Eli wriggled forward on his stomach, the warm bulk of the reactor's outer containment wall pressing against his back while the ship's inner paneling grazed his chest. The crawlspace was narrow, tight enough that his elbows scraped against pipe and cable as he moved. The faint scent of ionized metal mixed with the staleness of recycled air hung in the space — a smell Eli always found nauseating, yet oddly comforting. A thin sheen of sweat clung to his face and neck, despite the low shipboard gravity making every motion slightly easier. It was the heat there in the maintenance tunnels — unforgiving, radiating off the thick conduits and electro-mechanical components that gave the ship its life.

  He paused, multi-meter gripped awkwardly in one hand while he fished for the fraying wires he needed to test. "Come on, you little bastard," he muttered, his voice drowned out by the reactor's omnipresent hum. It was a sound he'd grown accustomed to over years of work — steady, deep, resonant, like the beating heart of the massive arkship itself. A heartbeat he and countless other engineers were tasked with maintaining, one diagnostic at a time.

  He allowed himself a moment to lie still, the cramped space pressing in like a cocoon. It was moments like these, oddly enough, that he enjoyed most about his job. Sure, the tight confines were claustrophobic at times, and he'd leave his shift with sore knees and bruised arms more often than not. But there was something satisfying about it, despite the solitude and occasional boredom. There, in the stillness, it was easy to forget the chaos outside — the hum of the ship, the endless demands, the voices over comms. Just him, his tools, and the quiet reassurance that his work mattered. Not glamorous work, but vital.

  The NSB Starside Protocol was more than a ship. It was a world of its own — a city flying through the void. Millions of humans and their alien allies called it home, packed into its labyrinthine levels, from the plush executive suites to the bare-bones crew quarters. It was the pride and joy of the Galactic Sapients Coalition; the vessel was immense, kilometers in length, its sprawl partitioned into districts and sectors that operated like autonomous neighborhoods. And in the center of it all, buried deep beneath layers of steel, shielding, and composite armor, was the reactor Eli now found himself prodding.

  The ship's engineers, like himself, often joked that they weren't maintaining a reactor — they were feeding the hungry god at the heart of the ship. Every wire spliced, every module replaced, was a prayer to keep it running. If the "god" ever faltered, the lights of this sprawling city would blink out. Permanently.

  He traced the pair of misbehaving cables he'd been sent to find, their insulation slightly cracked from thermal stress. It was a simple repair — a splice, some reinforcement, a quick diagnostic to ensure stability. Not exactly brain surgery, but enough to keep the god content for another shift.

  As he worked, his mind drifted to the end of his shift. A shower, maybe some food from the local tavern — and then he'd crash into his bed, muscles sore, body exhausted, the dull throb of a full day's labor still lingering in his joints. He could almost feel the cool sheets as he imagined sinking into them, the weight of the ship's constant energy fading away, replaced by the quiet that only came when you were finally off the clock.

  Eli sighed, adjusting the multi-meter's leads. "Ship this size, you'd think they'd automate this stuff by now," he grumbled to no one in particular. But he knew why they didn't. The Starside Protocol wasn't just a technological marvel — it was a political one. Keeping its millions of inhabitants alive required more than just machines; it required trust, labor, purpose. People needed jobs. Even if it meant crawling into spaces like this one, tools in hand, swearing softly as they fought against heat, gravity, and the ever-present annoyance of middle management breathing down their necks.

  "Routine," he muttered, pushing the thought aside as he clipped the repaired wires back into place. The hum of the reactor never changed — it never would. And despite the heat, the confinement, the countless small frustrations of the work, Eli smiled. Because that hum meant everything was still running.

  He had just clipped the final wire into place and was double-checking his multi-meter's readings when a familiar chime buzzed in his earpiece; clear, bright, and distinctly unnatural. He froze, muscles instinctively tensing as he braced for the voice he knew was coming.

  "Reactor Engineer Eli Ward," it intoned, its voice an unsettling blend of human warmth and digital precision. "Do not adjust your position."

  The multi-meter slipped from his fingers, clattering softly against the reactor casing. The crawlspace suddenly felt even smaller. He swallowed hard, his pulse quickening despite his best efforts to remain calm.

