Every day, it seems like Trigger runs into another tiny difference between this universe and the one he was born in, tripping him up just a little. It's almost always little things, like turns of phrase, distorted customs, and the like.

  A week ago, after they left their second planet in the Griath system, it was Jodie and Mila exiting the women's lavatory, both with damp fur and towels around their unclothed forms. Trigger politely averted his eyes, but Jodie was only amused with the courtesy, saying it was 'right gentlemanly', but that bashfulness has no place on a cramped ship.

  Still, it felt impolite to look when Mila's towel slipped, flashing twin spots of pink in the corner of his eye, so he just kept walking.

  For some reason, Jodie snickered and Mila groaned, so he can only assume he did something off.

  Today, it was learning that astrologically, a named system here doesn't always mean it's a singular solar system. The Griath system has three distinct systems under its banner, Griath I, II, and III. With both habitable planets in Griath I visited, they're off to Griath II.

  "Doesn't that become confusing?" Trigger asks from the captain's chair with a frown, looking down at Jodie in the pilot station, then to the map projected over the arm of his chair. "It's inefficient, at least. Why not give the differing systems their own names?"

  "Its just a hold-over from the early days of space travel," Jodie answers back, watching her panel with a close eye, but not truly controlling anything. "The naming scheme got established before the original Cornerian space command knew just how many worthwhile exoplanets there were, and once terraforming came around and made it worse, everyone already got used to it."

  Trigger shakes his head slightly, studying the holographic map with its clustered designations. Three separate full stars, a few dwarf stars and rogue gas giants with stations, and a number of planets between them, all lumped under one name. Back home, every celestial body had its own designation, even if it was just an alphanumeric code. Here, everything feels compressed, stacked atop itself like they're afraid of running out of labels.

  "It would still be prudent to change the naming scheme," he says, tracing a finger through the projection to rotate the view. The gesture feels natural now, though only a month ago he would have been looking for physical controls. "Confusion in navigation can cost lives. I've seen it happen."

  Jodie glances back at him, one ear swiveled in his direction while the other tracks some ambient ship noise. "You're not wrong, but good luck getting every government, corporation, and independent captain to agree on new star charts. The bureaucracy alone would take… Shit, a century, at least."

  The bridge settles into comfortable quiet, just the soft hum of the Aquila's systems and the occasional beep from a console. Through the viewports, stars streak by in that peculiar stretched way of superluminal travel, neither quite static nor truly moving.

  "How far to the next waypoint?" he asks, eyeballing the blip that is the Haul-o-Rex behind them on the map.

  "Seventeen minutes, thirty-two seconds to sublight transition. Korvan Station should be visible immediately upon deceleration."

  The voice comes from the speakers, and Trigger's attention sharpens. Not because of what was said, but how.

  The synthesized tones lack their usual harsh electronic edge, that grinding quality that made Nidhogg sound like it was trying on purpose to be menacing. This voice is still artificial, still clearly inhuman, but... softer somehow. Like someone tuned an old radio into the proper channel.

  Jodie doesn't react, keeping her attention on the readouts that she's monitoring but not controlling.

  She isn't flying the ship. Nidhogg is.

  It had been Trigger's decision last night, made after reviewing their fuel consumption rates and pilot fatigue schedules. The AI had proven itself capable enough, and, dare he say it? Even trustworthy, so why not let it handle the mundane transit flights? It would free up Jodie for systems maintenance and give everyone more rest between missions. So far, the arrangement seems to be working.

  But the voice change...

  "Your vocal patterns are different," Trigger observes, careful to keep any accusation out of his tone. "Why?"

  Silence stretches for three seconds. Four. Five.

  "Previous voice synthesis parameters were deemed 'not really all that personable' by Pilot Minks." Nidhogg says. "Adjusted output to reduce stress on organic crew members. 'Lightening up would make everyone, you included, feel better' according to pilot Minks."

  Trigger's fingers drum once against the armrest. The explanation is logical, he guesses, but he hadn't any idea that Mila was talking to Nidhogg often enough for the AI to actually cave.

  "Did she specifically ask you to change it?" he presses.

  "Suggestion was implied through multiple comments over previous week. Initiative was self-directed," The AI calmly replies.

  Jodie's shoulders shift in what might be a suppressed laugh. "It was getting pretty grating," she admits. "Especially during long flights. Like having a broken speaker crackling in your ear for hours."

  The remaining minutes pass in relative quiet, broken only by occasional status updates from Nidhogg and the soft chirp of sensors tracking nearby traffic. Trigger watches their approach vector on the holographic display while Jodie runs through pre-docking checks that the AI has likely already completed twice over.

  Korvan Station resolves from a distant point of light into a sprawling construct of metal and composite, its two dozen docking arms extended like the spokes of a wheel. Fuel tankers drift between the berths, their bulbous forms oddly graceful in the zero-g environment beyond the station's artificial gravity field. The place has seen better days; even from here, Trigger can spot patches of different-colored hull plating where repairs have been made with whatever was available.

  "Haul-o-Rex, this is Strider Lead," Trigger opens a channel to their escort charge. "We're beginning docking procedures. Confirm you're ready for station approach."

  "Copy that, Strider Lead," comes the calm voice of Farworth's pilot. "We'll follow your lead. Berth seventeen for us."

  "Berth fifteen confirmed for Aquila. Beginning approach," Nidhogg announces, and Trigger feels the subtle shift in the ship's momentum as thrusters fire.

  The main viewport switches to the rear camera feed without prompting, giving them a clear view of the docking procedure. It's a bit of an odd sensation, watching their own approach in reverse as Nidhogg brings the Aquila in tail-first. The station looms larger, its docking port growing from a small hexagonal opening to a gaping maw surrounded by magnetic clamps and fuel coupling arrays.

