The virtual bridge projected Tacci Station in full panoramic detail with its sprawling lattice of docking arms and neon-lit flight corridors pulsing with activity. Ships from a dozen different races came and went in choreographed chaos, flashing ID markers and trade credentials like polite chaos theory.

  Unlike our last visit, when the arrival of multiple Todd-class ships had practically frozen local traffic, this time we barely earned a passing glance. No alarms. No panic. Just the standard automated greeting ping: Welcome to Tacci Station.

  Kel handled the incoming call with his usual flirtatious grace, flashing a roguish smile and dialing up the charm like it was a finely tuned frequency. The official on the other end—a blue-skinned humanoid with translucent antennae—barely reacted, their eyes drifting repeatedly to something off-screen as if the conversation was bothersome.

  "Clearance granted," the official droned, disconnecting the call mid-sentence.

  "I shaved for this," Kel muttered, running a hand over his smooth jaw, fingers lingering on the nick he'd earned trying to rush the process. A tiny red dot stood as a testament to his vanity and wanting to maintain his wild-man image as he had used a real blade instead of his grooming drone.

  Lynn let out a dry laugh, the sound echoing off the surfaces of the bridge. "No, you shaved because you were starting to look like a caveman."

  Kel frowned, rubbing his jaw. "A very handsome, rugged caveman."

  "You smelled like one too," Mira added from across the room, her nose wrinkling at the memory.

  The bickering continued, light and familiar. And for a moment, everything felt ordinary it was like we were just another ship, with just another crew, about to take on just another job. Almost like we belonged. Which I believe we did.

  The docking clamps engaged with a resonant thunk that vibrated through my hull. Lynn wasted no time as she was already halfway down the station's promenade with Kel and the kids in tow before the airlock had fully cycled. She'd scheduled a string of meetings, aiming to cash in our Telk rewards and lock in those reputation modifiers while they were still hot. Kel and the kids, on the other hand, had more important priorities: shopping, snacks, and what I assumed would be several hours of "accidentally" wandering into entertainment arcades.

  T'lish had opted to remain onboard, quietly immersed in her experiments. The soft hiss of her instruments and the occasional clicks of her claws against glass beakers created a soothing rhythm from the lab. She claimed the lab was quieter without Stewie poking at her samples or Mira trying to accessorize the analysis drones with what she called "personality upgrades."

  I could tell that the last comments were made in jest rather than annoyance.

  That left just Laia and me on the virtual bridge, sifting through the station's open newsfeeds. The rescue mission had made headlines across multiple networks with images of desperate refugees boarding ships flashing beside corporate logos and political commentary. It looked like John's little stunt had worked. NeuroGenesis was getting widespread credit for the 64% civilian survival rate on the war-torn planet. Laia seemed unsurprised, her holographic fairy form floating around slightly as she processed the data.

  What really caught my attention, though, were the smaller headlines buried deeper in the data stream: reports of a recent skirmish near one of the lawless areas. The attackers matched the profile of the mercenary ships that had ambushed us in the final encounter on the planet. Same description and everything.

  Apparently, John and the other Todds had found them.

  And from the sound of it, the mercs hadn't walked. The article was light on details, but the tone was clear: swift, brutal, efficient. Images of twisted metal and frozen bodies dotted the report, quietly censored but still telling enough.

  "Looks like John handled that unfinished business," I said, scrolling through the casualty reports, their names blinking red across my interface.

  The author's tale has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.

  We turned our attention back to local broadcasts, skimming through cultural segments, trade tips, and public station notices. I was looking for two things: a better understanding of the local species and somewhere I could go to expand my hull. If we were going to take on bigger jobs, I needed more room. More drones. More shielding. More everything. We could fabricate the parts but we needed real tradespeople to do the work. I have faith in my team for most tasks, but there are countless details you only discover through experience. That’s why I need a proper shipbuilder to help.

  The crew returned after only a few days, but in that time, I'd been anything but idle, receiving courier drones, sorting inventory, and receiving the Telk shipments Lynn had negotiated. A steady stream of pings flowed through my systems. Efficient. Satisfying. Almost relaxing. The soft pings of successful transactions created a pleasant background noise to my operations. It was the sound of progress.

