What's the real condition of the Manta-S?"

Derek's face shifted to something like respect. "You want the technical assessment or the diplomatic version?"

"Technical," Dr. Chen said immediately. "We need to know what we're working with."

Derek activated a portable hologram projector, displaying the ship's internal structure with maintenance overlays that painted a sobering picture.

"Navigation core is functional but outdated—at least eight years behind current standards. The jump drive has two failed components that we've been jury-rigging with salvaged parts. Life support is adequate for thirty people, marginal for thirty-five, and completely inadequate for the eighty-person crew capacity the ship was designed for."

The hologram highlighted system after system in yellow and red status indicators.

"Cargo handling mechanisms are mostly functional, but the magnetic containment fields fail approximately once every forty hours. We've been manually cycling them to prevent total system collapse."

"How bad is the 'jury-rigging'?" Lev asked with the professional interest of someone who understood the difference between creative maintenance and imminent system failure.

"Bad enough that we shouldn't be taking the ship out of dock without major repairs," Derek admitted. "The only reason we're still breathing is because Matt here has been pulling eighteen-hour shifts, keeping the life support algorithms from failing."

Stolen from its rightful place, this narrative is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

Matt nodded grimly. "Neural interface lets me stay connected to the ship's diagnostic systems continuously. Been doing it for six months. It's... not sustainable for us long-term."

"Continuous neural interface exposure?" Dr. Chen asked. "What's your cognitive load threshold?"

"Exceeded it about four months ago," Matt replied. "But somebody had to keep the ship running, and automated systems couldn't adapt fast enough to the failing components."

Sorrel stepped forward with her medical scanner already active. "You're risking permanent neural damage."

"Better than spacing," Derek said simply. "We're all risking permanent something to stay alive."

"The lab's set up here? Right?" Sorrel asked Dr. Chen.

"Yes, yes, of course." He looked at me. "May we?"

"Take them," I said. "Please, whatever you need."

"We can't pay for medical—" Matt started.

I held my hand up. "There are no medical costs with Frosts. Get checked out, take what you need. Eat and sleep."

"But—" Matt eyed me carefully. "What's the catch?"

I looked around the group, saw how desperate they were. "Only one catch." I smiled and listened to their collective sigh.

"What happens in Frosts, stays in Frosts. This is legally binding, and the only thing I'll ever ask of you. You never utter a word to anyone about what you see or do here."

"New contracts already sent," Lia spoke across our command channel.

"We have time to look it over?" Derek asked.

"Of course, now, go." Derek didn't move. "Don't you need medical?"

Derek was eyeing Thomas, who studied the holographic display. "Parents?"

Thomas's eyes brightened. "Yes," he replied. "Very proud parents."

"Not normal parents though?"

I coughed. "So, what would it take to bring your ship up to operational standards?"

He didn't take his eye off Thomas. "Depends on your definition of operational."

"I mean the bare safe minimum to survive."

"Basic reliability?" He said. "Maybe ₵800,000 in parts and six weeks of work. Full capability? More like ₵3 million and three months."

"And the crew?" I asked. "What are your skills beyond keeping the ship running?"

Derek glanced back at his people, some silent communication passing between them. "Maya's a trauma surgeon with neural interface specialization. Matt can interface with any ship system ever built. Liu over there can navigate through asteroid fields blindfolded. We've got engineers, medics, and pilots who have worked together for over a decade."

Dr. Vasquez added with quiet dignity. "We're a professional crew who've been trapped in an impossible legal situation."

The implications were becoming clear.

"There's something else," Derek continued, his voice dropping to something more serious. "The reason Captain Crai's been hunting you specifically."

"What do you mean?" Mac asked.

"She's been buying up bonded crews for Brakers," Matt said. "Offering to buy out labor contracts in exchange for exclusive service agreements. Legal slavery with better benefits."

"They're building a private fleet," Derek confirmed. "Ships crewed by people who can't quit, can't negotiate, and can't report what they see to authorities."

Catherine's training recognized the strategic implications immediately. "Untraceable operations. Perfect deniability."

"Captain Crai knows that if we disappear into Braker's recruitment pipeline, she'll never see us again," Derek said. "And forty-two more people become assets in a corporate war machine."