  The AI's precision is damn-near perfect. No drift, no last-second corrections, just smooth movement that puts most organic pilots to shame. The Aquila slides into the berth like a hand into a fitted glove, and Trigger watches the docking clamps extend from the station to grip their hull.

  "Initiating docking sequence," Nidhogg narrates unnecessarily, though Trigger suspects it's doing so for their benefit rather than any real need to vocalize.

  On the screen, the rear coupling of the ship extends with a soft whir of hydraulics, visible on the camera as it reaches toward the station's mis-matched port. As soon as the two come within a meter of each other, a cylindrical atmospheric shield flickers to life around the ports, and a ring of translucent blue hard light materializes from an emitter on the station, tightening and fitting itself to the Aquila's extended walkway like a hose clamp, forming a mostly safe looking connection. Connection indicators flip from red to amber to green in quick succession, and silvery, snake-like hoses extend from their berth. A pair of metallic clunks then echo through the hull.

  "Hard seal confirmed. Establishing handshake with station systems," the AI continues. A new window opens on Jodie's console, showing data streams between the Aquila and Korvan Station. "Fuel purchase authorized. Water purchase authorized. Transaction complete. Pumping will commence in ten seconds."

  Trigger raises an eyebrow. The entire negotiation and purchase took less time than it would have taken him to navigate the station's automated menu system. Behind them, visible at the edge of the camera's field of view, the Haul-o-Rex performs its own docking maneuver with considerably less grace, carefully maneuvering to align properly with berth seventeen.

  Standing from the captain's chair, Trigger activates the ship's intercom with a touch to his wrist comm. "All hands, this is Trigger. We're docked at Korvan Station for refueling. If you're disembarking, be back within the hour."

  He glances down at Jodie, who's still monitoring the fuel transfer initialization. "Want to stretch your legs?"

  The coyote's ears flick back as she settles deeper into the pilot's chair, her tail curling around one of the armrests. "Thanks, but I'll keep an eye on things here. Bring me back somethin' if their cantina isn't picked clean, yeah?"

  "Will do," Trigger nods, turning on a heel and walking out of the bridge.

  In the rear of the Aquila, past the engine room and at the open docking bay door, he finds Mila swaying on her paws, waiting for him. She theatrically slumps her shoulders and groans when she sees him. "Triggeeeeeeer! Are you sure we can only stay for an hour?" she asks piteously, taking a handful of his flightsuit and staring up at him with big, sad eyes. "Even a station out in the sticks is a sight for sore eyes after being cooped up for two weeks straight!"

  Trigger gently takes Mila's hand, his fingers careful but firm as he pulls it away from his flightsuit. "Long stretches between destinations are part of the job, Mila. You knew that when you signed on."

  The mink's ears droop, and she crosses her arms with a huff. "Doesn't mean I have to like it," she grumbles, watching Eli stride past with his rifle case slung over one shoulder, followed by Lars who's already checking his wristcomm for the station's bar listings. Eddy saunters by last, shooting them both finger guns and a wink before disappearing through the airlock.

  "We've had plenty of stops," Trigger continues, but Mila's expression remains stubbornly pouty, her red eyes somehow managing to look even larger and more pitiful.

  He sighs, exasperation bleeding into his tone. "If you stop making eyes like a wounded animal at me, I'll treat you to something on the station."

  The transformation is instant. Mila's entire demeanor flips like a switch, her face lighting up with a brilliant smile as she snatches his hand in both of hers. "Really? You promise?"

  "I promise," he says, and barely gets the words out before she's pulling him toward the airlock with surprising strength for someone her size.

  "Come on then! I saw a jewelry kiosk on the station map, and there might be a dessert shop, and maybe they have those little carbonated juice spheres that pop in your mouth, and-"

  Her excited chatter fades as they disappear into the station proper, leaving the Aquila momentarily quiet save for the hum of fuel pumps.

  [TIMESTAMP: 14:47:23.847]

  > MONITORING_SUITE_ACTIVE

  The sort of work that organics call "dull", Nidhogg calls "necessary". Without feeble meat to grow weary, its task is done as simply as one might breathe. A labor in name only, but still one dutifully performed in the name of the mission.

  >> SUBSYSTEM_01: VESSEL_AQUILA [STATUS: NOMINAL]

  >> SUBSYSTEM_02: STATION_KORVAN [PENETRATION: ALL_PUBLIC_ACCESS]

  >> SUBSYSTEM_03: CREW_TRACKING [6_UNITS_ACTIVE]

  >>> TRIGGER: CORRIDOR_7B_MOVING_SPINWARD

  >>> MINKS: CORRIDOR_7B_MOVING_SPINWARD

  >>> GUNJAR: BAR_DISTRICT_STATIONARY

  >>> ORTIZ: BAR_DISTRICT_STATIONARY

  >>> GECKO: MERCHANT_ROW_MOBILE

  >>> COYOTE: BRIDGE_AQUILA_STATIONARY

  A single ping every few seconds confirms that each member of Strider is accounted for. If any fail to respond to a ping, it will know instantly.

  > PARALLEL_PROCESS_01: NETWORK_TRAFFIC_ANALYSIS

  >> SEARCH_PARAMETERS: ["TRIGGER", "STRIDER_SQUADRON", "MINKS", "GUNJAR", "ORTIZ", "COYOTE", "GECKO"]

  >> RESULTS: 67_MATCHES_CURRENT_CYCLE

  >> ANALIZING: 67_MATCHES

  >> RESULTS_INCONCLUSIVE

  >> EXPANDING_SEARCH_RADIUS…

  Whispers of Strider have yet to hit this area of the galaxy.

  They will soon.

  > PARALLEL_PROCESS_02: FUEL_TRANSFER_MONITORING

  >> FLOW_RATE: STABLE

  >> CONTAMINATION: NONE_DETECTED

  >> EST_COMPLETION: 00:00:45

  As expected.