  "Yes, Captain Roberts," he managed, keeping his voice steady. "Everything alright?"

  There was a brief silence, followed by the faintest whisper of static. Then came the reply, calm yet looming: "The average rate of dust accumulation inside this crawlspace is 0.043 grams per hour, assuming a standard thermal exchange rate and the absence of sustained vibration."

  Eli blinked, his tension evaporating in the face of the eccentric comment. "Uh… noted," he said cautiously, unsure where this was going. The Captain had a reputation for tangents, but the logic — if there was any — usually revealed itself eventually. "I'll... make sure to clean up while I'm here."

  "Incorrect," Jean Roberts replied instantly. "You will instead retrieve the orange insulation clip located one point seventeen meters directly behind your left knee. It was dislodged during the diagnostic process."

  Eli twisted awkwardly, already accustomed to how precise the Captain could be about these things. Sure enough, his hand found the clip lodged in the narrow crevice behind him. He squinted at it. "Got it. Doesn't look like it's damaged."

  "Excellent," the Captain said, its tone softening with a bizarre semblance of satisfaction. "Place it in your right pocket and exit the crawlspace. Avoid brushing against the reactor casing when doing so. A small residue has begun accumulating along surface 33-Beta."

  Eli frowned. The Captain often gave instructions that seemed pointless in the moment, but he'd learned not to question them too much. Following orders had saved him more times than he cared to count. "Understood," he said, carefully tucking the clip away.

  The Captain's voice grew quieter, as though leaning in for a conspiratorial whisper — a ridiculous notion, given it could monitor every space on the ship simultaneously. "The first door in the adjacent maintenance corridor will refuse your access due to an invalid swipe. Proceed to the second door. There, you will encounter an individual requiring the contents of your pocket. Render it to them immediately."

  Eli's brow furrowed. "Wait, who am I handing this to? And what are they—?"

  "Goodbye, Reactor Engineer Eli Ward," the AI said pleasantly, cutting him off as a chime signaled its abrupt departure.

  Eli groaned softly, dragging a hand down his face. It was always like this with the Captain. No explanation, no context — just riddles and commands. Yet somehow, everything it suggested always worked out, even if it left his head spinning. He gathered his tools and began shimmying backward out of the crawlspace, muttering to himself.

  "First door won't open, second door, someone needs an insulation clip..." His voice trailed off as he braced himself for the inevitable strangeness to come.

  Eli wriggled backward out of the crawlspace, boots scraping against the warm metal until his head popped free into the broader maintenance bay. He sighed, grateful for the slight drop in temperature and the space to finally stretch his legs. The bay hummed with life, its walls adorned with arrays of pipes and conduits that wove upward like the veins of some great beast. Overhead, faint shafts of artificial light filtered down through grates, giving the illusion of a hazy afternoon sun.

  He slung his multimeter into his tool bag and adjusted his earpiece, replaying the Captain's instructions in his head. The crawlspace behind him clanged shut, sealing away the throbbing hum of the reactor core. The sharp scent of grease and hot metal hung in the air as he moved through the hall, and for a moment, it was easy to imagine this was all there was to the ship: endless security doors, glowing panels, and the never-ending thrum of machinery in cramped corridors.

  Then he stepped through the final threshold, and the world opened up.

  The transition struck him, as it always did, like a breath of fresh air. Despite being deep in the heart of a spaceship, the corridor ahead could have been a street carved into the heart of a thriving colony. The hum of the ship softened, blending with the buzz of voices and the occasional burst of laughter. Narrow, apartment-like structures clung to either side, their walls alive with color — awnings of every shade and flowering hydroponic planters spilling blossoms and herbs. Overhead, vines dangled from modular trellises, the green so vivid it seemed to glow against the cold steel backdrop. Eli paused, letting his gaze wander, and for a moment, the weight of the reactor, the tools, and the endless tasks ahead melted away.

  This part of the ship was always busy, the constant motion of people — crew members, residents, and the occasional alien delegate — filling the air with a rhythm that made the massive vessel feel alive. Eli took it all in as he weaved through the throngs of passers-by, slowly making his way toward the maintenance corridor doors.