Thomas was already calculating tactical implications. "How many bonded crews have Brakers bought?"

"Unknown. But Matt intercepted communications suggesting at least sixty ships, possibly more."

The scope of what we were dealing with expanded again. Not just corporate competition, but systematic recruitment of enslaved labor for operations that couldn't be officially acknowledged.

"We can fix this," I said, though I wasn't sure how. "Your sister gave us twenty-four hours, but—"

"Forget my sister's timeline," Derek interrupted. "Braker's advance scouts reached this sector yesterday. Whatever you're planning, you need to accelerate it."

Dr. Chen looked between the crew and our group, his expression thoughtful. "With this crew, some hires in. Nyx could coordinate the ship repairs. And with proper medical support, we could restore Matt's neural interface function safely."

"They'd be an asset," Thomas said. "Their credentials are solid. Not a scratch on them."

"Squeaky clean?" Lev asked.

"Very," Thomas said, and Catherine was nodding.

"The contract…" Derek said. "This legit?"

"Lia?"

"You know me so well," she said. "Legitimate all the way."

"Straight out of the horse's mouth," I said.

"The others already agree, if you're sure you'll have us?"

I looked at Catherine. "You'd trust them with our ship systems?"

"Yes, I'd trust them with my son's life," she replied.

That was a hell of an endorsement. "Because that's what crew means, each of you has the lives of each other in their hands."

Derek studied my face for a long moment, then nodded slowly. "Then let's talk about what it'll take to make this ship actually worthy of your trust."

Twenty minutes later, we returned to the dinner table with a much clearer understanding of our situation. The bonded crew wasn't just a moral obligation—they were an asset if we could resolve their legal status and restore their dignity.

Sorrel and Dr. Chen hadn't returned, insisting they would stay with the crew for now. We did, however, leave those who needed it to rest.

"Dr. Chen will look after them," Lia said. "They're in good hands."

"I know," I replied. Then I turned on her. "What did you put in that contract?"

"You really want to know?"

Lev and Mac traded glances. "Yes," they said in unison.

"Well," she said. "I trusted my instincts, and I absolved them of their debt to us, to the ships."

"What?" Mac's face dropped.

"Huh," I said. "You took a gamble?"

"A real gamble," Catherine added.

"I trusted myself and my ability to read them."

"You felt they'd trust us more?"

"Their records are exemplary. It was all just bad timing."

"Or good timing for us, you think they'll really stick around?"

"After seeing what you're offering, the station, the doctor's care? Yes."

"I agree," Thomas said. "They'd see a good thing, but it certainly adds complexity to your operational picture."

"But also opportunity," Catherine added thoughtfully. "A skilled crew with legitimate grievances against Braker Corporation could provide valuable intelligence and operational support."

I poured myself another glass of wine, not taking a sip, a gulp. "We're building something that can challenge Braker's operations in full."

"Damn straight," Mac said. "The question is whether we can move fast enough to stay ahead of their recruitment efforts."

Lev settled back into his chair, already calculating logistics. "With Nyx coordinating repairs and the bonded crew's expertise, we could have the Manta-S operational within two weeks instead of six."

"Assuming we can secure the rest of the funds and materials," I said, looking at Thomas and Catherine.

Catherine smiled, reaching for the matte-black briefcase she'd brought. "I believe that brings us back to our business discussion." She set the briefcase down. As Lynx Corporation, we subcontract transport operations regularly. Dark sector runs, high-value cargo, discreet delivery schedules. The kind of work that builds reputation and revenue streams."

"But more importantly," Thomas added, "the kind of work that lets you establish legitimate trade routes while gathering intelligence on Braker operations."

The pieces clicked into place. Frost Enterprises could scale up rapidly under the umbrella of Lynx Corporation's established network.

"What's the catch?" I asked because there was always a catch.

"As said, you still need to earn your way," Catherine replied simply. "We can't hand out advanced technology or military-grade equipment to unproven assets. Some things you can buy with our funds, but others... If you want access to our resources, you need to demonstrate you can handle progressively complex operations. We trust you, but our partners, those who will also invest, don't. You need to earn that."