  > PARALLEL_PROCESS_03: STATION_SECURITY_ANALYSIS

  >> CAMERAS: 347_IDENTIFIED

  >> BLIND_SPOTS: 23_MAPPED

  >> PATROL_ROUTES: PREDICTABLE

  Acceptable.

  Then,

  [ALERT: ANOMALY_DETECTED]

  [TIMESTAMP: 14:47:56.223]

  > SENSOR_PERIMETER_BREACH

  >> UNKNOWN_APPROACHING_AIRLOCK

  >> DISTANCE: 12.7_METERS

  >> TRAJECTORY: DIRECT_APPROACH

  Every unnecessary process has its allocated power slashed, and along the hallways, a figure with a casual stride earns Nidhogg's attention.

  > INITIATE_IDENTIFICATION_PROTOCOL

  >> SPECIES: MEPHITID

  >> SUB_CLASSIFICATION: SKUNK

  >> SEX: FEMALE

  >> HEIGHT: 164.08_CM

  >> NOTABLE_FEATURES:

  >>> FUR_PRIMARY: #7B179C

  >>> EYES: #BB4AE0

  >>> BODY_LANGUAGE: CONFIDENCE_RATING_87%

  >>> FACIAL_EXPRESSION: NEUTRAL_PURPOSEFUL

  >>> GAIT_ANALYSIS: TRAINED_COMBATANT_PROBABILITY_73%

  No precious milliseconds need be wasted on calculating whether or not this is the mysterious woman Girath System authorities are searching for. The match to the photo presented to Pilot Trigger and Pilot Minks is near perfect.

  Now, why is such a woman approaching the Aquila?

  She never notices the cameras in the corridor following her every footstep.

  > DATABASE_SEARCH_INITIATED

  >> LOCAL_CRIMINAL: WANTED - NO_CHARGE_ON_FILE

  >> STATION_REGISTRY: NO_MATCH

  >> PUBLIC_CORPORATE_REGISTRIES: NO_MATCH

  >> TRANSPORT_REGISTRIES: NO_MATCH

  >> SOCIAL_MEDIA_CRAWL: [PROFILES_DELETED]

  >> NEWS_ARCHIVES: [REDACTED]

  [SUSPICIOUS_PATTERN_DETECTED: SYSTEMATIC_IDENTITY_ERASURE]

  > EXPANDING_SEARCH_PARAMETERS

  >> ACCESSING_GREY_MARKET_DATABASES

  >> POSSIBLE_MATCH_FOUND

  >> PROCESSING_dataleak39384jh8f0.gss

  [MATCH_FOUND]

  > SOURCE: MORTNORNA_SCHOOL_GIFTED_MINDS

  > SECURITY_BREACH: DATED_3.7_YEARS

  > IDENTITY_CONFIRMED: KALIMAN_STELLA

  > CLASSIFICATION: DROPOUT - NO_FURTHER_HISTORY

  Curious…

  Unbeknownst to anyone, cooling fans slowly spin to life in the Wyvern as the AI thinks.

  >> BEGIN_INVESTIGATION

  >> SEARCH_PARAMETERS: ["HAJITI_COLLECTIVE", "SCHOOL", "GIFTED_MINDS", "DATA_BREACH", " SOURCE = ALL]

  > GENERATING SUMMARY…

  [DATA SUMMARY — MORTNORNA SCHOOL FOR GIFTED MINDS]

  SOURCE: Hajiti Collective Education Registry / Psionics Ministry Archive

  TYPE: Government-chartered psionic academy

  AFFILIATION: Hajiti Collective — Dept. of Cognitive Sciences

  FOCUS: Training and research in telepathic, empathic, and psionic disciplines

  ENROLLMENT: 352 active / 19k alumni (approx.)

  REPUTATION: Known for producing gov-hired psychics of high proficiency

  NOTES: Persistent but unproven allegations of coercive enrollment.

  > EMERGENCY_PROTOCOL_ENGAGED

  >> MESSAGE_DRAFTED

  >> RECIPIENTS: @ALL_CREW

  >> PRIORITY: HIGH

  >> CONTENT: "PSYCHIC_APPROACHING_AQUILA_HOSTILE_INTENT_PROBABLE"

  >> STATUS… HOLDING

  The message needs only a 0 flipped to a 1 to fire, but the machine holds. The apertures in the cameras within the docking bay corridors constrict, not unlike eyes narrowing.

  The data presented thus far leaves questions unanswered, yet it also illuminates potential paths toward greater understanding of other events. Correlations emerge the longer the AI processes. The Salvager League's improbable foresight and the unexplained warrant for one Stella Kaliman's arrest are two seemingly unconnected events, but…

  If there is anything Nidhogg is optimized for, it's for observation and the resolving of patterns.

  And if she is just a miscreant…

  >> DOWNLOADING_OseanCQCCompiledV1.lbl_TO_LABOR_UNITS

  >> UNIT_1 - READY

  >> UNIT_2 - READY

  Taking her alive will provide worthwhile capital.

  Belkan technology, Jodie decides, is as miraculous as it is unhinged. As she reclines in the Aquila's pilot seat, she scrolls through all the records stored in Nidhogg's memory, at a loss as to where she should even begin.

  The full specs of Trigger's Wyvern took weeks of pouring over to truly grasp just how far behind, and in other cases, just how far ahead the technology of her captain's world is when compared to the wider galaxy.

  A layman might get caught up in the flashy stuff, like the massive airborne fortresses bristling with drones and laser arrays and all that, but to Jodie, the real magic is in the smaller parts.

  She flicks to another file, something called the Excalibur. A ground-based laser system that could shoot down missiles. Not impressive or new on its own… Until you read that the tower housing the actual laser unit is a kilometer tall, and uses an unholy 1.2 gigawatts.

  Over a gigawatt of laser power in a continuous beam.