  Lynn walked in first, visibly pleased with herself. She didn't say much, but her stride said everything. With the trade agreements secured, supplies topped off, and paperwork filed. In her language, that was a win. A barely contained smile played at the corner of her mouth. I could tell she was glad to be doing her job and being useful to the ship.

  Kel and the kids followed close behind, and they were... glowing. Literally. Each of them wore an alien suit made of some exotic light-based material that shimmered like a solid hologram. The effect was dazzling and just this side of ridiculous. Mira twirled, her suit casting prismatic patterns across the walls, while Stewie kept poking his arm and watching the ripples of light cascade through the fabric.

  Stewie couldn't wait to explain. "So, Kel spent lunch talking to this alien lady, who was super elegant, kinda floaty and she ended up making these for us. For free." His eyes were wide with excitement, pupils reflecting the glow of his new attire.

  "Grateful for the company, she had said," Mira added, trying to suppress a grin, elbowing Kel in the ribs hard enough to make him wince.

  I didn't say anything. I just made a quiet internal note. What kind of 'talking' gets you free advanced tech couture? Either way, I hoped it was a conversation worth remembering.

  All in all, the stop had been a success. We'd cleared out the cargo bay, topped off supplies, and now had over seven kilograms of Telk secured in the vault which was more than enough for a real upgrade or three. Lynn, ever the forward momentum of this operation, already had our next mission queued up.

  The next mission, at least on paper, looked refreshingly simple. The holographic display showed a debris field of the scattered remains of what appeared to be an old cargo convoy. It was one of the pieces of intel she had traded food for.

  Lynn dropped the holopad onto the table with a satisfied grin. “Alright, drones are on their way. Deposit’s paid.”

  I scanned the file she’d sent me. “Non-refundable?” I asked, raising a brow. “Feeling bold today?”

  “They’re reputable,” she said, waving off my concern. “Top marks across multiple Alliance factions. If they screw us, they lose far more than our measly 70grams of Telk.”

  Kel leaned over to peek at the screen. “So what’s the plan? Do we send them out with us?”

  “Not exactly.” Lynn tapped a few keys, pulling up the visual. “We find salvage, scan it,tag it, and the drones come back here with the location. Then a certified hauling company handles the pickup and arranges the payout. No towing, no storage, no headaches. We get a finder fee and percentage of the profits”

  Mira perked up. “So… we just clean it up and walk away rich?”

  Lynn smiled. “Exactly.”

  “Okay, but where’s the part where it all goes wrong?” Stewie asked, suspicious. “Because this sounds way too easy.”

  Lynn gave him a look. “Stewie, not every mission has to involve running from space monsters or getting shot at.”

  He folded his arms. “Every time someone says that, we get attacked by something with too many eyes.”

  “Then don’t say it,” I muttered, already pulling up the salvage coordinates.

  Laia chimed in softly. “Their logistical protocols are clean. I’ve verified their carrier schedules. The risk is minimal. You did well Lynn”

  Everyone was onboard with the mission.

  "This one should be easy," Mira said, already leaning back into her seat as if we were headed for a pleasure cruise. She propped her feet up on the console, her new light-suit casting a kaleidoscope of colors across the ceiling.

  "You had to say it," Stewie groaned, flopping dramatically into a chair. "You jinxed it. That's how the bug incident happened,” I had hoped he was wrong but I had to agree, Mira's statement felt like a flag.

  Kel grinned, his teeth flashing white against his tanned skin. "We survived the bugs, didn't we?"

  "Barely! We blew up a planet" Stewie mimicked an explosion.

  Laia raised an eyebrow, her holographic wings beating faster. “We didn’t blow up the planet, we caused a chained reaction in the upper atmosphere,” she said with a slight synthetic edge of AI precision.

  "Close enough to blowing up a planet," Stewie corrected, hand pressed to his heart with theatrical gravity. "The trauma lingers."

  I let the chatter play out in the background while I scanned the coordinates. Everything checked out it was marked as low conflict risk, moderate debris density, and no signs of hostile claim markers. For once, this really did seem like a quick, straightforward mission.

  I plotted our course. Hopefully a salvage run with no complications.