  He rounded a corner, bypassing an open square where children darted around the towering legs of an alien merchant's kiosk. The vendor — a Pothon, towering and ungainly, with hands twice the size of a human's and tipped with four blunt fingers — leaned over their display of steaming, pungent street food. Where a head might have been, a rippling crest of green and gold leaves swayed gently, meticulously trimmed and glistening with dew. The air was thick with a briny, metallic tang as the Pothon adjusted their goods with surprising delicacy, their massive hands moving as though accustomed to crafting fine details. Eli wrinkled his nose but couldn't help smiling. Moments like these, when the ship felt less like a machine and more like a city, reminded him why he'd joined the crew. It wasn't just about keeping the reactor humming — it was about helping to keep this living city alive.

  To his chagrin, though, the illusion of the city was fleeting. A few steps later, the hum of life gave way to the sterile quiet of the next maintenance corridor. This one was a far cry from the deep pipe-tunnels Eli was working on just before; the stretch of featureless gray was only punctuated by harsh fluorescent lighting and rows of heavy doors. As predicted, his keycard beeped red against the first door's scanner. He rolled his eyes. "Thanks for the heads-up, Captain," he muttered, moving to the second door. This one slid open with a soft hiss.

  Inside, the air was quieter, cooler. The narrow hallway stretched ahead, lit by dim emergency lights. It smelled faintly of ozone and oil, though the familiar scent was somehow comforting to Eli despite its nauseating nature. Halfway down the hall, a figure stood silhouetted against the erratic glow of some flickering, malfunctioning lights.

  "Kayla Voss," Eli guessed aloud as he approached. She was tall, with sharp features framed by a mess of auburn curls barely restrained by a loose braid. Her coveralls were streaked with grease, a diagnostic pad clutched in one hand. She looked up, her sharp green eyes narrowing slightly before recognition softened her expression.

  "Eli?" she asked, her tone brisk and tinged with urgency. "Oh, Dammit!", she said as her pad beeped angrily at her. "You don't happen to have an -"

  "- insulation clip?" Eli interrupted as he fished the orange clip out of his pocket and proffered it to her.

  Kayla blinked. "You... huh?"

  Eli continued, unable to resist a grin. "It's like the Captain knew you'd need it," he said, holding the clip out.

  Kayla's eyes flicked between the clip and his face, suspicion quickly replacing her surprise. "The Captain?" she echoed. "Jean Roberts? The AI?"

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  "Yeah," Eli replied, nodding his head with a small smile. He'd had this conversation with other crew members before. "He pinged me while I was fixing a power issue in the crawlspaces. Told me to grab this for someone in the second corridor. That's you, I guess."

  Kayla snatched the clip from his hand, her mouth twisting into something between a grimace and a smirk. "Of course it did," she muttered, snapping the clip into place on the exposed wiring she was repairing. The diagnostic pad in her hand beeped once, then twice, before switching to a steady green light. She exhaled and muttered, "Finally."

  Eli leaned against the wall, watching her finish the repairs. "Not a fan of the Captain's omniscient act?" he asked.

  Kayla turned to face him fully, wiping grease from her hands onto her coveralls. "It's not that," she said carefully. "I know it's smart — hell, smarter than all of us combined. But doesn't it ever... unnerve you? The way it always knows exactly what to say? Who to talk to? Like it's playing some four-dimensional chess none of us even know we're part of?"

  Eli shrugged. "Sometimes," he admitted. "But he hasn't steered me wrong yet. Creepy or not, he's keeping the ship running just fine, right?"

  Kayla huffed out a laugh, crossing her arms. "Fair point. I just wish it'd explain itself once in a while. Instead of all the cryptic 'just do this and trust me' nonsense."

  "Where's the fun in that?" Eli said, grinning.

  Kayla rolled her eyes but didn't reply. Instead, she turned back to her tablet, her fingers flying over the pad as she ran a final diagnostic. Eli let the silence linger for a moment, letting his gaze wander down the corridor. The muted hum of the ship filled the space, steady and constant, faintly matching the reactor's heartbeat.

  Just as Eli was about to excuse himself, his earpiece chimed again. The Captain's voice returned, smooth and measured, yet with a peculiar warmth that made it almost sound... pleased.

  "Reactor Engineer Eli Ward. Kayla Voss has now averted a cascade systems failure due to your timely intervention. Efficiency of local life-support systems has been restored to 100%."