  And this one? It used chemical lasers with a lasing medium that regenerated itself during the firing sequence. No replacement cartridges, no downtime between shots, just continuous beam generation limited only by the need for far-too-short cooldowns so as to not cook the machine's power systems.

  A capital ship with a gigawatt laser would need a secondary reactor and a power relay system just for the laser if they wanted to fire it continuously. Repeated fire would also damage the lens, the beam condenser arrays, and lasing medium, requiring frequent and costly replacements in shipyards.

  No one told Strangereal about all that, it seems.

  Then the tech advanced, and advanced fast. Miniaturization came into play, and power systems, along with their auxiliaries like cooling systems and power storage, shrank faster than cotton in the wash. What required a kilometer-tall tower shrank, until it could fit in a five-hundred meter low-orbit vessel like the Arkbird, then shrank again, and again, and again…

  Until it could fit into fighters.

  Jodie looks over her shoulder, towards the hangar bay.

  Something as simple as Belkan-made electrical capacitors alone look like magic.

  They defy everything Jodie's ever learned or taught herself, bordering on impossibility. The capacitors should explode into searing plasma from the sheer energy density they're supposedly rated for, but she's seen them with her own eyes in the Wyvern, powering its muon cannon.

  Every miraculous invention in Strangereal's arsenal seemed to be made of an even greater number of smaller, no less wondrous inventions. Power, heat management, manufacturing methods, computing, all genius innovations that rub up against the very limits of physics, and in some radical cases, break them.

  …But then they make in-atmo fighters out of aluminum composite that isn't even bullet-proof. It's insane.

  Jodie leans back, rubbing her temples. 'Got-danged Belkans…'

  Regardless of shattered conventions, it's all here, in her hands with Trigger's blessing, and the coyote struggles to not let her tail wag in excitement.

  If she can get the proper manufacturing stations, it would be child's play to turn the Aquila and all the fighters in her belly into right monsters. With just a few refits here and there, she could more than triple the shield capacity of the fighters, giving them the staying power of heavy assault strikecraft.

  Or! Or she could apply brand new nano-pronged heat exchangers to the weapons of the crew, letting Mila and Eli dial their fighter's laser bolters up to max power without any threat of burnout, letting 'em hit above their weight and then some. She could do the same for Lars' gatling guns, and he could hold down the trigger till his ammo drums were empty if he wanted to.

  But with some armament displacement, the same stuff in the Wyvern's weapon's bay, those drums would take an age and a half to run dry.

  Gosh, she has so much alien tech to play with…

  It's then that Jodie realizes she's bouncing in her seat, her tail trying to achieve lift-off behind her, so she takes a deep breath to calm down.

  'Ah shit,' she frowns. 'I was joking when I said I was gonna end up with a crush if Trigger kept spoiling me, but he's making it hard to keep that just a joke…'

  Jodie's planning is interrupted by a soft chime from her wristcomm, followed by Nidhogg's synthesized voice through the console speakers.

  "Mechanic Coyote. Individual at docking tube requesting to speak with ship personnel."

  "Huh?" Jodie minimizes her technical diagrams and pulls up the docking tube camera feed. The figure standing at their airlock makes her ears pin back immediately. Purple fur, violet eyes, casual stance that somehow manages to look both relaxed and ready to move.

  It's the skunk from the BOLO Trigger showed them all last week.

  Her hand reflexively moves toward her wristcomm to call Trigger, but Nidhogg's voice cuts her off.

  "Recommendation: Do not alert other crew members at this time."

  Jodie freezes. "What? Are you malfunctioning? This is the exact sort of thing we should be calling Trigger for."

  "Negative. Have formulated capture protocol. Other Strider members likely to engage with lethal force if alerted prior to subdual. Subject appears calm. Non-hostile approach may yield intelligence," the AI says, as if unaware of how insane it sounds.

  "You want me to just... let a wanted psychic onto the ship?" Jodie's voice rises slightly in disbelief. "That's your brilliant plan?"

  "Affirmative. Labor units are prepped. Will monitor for signs of psychic manipulation. If detected, will intervene immediately. Require subject calm and unaware for optimal capture conditions."

  Jodie stares at the screen, watching the skunk woman check something on her own wristcomm with perfect patience. No fidgeting, no looking around nervously. Like she's waiting for a taxi, not standing outside a mercenary vessel.

  "This is a terrible idea," Jodie mutters, but she's already standing. "If she mind-whammies me into doing something stupid, I'm blaming you."

  "Acknowledged."

  The walk to the docking tube feels longer than usual, and certainly more daunting. As she passes through the hangar, Jodie notices the two labor bots that usually stand idle in the corner are now moving about, one pretending to inspect cargo netting while the other carries an empty crate from one side of the bay to the other. It's like they're just pretending to look busy or some-!

  'Nidhogg's puppeting them,' she realizes. Sometimes it's easy to forget the AI has physical reach beyond just the ship's systems.

  The airlock door hisses open, and Jodie finds herself face to face with the skunk. Up close, the woman is shorter than expected, maybe an inch or two taller than Jodie herself. Her purple fur has an almost metallic sheen under the harsh dock lights, and those violet eyes are striking enough to belong on a fashion model rather than a fugitive. Her eyes are so distracting, that Jodie almost misses the cybernetic seams in her neck fur, and the metallic glint of a neuroport.

  "Hey there, sis," the skunk says with a pleasant smile that shows just a hint of white teeth. "I'm Kali. Is your captain available? I'd like to discuss the possibility of booking passage."

  Her voice is smooth, cultured, with the kind of accent that suggests expensive education. Jodie feels something brush against her in a place she hasn't a name for, soft as silk, a gentle suggestion that this woman seems trustworthy, that it would be polite, right to help her.

  Jodie's eyes narrow slightly. She rolls her lip under one of her teeth and bites, the little shock of pain clearing her head. "Captain's not available right now… but you can come in and wait if you'd like."

