The swivel gates of the Starhaven Outpost slid open with a metallic sigh as The Vulture's Grin nestled into its leased dock. Neon lanterns flickered over a cluster of battered freighters and rusty maintenance rigs, the neutral zone alive with the hum of commerce and whispered rumors. Here, credits spoke louder than contracts, and a timely non-aggression fee could buy a week of peace.
Zai Ren stepped onto the platform, boots echoing against warped metal plates. Captain Rhys led the way, data pad in hand, glancing at old holo-signs advertising food, water, and contraband parts. Old Jin followed, scanner clipped to his belt, eyes flicking over the docking bay's security sweeps. Tamika lingered at the rear, arms folded, exuding impatience.
Rhys approached the outpost commander—a short man with a scar across one cheek and a grin that looked permanently stained. He offered the comm array a chunk of encrypted credits.
"Compliments of The Vulture's Grin," Rhys said, voice calm. "Keep our transponder low-priority. No bounties."
The commander pocketed the credits with a nod. "Your marker's scrubbed for 48 hours. But keep the fireworks to a minimum. Heard you've been lighting up the belt lately."
Rhys inclined his head. "Appreciate your discretion."
Zai exhaled, tension leaking from his shoulders. "Two days of peace. Not bad."
Tamika smirked, nudging him. "You look more relieved than after a skiff chase."
He grinned. "Better than a skiff chase."
---
Respite & Reflection
In the cramped mess hall, the crew gathered around a battered table warped by heat vents. Protein bars were passed out like currency; recycled brew steamed in chipped mugs. For once, no one spoke of mercenaries or slipstream jumps—just a simple hunger and the promise of quiet.
Tamika crunched a bar loudly. "So, Zai, you a deck-card player? Or just algorithms?"
Zai laughed. "I know some games. But I need practice." He turned toward Kira, who sat across from him, her battered tech case parked at her feet as if guarding her seat.
"My grandmother taught me this one," Kira offered softly, producing a fold-out board etched with neon lines and shifting glyphs. "Called Ghost Tracks. A scavenger's pastime—simple rules." She slid the board to Zai.
Jin leaned in, eyebrows raised. "Board games now? Thought we did circuits and scrap." He chuckled.
Kira arranged a handful of hexagonal tokens. "Move to adjacent node, claim control. First to six wins." She glanced at Zai. "Care to try?"
Zai picked up his first token, smiled at her. "Deal me in."
---
They played by lantern glow and whispered banter. Tamika and Jin grinned at their ease—Zai, normally so intense, laughing as he outmaneuvered Kira on the board.
Specter flicked in Zai's mind, dry as ever: **"Pathetic human games. Your ancestors would weep."
Zai rolled his eyes internally. Keep the commentary to yourself.
He shifted a token. "Check."
Kira frowned, her next move interrupted by a flash of notification on Zai's HUD.
He masked his reaction. "Jin, Tam, I'm getting a faint flicker on the long-range scan—static signature matching Kira's quantum ping, but too weak to trace. Probably a glitch. Probably nothing."
Jin raised an eyebrow. "Your AI has jokes."
Zai shook his head. "Jin's right. No worries."
But under the table, his hand brushed the small scrap circuit he'd pocketed earlier—a fragment that had glowed with the same faint resonance as Kira's data core.
---
Low-Risk Scav Run
Morning arrived with a hiss of recycled air and the click of loading ramps. Rhys stood in the cargo bay, arms crossed. "We've got a low-tier contract: dismantle the old Helion Mining Rig. Full of salvageable hydraulics and minor power conduits. No AI cores, no trouble."
Zai, Tamika, and Jin donned lightweight exo-vests and climbed into a rusted salvage cutter. The station's launch arm whirred as they detached and drifted into the moon's shadow.
The abandoned rig loomed against the horizon—a skeletal crawler half-buried in slag and ice. Zai leaned over the console. "Cluster of power jars at sector seven. Hydraulic joints sealed but retrievable."
Tamika grinned. "Easy credits."
They cut through sealed hatches and worked in sync: Jin handled data logs, tagging nodes for later sale; Tamika rigged cutting torches; Zai unbolted salvage clamps and rerouted power to keep lights on.
The rig's interior echoed their tools—metallic groans and the hiss of gas vents. Zai paused as he found a pristine matrix node buried beneath debris—worth far more than the rig's contract value.
He pocketed it like a gift.
---
Lingering Shadows
Back on the Grin, the cutter returned with a solid haul. Credits for the rig's parts and bonuses for the unexpected node would cover Grandma Mei's med supplies for months.
Rhys inspected the offload. "Not bad. You two did well." He addressed Zai: "That extra node… should fetch a premium."
Zai nodded, but Jin's scanner chimed softly.
"We've got a blip," Jin said. "Long-range. Signature matches—"
Tamika cut in: "Not again?"
Zai clenched his fist. "I'll check it."
He slipped away to the engineering panel and tapped the override. The faint pulse echoed—like a heartbeat hidden among wrecks.
He closed his eyes. Who's still looking for you, Kira?
Back in the cargo bay, he approached Kira. She stared vacantly at the harvested crates.
"You okay?" he asked.
She blinked. "I'm fine. Just... old memories."
Zai slipped the scrap circuit into her palm. "This popped up in the rig. Same resonance as your case. Thought you'd want it."
She stared at the fragment, then at Zai. "Thank you." Her voice was soft, genuine.
He nodded. "We'll figure it out. Together."
She smiled, a small light in tired eyes—yet shadows lingered beneath.
---
Closing Beat
That night, the crew gathered for a quiet toast. Tamika raised her mug. "To no explosions."
Jin chuckled. "I'll drink to that."
Rhys swapped glances with Zai. "Just a few more runs like this, and we'll be set."
Specter pinged in Zai's mind: **"Affirmative: for a brief window, life approximates normalcy. Enjoy it while it lasts."
Zai stifled a laugh. "Thanks, Specter."
Outside the viewport, the stars of Nova Helix shimmered like distant promises. The Grin sailed on, its crew bound by circuits of trust and the fragile hope of quiet skies.
But somewhere beyond the belt's edge,
Hunters watched.