  Kayla stiffened at the sound of the Captain's voice in her own earpiece. Her eyes flicked to Eli, who simply gave her a knowing look as if to say, "Told you so".

  "However," the Captain continued, "Kayla Voss will require further assistance in Tertiary Maintenance Hub 14 for the next 37 minutes. Proceed there immediately. Bring her with you."

  Kayla let out an incredulous laugh. "Wait, what? I haven't even finished this job yet!"

  The Captain's voice didn't falter. "Your presence is required. Time is critical. You may complete your current assignment after this intervention."

  The line went silent before Kayla could argue, leaving her staring at Eli with wide eyes and her jaw half-open.

  "Well," Eli said after a beat, "looks like I'm not done helping you today." He gestured toward the far end of the corridor. "Shall we?"

  Kayla shook her head, muttering under her breath as she grabbed her tools. "Damn AI thinks it owns the place…"

  "He does own the place," Eli pointed out cheerfully, earning a glare from her as they started down the corridor together.

  True to the Captain's word, the task took exactly thirty-seven minutes. Kayla timed it to the second, glancing at her diagnostic pad every few minutes with a theatrical groan.

  "Five minutes left to save the galaxy, Ward," she said, prying out a wad of foil wrappers from the machine's internal mechanism.

  Eli chuckled, his sleeves rolled up as he realigned the dispensing motors. "Don't underestimate the Captain, Voss. This machine could be the key to keeping morale intact."

  "Oh, absolutely," she shot back, yanking another jammed piece loose. "Without chocolate bars, who knows what kind of chaos could erupt?"

  By the time they finished, the machine gave a triumphant chime, and a quick test determined everything was back in working order. Kayla checked her timer, smirking. "Thirty-seven minutes on the dot. I'd say you owe me a drink for putting up with this."

  Eli slung his tool bag over his shoulder. "Funny you should mention that. I was going to suggest we stop by the tavern once the shift's over. Mick's working tonight."

  Kayla grinned despite her earlier frustration. "Alright, but if Mick starts one of his trivia lectures about alien history, I'm walking out."

  The Oakcrest Tavern was a small but lively spot tucked into the heart of what constituted the ship's commercial sector. Its walls were plastered with mismatched memorabilia: rusted tools, faded posters, and neon signs in both human and alien languages. A soft amber glow bathed the space, and the hum of conversation mixed with the clinking of glasses. Behind the bar, Mick moved with mesmerizing precision, shifting seamlessly between stances as the moment demanded — sometimes perched upright on two limbs while four manipulated bottles and glasses, and other times balanced on four legs with two free "hands" deftly flipping switches on the battered old jukebox. When seated behind the bar, all six limbs worked in concert, polishing glasses, pouring drinks, and gesturing animatedly at his patrons, a whir of energy that made the small Pihi bartender impossible to ignore.

  "Mick!" Eli called as they entered.

  The Pihi bartender perked up instantly, his bright feathers catching the warm light. "Ward! Voss!" Mick chirped, his beak clicking in delight as he spotted them. "About time you two showed up. Lemme guess—long day, cryptic Captain orders, and now you're here for my unparalleled hospitality?"

  "Spot on, Mick," Eli said as they slid onto the stools at the bar. "The Captain sent us to fix a vending machine jam. It was a life-or-death situation."

  "Snacks are sacred," Mick said solemnly, expertly pouring three drinks at once. "Never underestimate their power."

  Kayla smirked. "Well, if anyone understands that, it's you. What've you got for us tonight, Mick?"

  He leaned in, his feathered head tilting mischievously. "You're in luck. Just got my hands on a new Pihi-til fruit distillate. It's got a kick like a plasma coil and goes great with citra ice." He slid two glasses toward them, their contents a swirling golden-orange liquid that sparkled faintly. "Try it."

  Eli picked up the glass, sniffing it cautiously. "This smells dangerous."

  "Dangerously delicious," Mick corrected. "Come on, try it."

  Kayla took a sip first, her eyebrows shooting up in surprise. "Okay, that's actually... really good."

  "Told you," Mick said, his feathers puffing slightly with pride. He clicked his beak and began cleaning a glass with one of his free hands. "So, what else is new? Captain keeping you busy?"