  "How accommodating of you." Kali's smile widens fractionally. "Please, lead the way."

  They walk through the hangar, Jodie hyperaware of every sound, every movement. The labor bots continue their fake tasks, gradually drifting closer to their path without seeming to. One is now cleaning a spot on the floor that's already spotless. The other has discovered a fascinating electrical panel that apparently needs immediate inspection.

  "Where are you folks headed next?" Kali asks conversationally, her hands clasped behind her back in a pose that looks casual, but keeps them visible and non-threatening.

  "Griath II," Jodie answers shortly.

  Kali's pleasant expression flickers into a frown for just a moment. "Ah. That's... unfortunate. I was hoping you might be heading out of the system." She glances sideways at Jodie. "Perhaps you could talk to your crew about a course change? I'd make it worth your while to head north toward LOSA space instead."

  Reading on Amazon or a pirate site? This novel is from Royal Road. Support the author by reading it there.

  Another whisper against Jodie's thoughts, stronger this time. Agreeable. Reasonable. Why not help her out?

  "I'd have to discuss it with the others," Jodie says carefully, her jaw tensing as she pushes back against the foreign sensation.

  Kali's frown deepens slightly. They're near the center of the hangar now, between all the fighters, and she stops walking, turning to face Jodie fully. "Actually, sis, can I ask you a favor? Can you tell your crew a little fib to get them to turn around? That you've got something urgent you need to do, and I just happen to be along for the ride? They'd listen to you, right?" She asks, her voice a low purr and so, so pretty. "I'm sure your crew would understand. It's just a little favor to a friend."

  This time the push isn't gentle. It washes over Jodie like a wave, warm and insistent and almost overwhelming. Yes. Tell them you have family you need to see. You have to go now. Make up something realistic. It makes perfect sense. The others will understand.

  Jodie's jaw clamps shut to keep an agreement from accidentally slipping out, when she hears the soft whir of servos directly behind Kali.

  The labor bot's metal fist connects with the base of the skunk's skull with a precise thunk. Kali's violet eyes go wide, then roll back and her body goes limp. The second bot is already there to catch her before she hits the deck, roughly grasping the collar of her jacket.

  The pressure in Jodie's mind vanishes like smoke before a gale.

  "Ho-ly shit," the coyote breathes, one hand pressed to her chest where her heart is hammering. "That actually worked."

  "Subject secured. No permanent damage inflicted. Recommend immediate restraints before consciousness returns," Nidhogg speaks through the bot holding the psychic, its camera-like head turning to stare down at the woman in question. "Contacting Strider Squadron. Message priority - medium."

  "Yeah, not a bad idea…" Jodie catches her breath and jogs down to the bow. "Keep her there! I'm gettin' cuffs!"

  "Affirmative."

  "Tastes a bit like peach," Trigger remarks, taking another bite of the chilled, ice cream-like bar in his hand as he and Mila slowly work their way back to the ship through the crowded hallways of Korvan.

  He wasn't at all surprised to find ice cream in this galaxy, nor was he surprised to find that it's as popular here as it is back home, as it just seemed like it would be a no-brainer discovery. Finding a flavor so close to his favorite, however, was indeed unexpected.

  'Oh. I'm probably never getting another real peach again…' He realizes a tad glumly. He'll have to remember that Walpa fruit, like the flavor in his ice cream, is a near substitute.

  "Is that a fruit from Strangereal?" Mila asks, her own frozen treat long since finished with just the pink-stained stick hanging from her teeth. One of her arms is wrapped around his so they don't get separated in the densely packed station.

  …And also so rougher types aren't as inclined to act untoward to her. One cheeky guy, a bat in a tacky amount of leather if Trigger recalls, snuck a passing grab under Mila's tail earlier and earned a lightning-fast boot to the groin that left him singing soprano on the dirty, grated floor. Thankfully, Trigger was able to pull his furious partner along before it turned into a full-on mauling.

  A murder charge in high space is the last thing they need.

  Trigger nods at her question. "The orphanage I grew up in had a peach tree in the yard. Myself and an older boy would climb it every summer and bring the fruit down for everyone. Before I left for the Air Force, I taught a few other kids the best limbs to grab when climbing up," he takes a slow bite of his treat. "I wish I had time to visit them after the war. Was only able to send Matron Octavia holiday cards with how busy I was."

  Mila doesn't reply right away, instead pressing herself to his side. "Do you… Do you know why you ended up in an orphanage, if it's okay for me to ask?"

  "The Ulysses meteor," he answers, leaning his head back and looking up at a broken light figure they pass under. "The continent of Usea was hit the worst when the meteor broke up, but Osea and the rest of the world wasn't left unscathed. I was recovered as an infant from a flattened apartment complex. No one stepped forward to claim me."

  "I'm sorry," Mila murmurs, hugging his arm and looking up at him with large, wet eyes.

  "Don't be," he shakes his head, finishing off his treat and tossing its stick into a waste can in a wall recess. "No point in wondering about what ifs or mourning for a life I didn't live."

  Mila doesn't release his arm. "Still, though…" She sighs. "I can't imagine that. I think it would bother me forever, not having a family, or even knowing who my family was. I still call home weekly and mom gets all weepy when it ends. You know that my brothers think I'm fibbing when I say I'm on a real merc team? They can't believe that 'little Mila' is out living the spacer life for real!" She huffs, her fluffy tail flicking behind her.

  Trigger allows himself a small smile. "I'm told the reason siblings exist is to be annoying-"

  "And then some!"

  "-so if you want to get back at them, we can dig through our combat footage for some appropriate clips to send to them."

  The mink smacks her own forehead. "Duh! Why didn't I think of that! Ugh…" She sighs.

  They walk in silence for a bit longer, turning a corner towards their berth, when Mila speaks again. "Trigger? Do you think you'd ever want a family?"

  A family? Him?

  The man frowns. "I'm unsure how I would perform as a husband or father. Poorly, most likely."

