PoV: Lynn

  Life had a way of pulling the rug out from under you, especially when you were already flat on your back.

  The day the Keltar ship exploded, I thought it was over. Everything. Gone. I could’ve blamed Kel—hell, I almost did. But the truth is, I still don’t know if he messed up, or if the Keltar laid the trap themselves to take out a competitor.

  Didn’t matter. Our parents had to sell the ship, the inventory, everything just to keep the family out of prison. Me and Kel? We took what was left. That rusted salvager unit we’d learned to walk on and set out to pay the debt back. Make up for our mistake.

  I never thought it was realistic. 100 kilograms of Telks was a dream.

  And yet, here I was. Standing in a government agency lobby, trying not to yell at a smug receptionist with too much lip gloss and too little authority.

  “I’m sorry, miss,” she said for the third time, her voice syrupy but brittle. “But I’m not authorised to release payment for that mission.”

  I kept my tone steady, firm. “We have registration as an independent ship. The mission was listed as open to slipstream-capable freelancers. We accepted. We completed it. Here's the evidence.”

  She barely glanced at the datapad. “Yes, it does appear to be in order… but the mission is flagged obsolete in the system.”

  “Obsolete,” I echoed, slowly. “You’re telling me we risked our lives for a mission you’ve archived?”

  Her polite smile didn’t budge. “I don’t make those decisions.”

  I might’ve caused a bit of a scene after that. Security showed up, and instead of dragging me out, they brought me into a private room.

  That’s when I saw Kel across the waiting area. He caught my eye, and then gave me a quick nod. The silent signal. Make the play. I’ll back you.

  So I did.

  The manager who met me was middle-aged, tired-looking, and clearly not used to fielding people like me. He tried the same song and dance, until I laid out the data in front of him with a flat stare.

  “We both know this mission was marked obsolete after we entered the system. That’s not on us,” I said. “But if I don’t walk out of here with something in hand, I can make a lot of noise about sending freelancer ships into death zones. Maybe not now, but give it a few hours and I’ll have three newsfeeds screaming for answers.”

  He blinked at that. Then, without a word, he tapped into his own terminal, accessing what I assumed was higher clearance.

  He skimmed through the mission log, paused, and then leaned back. “You came back from that system?”

  I gave him a flat smile. “Diplomacy.”

  Kel would eat that word up and strut around the ship for days on the high of it. Even if he didn’t do anything. What I didn’t say was that our ship pilot and a fairy-shaped alien AI had cooked up forged data and a smile convincing enough to pass the Confederation’s filters but it would send them into a trap.

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  Laia had warned me not to tell Lazarus about that part. Said he was too soft-hearted.

  I believed her.

  Honestly, I suspected she knew more about everything than she ever let on. The wings, the glow—it was all part of the act. That “cute little helper” routine didn’t fool me anymore.

  Eventually, the manager authorised the payout.

  He even helped set up a local exchange fund. My guess? It was easier for him to convert most of it into system credits than hand over the full kilo of Telk.

  Still, 880 grams were delivered straight to the Lazarus.

  The next stage was proper freelancer identification. Now that we had a mission under our belt and the payout to prove it. We shouldn’t have a problem.

  I watched from a distance as Kel turned on the charm. The receptionist barely stood a chance. He leaned just enough on the counter to look casual, smiled like he’d rehearsed it in a mirror, and complimented her datapad manipulation skills and the way her hands moved.

  Five minutes later, he came strolling back, ID chips in hand and a smug grin on his face. “Bit of a smile goes a long way,” he said, handing me mine plus some change. The smug bastard had somehow got us a discount.

  Typical Kel.

  Behind us, the kids—well, Stewie was more of a young adult, but we’d all started calling him a kid because Lazarus did—looked like they’d just stepped into a dream.

  Mira couldn’t stop pointing things out to Stewie, wide-eyed and breathless.

  “Look! That tree has lights in it!”

  “Stew, that person has a tail!”

  “This sky looks fake, doesn’t it?”

  They’d never been on a planet before. Never walked with gravity underfoot that wasn’t artificial. Their awe was pure, unfiltered. It reminded me of when our cousins visited from the inner belt when we were kids with eyes wide, questions constant, the kind of wonder that made you slow down and see things again.

  Kel had clearly taken a liking to them too. He walked just a bit ahead, casting warning looks at anyone who stared too long. The kids stood out with their clothes mismatched, eyes darting, clinging to each other like they might vanish into the crowd.

  But who could blame them?

  I caught a whisper as we passed by a fountain. Mira’s voice, soft and full of gratitude.

  “Thanks for making me stowaway on Mr Lazarus.”

  She didn’t see Stewie smile, but I did.

  They didn’t realise how lucky they’d been. Most ships would’ve spaced them on principle. Lazarus? He’d built them a life support system and I heard he even read Mira bedtime stories through the comms.

  The shopping trip… I’ll admit, I may have gone a little overboard.

  It wasn’t my fault. I hadn’t been in a shop with this kind of stock or a budget this big—ever.

  Laia reassured me before we left. “Lazarus won’t mind,” she’d said in that sweet, all-knowing voice of hers. “His goal is to see you all happy.”

  Still, it felt absurd.

  A hundred grams of Telk was enough for a family to survive a year. And we were spending that—on tools, on books, on food and clothing.

  Stewie picked out a proper toolset with holo-instructions for nearly every major ship system. His eyes lit up like he’d been handed keys to the universe.

  Mira filled an entire cart with cooking gear and non-perishables, hovering between each aisle like she couldn’t believe it was real.

  I got myself clothes that fit for once with soft fabrics and tailored lines also picked up a few holo-books on negotiation and the secrets of interstellar trade.

  Kel?

  A make-up droid. Of course. And two fashionable suits that made him look like a diplomat out of an old holovid. He also grabbed a few historical volumes, trying to pretend he hadn’t been eying them the entire time.

  Of course, I got carried away dressing up the kids, but clothes were important. I think I almost made Mira try on the whole shop. The assistant was going to shoo us away until she saw how much we were buying.

  As we walked back to the docking terminal, bags in hand and grins we couldn’t hide, I found myself smiling.

  I knew I shouldn’t because this had all come off the back of our worst day.

  But if that cursed Keltar ship hadn’t exploded… I wouldn’t be here.

  Wouldn’t have met these people.

  Wouldn’t have found a ship that cared.

  It was, somehow, the best thing that ever happened to us.