Thomas activated a holographic display showing shipping routes throughout the dark sectors. "First contract: medical equipment and research materials to Dr. Sarah Martinez on Kepler Station. Standard transport run, but it'll test your operational capabilities, and put you firmly on the map for everyone to see."

Mac studied the medical manifest. "That's an expensive haul."

"Yes, it is—it's worth about a quarter of what we just gave you."

"Approximately 50 million," Lev added.

"Indeed," Catherine said. "You know your medical costs."

"Wouldn't be where I am if I didn't."

"Dr. Martinez," Thomas interjected, "has been requesting these medical supplies for months, but standard shipping considers her station too remote and dangerous, and this haul can't get insurance."

At that cost, I wasn't surprised by that. I studied the route display. Kepler Station sat at the edge of Coalition space, surrounded by asteroid fields and electromagnetic anomalies that made navigation challenging. Perfect for testing our upgraded systems while building legitimate business relationships.

"What kind of medical equipment?" I asked.

"Neural interface hardware," Catherine said. "Bio-adaptive processors and genetic sequencing equipment. The kind of technology that's restricted in most sectors but perfectly legal for accredited researchers."

"Sarah has been working on something secret," Dr. Chen added, his eyes lighting up with scientific enthusiasm. "If I know her, though, whatever it is could revolutionize medical treatment for neural trauma."

<<Detecting elevated interest in consciousness transfer research. Recommend extreme caution regarding data security,>> Lia warned privately.

<<Noted,>> I replied. <<But this could also advance our understanding of AI consciousness integration.>>

"The transport contract also covers fuel, and pays ten million credits in profit," Thomas continued. "Successful completion opens access to higher-value runs and upgraded ship systems."

Lev leaned forward, suddenly very interested. "What kind of upgrades can't a hundred and fifty million buy?"

"The Faulkner could still use enhanced fighters, military-grade sensors, and better defensive countermeasures," Catherine listed with the precision of someone who'd equipped covert operations for decades. "The tools you'll need to compete with Braker Corporation's advantages. Come with respect and money. Lots of money."

"There's another benefit," Mac said quietly. "While we're building legitimate business relationships, Braker Corporation is losing theirs. Coalition military contracts are under review after the Nyx security breach."

"Exactly," Catherine confirmed. "They're scrambling to maintain credibility while searching for you four. This gives us time to establish Frost Enterprises as a viable alternative with the technology we have also been working on."

Thomas produced a second briefcase. He opened it and turned it to Lev first. This one contained what looked like military-grade communication equipment: Encrypted channels, military-grade δ-Wave arrays, and access to Lynx Corporation's intelligence network. You'll know about Braker operations before they happen."

"Holy shit, this is tier one stuff," Lev breathed. "I couldn't even guess the cost."

"Now you know why you need more money," Thomas said. "Understand?"

Lev nodded. "I've only ever seen tech like this on one ship."

"It's yours." Thomas slid it closer to him.

"Yes, Sir."

"This is just way too much—" I started.

"Please, you are with our son," Catherine said. "We would be terrible parents if we didn't give him the best of the best, while allowing him room to make his own path."

Mac blushed, but was nodding. "Thank you."

"We will have to ship out as soon as possible," Thomas warned. "We might have escaped some eyes, but there are others about. We can't stay here—we must get back to our ship as soon as we can. Before we're missed, and they try to trace us."

"I know," Mac said. "We'll get you to the next available port to move."

"Already?" I asked.

"I put them at risk," Mac said. "But staying away longer than necessary puts all of us at risk. We can't afford anyone to know Frost's origins, not yet."

The scope of what they were offering began to sink in.

"We're really going to war, aren't we?" I asked.

Sorrel put a hand on my arm. "We are. We need to be a lot, lot bigger."

"How big are the Brakers?" I asked.

"You mean he doesn't know?" Thomas asked, surprised.

"Not really," Mac said.

"Okay, before we go further," Catherine said, "we need to discuss the strategic landscape. Bring Peyton up to speed."

"Agreed," Thomas said, connecting his wrist device to the communication unit.

"Braker Corporation isn't just a corporate rival. They're a threat to Coalition stability."

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