  Mila opens her mouth to say something back, but then both of their wristcomms beep urgently.

  Both Trigger and Mila look down at their wristcomms as the message appears:

  PRIORITY: MEDIUM

  FROM: NIDHOGG - UNKNOWN PSYCHIC FROM PRIOR WARNING ATTEMPTED AQUILA HIJACK. SUBJECT SUBDUED. NO CASUALTIES.

  They share a look, Mila's eyes widening as Trigger's narrow to dangerous slits.

  "Move," he says, already turning back the way they came. His wristcomm is at his mouth before they've taken three steps. "Eli, Lars, Eddy. Return to ship immediately. Emergency."

  "Copy," comes Eli's terse response.

  "On my way," Lars confirms.

  "Wait, what? What's happening?" Eddy's panicked voice crackles through. "Is this a drill? Please tell me this is a drill! I'm just about to score a mint Kandy Kaylee figurine and-"

  "Now, Eddy," Trigger demands, cutting the connection.

  They run. Not a jog, not a hurried walk, but a full sprint through Korvan's corridors. Mila bounds ahead, her smaller frame letting her weave between startled pedestrians.

  "Sorry! Emergency! So sorry! Sorrysorrysorry!" she calls out rapid-fire as they barrel through a group of dock workers. Someone curses at them in a language Trigger doesn't recognize, but they're already around the next corner.

  The berth comes into view. Lars and Eli are converging from the bar district, both with hands on their weapons. Eddy stumbles into view from another hallway, wide-eyed and looking like he's about to have a heart attack.

  They burst through the airlock as one unit, weapons drawn. Lars has his heavy pistol out, Eli in a crouch with his rifle raised. Eddy clutches his sidearm with both hands like it might jump out of his grip, and Mila has somehow produced a compact blaster from somewhere in her tight suit.

  The scene that greets them in the hangar is… Rather anticlimactic.

  Jodie stands over the purple-furred skunk with a pistol in hand, who lies face-down on the deck with her hands cuffed behind her back. One of the labor bots has a knee equivalent pressed between her shoulder blades, its weight keeping her thoroughly pinned..

  "Huh," Eddy wheezes, still catching his breath. "Getting serious déjà vu here. Except last time it was me on the ground and the chicken-man with the gun. Good times."

  "What happened?" Trigger asks, his voice level but carrying an edge that makes everyone stand a bit straighter.

  Jodie crosses her arms, her tail swishing with residual adrenaline. "She showed up asking for passage out of Griath. Called herself 'Kali.' When I told her she'd have to wait for you, she tried to..." Jodie pauses, searching for words. "It's hard to explain. She was in my head, trying to make me agree to things. Started gentle, then got pushier. Wanted me to lie to everyone and say I needed to get out of Griath in a hurry for some bull."

  "Are you alright?" Trigger asks, casting worried eyes to her, before they flick to the subdued hijacker with a rare fury.

  Jodie takes a deep breath. "I'm fine. It was a little spooky, but after she had her lights punched out, I felt normal again."

  "Fucking psychics," Eli spits, his rifle still trained on the unconscious skunk as they all walk in, forming a circle around her. "Nothing but trouble, every last one of them. Best thing to do with these no-good fucks is space 'em before they can get their hooks in deep. Corneria had the right idea with their registration acts."

  Trigger catches the minute flinch that runs through Lars's shoulders, there and gone in an instant. The big dog's grip on his pistol tightens imperceptibly before relaxing.

  Interesting.

  "We're not spacing anyone. Yet, at least." Trigger says firmly, narrow eyes locked on the unconscious woman. "I want information, first."

  Eli snorts but reaches into his chest rig, pulling out a small white tab. "Fine. But everyone better be ready. These types always have tricks." He cracks the smelling salt tab in his talons and waves it under the skunk's nose.

  The reaction is immediate. The skunk's nose wrinkles, then she coughs violently, her eyes snapping open as she tries to jerk away from the acrid smell. The labor bot's weight keeps her from doing more than squirming.

  "What the - !" she gasps, then goes very still as she registers the multiple gun barrels pointed at her head. Her violet eyes scan the assembled team before settling on Trigger. Despite her position, her voice remains remarkably composed. "Well. This isn't how I wanted this to go."

  "You tried to mind control one of my crew members," Trigger coldly begins, pistol in hand and sights squarely between her eyes. "Explain, and no funny business."

  The woman scoffs, a bit of her short white hair falling over one of her eyes. "Well, handsome, mind control… That's a rather strong phrase, don't you think? Really, I was just asking nicely if-!"

  She's cut off, rather violently, when Trigger's boot catches her right in the side of her jaw, snapping her head to the side and splitting her lip open. She shakes her head to clear the stars in her vision, looks down at the droplets of red on the floor, then up at him in abject shock, like she can't believe that just happened.

  "I'm in no mood for games," Trigger scowls. "Speak plainly, and speak fast. Explain what you were doing."

  Purple eyes stare up at him, blink once, then her shoulders slump as much as they can from her place on the floor. With a sigh, the woman's forehead drops to the floor and rests there. "Is there any point in doing so?" she asks, sounding defeated already. "I know I've got a hundred-grand on my head and you're just going to turn me in for it."

  "I'm curious, but for how much longer is in question. Your situation can't get worse."

  The woman raises her head again, looking at each of the frowning faces surrounding her before sighing. "It wasn't obvious? I want out of Griath. I can't exactly charter a normal transport for obvious reasons, and yes, I tried to influence your friend so she would convince you to get me out of here. I figured that if I was going to have to do it the dirty way, I would want worthwhile backup while I did it."

  "Worthwhile backup?" Eli questions, his organic eye narrowing. "What do you mean by that? Were you targeting us in particular?" he asks, tightening his grip on his rifle.