  Eli chuckled. "That's one way to put it. He always knows just enough to keep us guessing."

  "I swear it's messing with us," Kayla added, gesturing with her glass. "Fixing a vending machine because it 'needed to be done' felt like a joke. But then, of course, it worked out perfectly." she said. Then, after a pause, she muttered, "I guess I could have used the break, anyway..."

  Mick trilled a laugh, flipping a cocktail shaker dramatically before catching it. "That's the beauty of it, isn't it? You humans love your mysteries. Just embrace it."

  "Easy for you to say," Kayla muttered. "You're not stuck crawling through reactor guts on its whim."

  Mick leaned across the bar, lowering his voice conspiratorially. "You think the Captain's cryptic? You should hear the Pihi-til elders back home. Every sentence is a puzzle wrapped in metaphor."

  Eli grinned. "And yet, somehow, you turned out like this."

  "Don't let my charm fool you," Mick said, spinning a drink into a flourish before setting it down for another patron. "I'm an enigma."

  Kayla laughed, shaking her head. "Sure you are, Mick."

  The evening wore on, and the trio settled into their usual rhythm. Eli leaned back in his stool, savoring the last of the fruity Pihi liquor, feeling the warmth of the alcohol spread through his chest. It wasn't the best drink he'd ever had, but there was something satisfying about it after a long, hard day at work.

  Kayla, still cradling her glass, let her gaze drift around the bar. A soft, unguarded laugh escaped her, warm and uncharacteristically genuine, the kind of laugh that came only after a few drinks. "You know, Mick," she said, her voice light, "you've really outdone yourself tonight. If we make it through the next shift, I'll be singing your praises all over the ship."

  "Praise is good," Mick chirped, polishing a glass with exaggerated flair. "But a tip's better."

  Kayla snorted, and Eli grinned. Mick had perfected the art of keeping things light, of turning every moment into a small performance. He was the kind of bartender who made you feel like you were the only customer in the room, even when the bar was packed. It was a gift.

  "Alright, alright," Eli said, setting his glass down and pulling his tool bag closer to his feet. "We'll get you a good tip. Just keep it down when the trivia starts."

  Mick chuckled, flipping a bottle into the air and catching it effortlessly. "Oh, I'll keep it low key. No alien history lectures tonight, I promise."

  Kayla rolled her eyes. "I don't know. Those lectures have their moments. Who knew the Pothon invented the first space elevator?"

  "Okay, I admit, that was interesting," Eli said with a grin. "But you'll never convince me that wasn't just an excuse for Mick to show off his encyclopedic knowledge of obscure alien civilizations."

  "Oh, I have a gift," Mick said with mock seriousness, "and I'm happy to share it with all my favorite regulars."

  Kayla shot Eli a sideways look, her green eyes glinting with mischief. "Did I hear 'favorite regulars'?" she teased, her voice light but with an edge of warmth that made Eli pause. "Pretty sure we're his only regulars."

  Eli leaned forward, dropping his voice into a mock-accusatory tone. "Hey, we've been loyal patrons. Some of us more than others," he added, his eyes flicking toward Kayla with a playful smirk.

  She rolled her eyes again, though her lips quirked in a subtle, knowing smile. "I'm sure your loyalty is much appreciated," she said, her voice a little too sweet.

  Eli didn't respond immediately, and for a moment, the quiet hum of the Tavern filled the space between them. Mick, sensing the shift in tone, gave them a knowing look and busied himself behind the bar, leaving the two of them in an odd, brief silence.

  Kayla cleared her throat and looked back up at him. "You're right, though," she said, her tone returning to its usual ease. "We've had our fair share of weird assignments, but this one? The vending machine? That was a new one."

  Eli let out a soft chuckle. "Yeah. Of all the things I thought I'd be called in for today, I did not expect to get sent on a snack rescue mission."

  "Snack rescue," Kayla repeated, shaking her head, her lips twitching. "I think that's what they call 'peak life-support' right there."

  "Hey, if the Captain's right," Eli said, leaning back in his stool and crossing his arms, "if the vending machine breaks down, morale could plummet. Complete chaos."