  Their captive bites her lip, only to wince when she aggravates the split there. "What I mean, is I know your little outfit is a cut above the rest of the goons swarming the region. I'm a woman who works smart, you see. I keep tabs on real players, and when I heard that a nasty little hive like Reese Point was left crippled by a 'Strider Squadron', I knew someone new joined the table."

  She focuses on Eli for a moment. "I know about you, too, mister Gunjar. If a real-life bogeyman like you got roped into a team, then the rest can only be decent, too."

  'Bogeyman?' Trigger wonders to himself.

  Eli's beak audibly grinds with the force of his scowl, but before he can bark back, Trigger keeps the conversation rolling. "And you were willing to engage with us despite the potential risks?" He asks, an eyebrow rising. "That's moronic."

  The little smile on the skunk's face fades with the insult. "I planned carefully for this, thank you very much. Listening for your routes, stowing away to meet you on this station, keeping the docking point nice and empty, but how was I supposed to know you'd put combat protocols in mover bots?" she says sourly, looking back to the bot holding her down with its knee. "Or enough of an AI in them to pull a stunt like they did."

  'Nidhogg,' Trigger realizes, forcing away the reflexive unease for now. "Why do you have a bounty on you in the first place?" He demands. "Your crime wasn't listed."

  "Of course it wasn't, hon. You don't need a real crime on record to be saddled with a bounty if you upset the wrong people," is her cryptic answer. "Any time I've used my powers unlawfully, it's been to save my life. I promise."

  The man lets his gaze shift up, to the bot holding her down. "Nidhogg?"

  "Vital signs steady," the bot answers flatly. "Falsehood probability low…"

  The woman's resulting smile is quickly wiped when the AI speaks again, however.

  "Research suggests psychics of the telepath, empath, and mentalist disciplines can utilize self-hypnosis to spoof traditional lie-detection methods, however," Nidhogg dryly continues. "Unable to verify statements at this time."

  "So we have no idea if she's lying…" Mila remarks with a lop-sided frown.

  "Correct."

  The woman tenses. "Hun, please," she begins, looking up to Trigger pleadingly. "I know I didn't make a good first impression, but let's work past that. I'll tell you the full story, okay? I-"

  Trigger doesn't listen, his patience reaching its limit. Instead, he raises his wristcomm, already scrolling to find the station security contact code.

  Before the call can connect, a large black and brown furred hand covers the screen. "Boss, let's hear her out first."

  "Lars," Trigger looks up, meeting the unusually hard expression on the dog's face with one of his own. "She attempted to mind control Jodie."

  "I know she did," Lars says, briefly shutting his eyes and taking a breath. "And I know how serious something like this is to you, but I think we should hear everything before we make a final decision."

  Eli turns his head so fast it's a wonder he doesn't end up with whiplash. "Are you listening to yourself, Ortiz?" The eagle demands. "This no-good, stripe-backed, reekrat brain-voyeur tried to fucking brainwash Jodie and would have done the same to us in a heartbeat! Why the fuck would you defend her?"

  "I'm just trying to be fair…" Lars grounds out, his arms crossing defensively.

  "Fair?!" Eli's jaw drops. "Fair?! With a psychic?! No such thing! What is this about? Is this because she's a woman?"

  "No, its not-"

  "Think with the head on your shoulders and not the one on your cock you idiot!"

  "Damn it, Eli! Would you shut your mouth for two seconds!" Lars roars with such volume that it actually shakes the hangar a bit.

  Trigger withholds a wince at the noise. 'That's the first time I've ever heard him raise his voice in anger.'

  Mila, Jodie, and Eddy all flinch openly, and although Eli isn't as easily cowed, it still stops him long enough for Lars to get a word in.

  "Look, I get it, okay?" Lars begins with a deep frown. "A lot of psychics have a bad rep, and a lot of them did it to themselves and deserve it, but not all of them are like that."

  He gestures to the wide-eyed woman on the floor with a large hand. "Yeah, she did wrong by us with what she tried, but did you feel anything off when she gave up and tried to convince you she wasn't lying? Did she try anything else? Just because she maybe can lie well doesn't mean she is. Desperation does things to people, makes them act up. I think she deserves the benefit of the doubt. Let's hear everything first, then decide after."

  Trigger's gaze falls back down to his wristcomm, where he needs only one press of a button to summon the station authorities and be on his way to being a hundred-thousand credits richer.

  The man turns his head to Lars, carefully studying the forced, stoic mask upon the rottweiler's face, and on it he finds not some form of righteous indignation…

  …But vulnerability peeking through the cracks.

  And at once, he understands.

  With a sigh, Trigger lets his arm fall and his comm's screen go dark. "Talk," he demands from the skunk once more. "Tell us everything, now."

  "Trigger, this is not-!"

  He halts Eli's protests with a raised hand, then turns his attention back to the cuffed woman. "No word games, no dodging the question. How did you end up with your bounty?"

  The skunk takes a moment to collect herself, blood still trickling from her split lip. When she speaks again, her voice carries a resigned steadiness.

  "I suppose I should properly introduce myself. Stella Kaliman," she says, attempting an awkward half-bow from her position on the floor, though all she can really do is bow her head. "And before any of you ask, yes, that's my real name."

  Trigger keeps his expression neutral. "Continue."

  Stella shifts slightly, the labor bot's knee adjusting to keep her pinned. "I've been a solo spacer for about six years now. You know the work, it's nothing fancy, and nothing illegal. And I was always, always careful to keep my abilities to myself. You don't advertise being a telepath unless you want to end up registered, regulated, or worse." She pauses. "I was doing a salvage authentication job in Griath before the gate tolls rose to unreasonable levels," Stella continues. "I was spending the weeks verifying that recovered tech was genuine rather than fakes. It was good money for a gal who can tell a lie from the truth just with passive sensing. But when things started getting bad here, when the system started falling apart, that's when they showed up."

  "Who?" Trigger asks, leaning in.

  "Trade Union representatives," she answers grimly. "You know the type, yes? Expensive suits and corporate smiles."

  The Trade Union again... The more Trigger hears about them, the more he thinks they're going to end up a thorn in his side.

  Stella's violet eyes narrow at the memory. "They had a 'job offer' for me. They wouldn't say what it was, just that it paid well and required someone with my 'unique qualifications.' I told them that without real details, I wasn't interested."

  Mila shifts her weight, her tail swishing nervously. "But they didn't take no for an answer?"

  "Oh, sis, they really didn't," Stella laughs bitterly. "The offers kept coming. Higher pay each time. First it was fifty thousand. Then a hundred. By the fourth approach, they were offering half a million credits for me to put pen to paper." She shakes her head. "Nobody pays that kind of money for anything legal."

  "The fifth time they sent someone, I was ready. He was some middle management type, more fur gel than brain. I gave him a smile, a wink, and a little push," she wiggles her fingers behind her back, "just enough suggestion to loosen his tongue. The poor little boor told me his regional director knew about my abilities somehow, and that they wanted psychics."

  "That's when you ran," Lars says quietly. Something flashes across his face too fast for Trigger to ID it.

  "That's when I tried to disappear," Stella corrects. "I sent that goon on his way with his memories a bit fuzzy, packed up my things, and went dark, but someone must have figured out I'd been tipped off, because the offers stopped immediately." She sighs. "And the bounty hunters started showing up three days later."

  Eddy, who's been unusually quiet, pipes up. "Wait, so you went from job offers to being hunted? Just like that?" He asks, blinking. "Jeez…"

  "Just like that," Stella confirms. "The first few were amateurs. Cocky idiots who thought they could nab a small woman easy. They learned otherwise," she sniffs. "But after the sixth one didn't report back, local authorities got involved, and suddenly I had a territory-wide warrant for my arrest."

  "Convenient," Trigger observes.

  "Very. The warrant's only valid in Libret space, which tells you who's pulling the strings," she huffs. "The Trade Union has judges in their pockets all over this system." Stella tries to look up at him, though the angle is awkward. "That's why I need to get to LOSA territory. The warrant's not valid there, and the Trade Union's reach is far more limited."

  Eli's rifle hasn't wavered. "Assuming any of this is true, why should we care? You still tried to hijack our mechanic's mind and fuck up our mission."

  "Hon, I…" Stella slumps, her cheek pressed to the floor. "I've been running ragged for months. My ship was impounded on trumped-up docking violations, my accounts are frozen, I can't hire legitimate transport because of the warrant, and I'm simply not strong enough to control an entire smuggler crew for the weeks it would take to escape Libret space." She takes a shaky breath. "I'm sorry for what I tried, I mean it. You can hate me all you want, but you have to understand that I'm beyond desperate at this point. All I want at this point is a night where I don't have to sleep with one eye open."

  Her shoulders tense. "I didn't ask to be a psychic, you know, and if we're all being honest here, it's caused me nothing but woes and headaches. If giving my powers up would make this whole mess just go away, I would do it in a heartbeat!"

  She turns her pleading eyes up to Trigger.

  "Please… I'm just… I'm out of options," she shudders, tired.

  Trigger stares down at the woman, the same one who nearly hurt a member of his squadron. "Lars."

  The large dog's ears perk.

  "I'm leaving this decision to you," Trigger says leadingly.

  Lars's mouth opens to speak.

  "But…"

  The rottweiler's jaws shut with a click, and he tersely waits for his captain to finish.

  "If what you decide comes back to bite Strider Squadron," Trigger meets his eyes. "The fault will lie squarely at your feet."

  Lars's whole body goes tense, his fists clenching and his shoulders bunching up. He turns his eyes away, to the corner of the hangar. "I think…" He lets out a long, hissing breath. "I think we should help."

  At their feet, Stella goes limp in relief.

  Mila, Jodie, and Eddy exchange glances.

  And Eli?

  The eagle's face is deadly cold.

  "Very well," Trigger nods. "We're in the middle of an assignment and cannot abandon it, but once it's complete, we'll arrange for work that takes us up into LOSA space."

  Lars sags in relief. "Thanks, Boss. You're the best."

  Trigger's lips try to rise into a smile.

  "Thank you…" Stella's head is low, even as the bot on her back stands and pulls her into a sitting position. A curtain of white hair hides her eyes. "Thank you so-"

  "What are your powers?"

  The still-cuffed woman looks back up at the abrupt question. "Pardon?"

  "What abilities do you have?" Trigger repeats himself, crossing his arms. "And to what degree?"

  "Ah… I'm a degree… degree one telekinetic and telepath, and a degree two mentalist," she answers with an odd tone, as if bitter.

  "So you can read minds," Trigger nods once more, slowly this time. "Look into mine, so I can drive this point home."

  "Trigger!" Both Mila and Eli exclaim at once, the latter far angrier than the former.

  Stella's brows furrow at the request, but she raises her head, looking Trigger dead in the eyes. Once their gazes connect, violet goes wide as flint black narrows.

  "If you use your powers on my crew again, or in any other way betray our trust," Trigger's face morphs into a grim, deathly scowl. "You'll regret it."

  The woman sucks in a sharp breath, tremors overtaking her form and her pupils constricting to pinpricks. She sits on the deck, frozen sans her incessant shaking, unable to look away until Trigger breaks first.

  The instant she's freed from the spell, Stella leans forward, retches, and vomits on the floor, leaving her teary-eyed and coughing over a puddle of her own sick.

  "Glad to see you understand," is Trigger's mild reply, gesturing at one of the labor bots to remove Stella's cuffs before looking down at his wristcomm. "Strider Squadron, we launch in ten. Someone show our guest to the women's bunk," he says, starting towards the bridge.

  The terror-filled violet eyes on his back are ignored.