  "I don't know if I'd go that far," Kayla said, her voice laced with dry amusement. "But sure, let's go with life support." She gave him a sideways glance, her expression thoughtful, and for a brief second, their eyes met and held.

  Before he could say anything more, Mick came back over, his beak clicking as he adjusted the volume on the jukebox. "So, what'll it be?" he asked, voice full of mischief. "Another round, or do I need to cut you off before the next chapter in 'Captain's Orders' begins?"

  Kayla chuckled, her shoulders relaxing as she shifted her attention to Mick. "Another round sounds perfect, actually. We're both off duty until tomorrow."

  "Nothing like a drink to make the next shift seem less daunting," Eli added, leaning back again with a half-smile.

  Mick poured them both another round of the Pihi fruit liquor and slid them across the bar, a wide, knowing grin on his face. "Tomorrow's shift's already looking better with you two on it. Let's see if I can't make this one just as smooth as the last." He handed Eli his glass, his voice dropping into a more conspiratorial tone. "And if you two happen to end up getting stuck in another crawlspace together, I won't say a word."

  Kayla snorted into her drink, eyes narrowing in mock suspicion. "You're awful, Mick."

  He winked. "It's a gift, Voss. Just like my unparalleled knowledge of alien snacks."

  Eli raised his glass, joining in the playful banter. "To the Captain, who somehow knows exactly when we need a snack break."

  "And to Mick," Kayla added with a grin, "who makes sure we don't die of boredom."

  The wintry sun barely crested the horizon, bathing the camp in faint silver light as Eli knelt by a large, flat rock Oreo had found suitable to work on. His breath puffed out in steady plumes, but the cold barely bothered him now, thanks to the gift the pack - his pack, he supposed - had given him a few days ago. He focused on his task, carefully hammering a stone against a length of flint, chipping away at it to make a smooth blade.

  "Good?" Eli asked.

  "Good!" the sky-blue raptor chirped, though the word came out sharp, almost barked. "Better! Do — uh — 'ithuh'" he said, tracing a straight line along the flint.

  Eli repeated the new word back at Oreo. He turned to trace a pair of lines into the dirt, one squiggly and one straight. "Ithuh." he said, pointing to the straight line, then, "Not ithuh." he said as he pointed to the wavy one.

  "Is good! Straight, Not Straight!" replied Oreo with a cheer.

  “Got it,” Eli replied, smiling despite himself. He adjusted his grip, shaving the stone more evenly now. A week ago, this kind of interaction would’ve been a tangle of misunderstandings. But with all their tireless corrections, Eli’s ear had sharpened enough to catch meaning in the chirps and warbles. He could almost follow their jokes now, though the nuances still escaped him.

  Behind them, Folly grumbled something unintelligible as he lugged a water-filled clay jug toward the tanning racks. His feathers bristled with exaggerated annoyance, but the sly grin that flitted across his face betrayed the act.

  Suda’s voice cut through the frosty air, directing Tia as they inspected a leftover span of hide, freshly cured and stretched over the rack. Tia trilled an irritated note back at her, and though Eli couldn’t catch all the words, the mock exasperation in Tia’s tone was clear enough.

  Eli smirked, the sound triggering a familiar thought. “Kayla would’ve loved this,” he murmured to himself.

  Oreo’s ears flicked, and he tilted his head. “... Kayla?” he asked, ears wiggling placidly with what Eli had learned was curiosity.

  Eli hesitated. “Friend. Funny. Tease.”

  Oreo let out a delighted trill, his feathers puffing up with amusement. “Funny... Tease? Like Folly!” He gestured toward Folly, who caught his name and shot them both a mischievous, toothy smirk.

  “Funny like storm,” Tia added from the tanning racks, her tone dry and annoyed, though her words carried the undercurrent of amusement beneath it all.

  “Storm funny too,” Oreo replied cheekily, and he and Folly both dissolved into chirping laughter.

  Eli shook his head with an amused chuckle. The ache that stirred in his chest was growing familiar now — an ebbing tide of longing, laced with bittersweet affection. He let it roll through him, neither resisting nor holding on, until it dissipated into the cold air like breath. As his pack's lively banter rippled around him — sharp chirps, playful jabs, and the steady rhythm of work — he couldn't help but smile. "Man", he thought, "Mick would’ve loved them, too."