Outside the viewport, black snow drifted lazily through the methane haze. The Witches’ Family stragglers had been completely neutralized and were now dangling from restraint drones like some kind of miserable wind-chime display.
Inside, the air still tasted faintly of burnt insulation and adrenaline. Consoles beeped their last damage reports. The ship’s AI murmured to itself in the background, cycling through checklists like it was trying to convince the universe we were back to “normal.”
And yet, despite the fact we’d just crawled out of a nightmare, Armad was leaning against the wall with a cup of coffee, looking like this was his afternoon break.
“…You know,” I said, side-eyeing him hard, “for someone who just came back from almost dying, you’re way too relaxed.”
Armad turned only his eyes toward me and let the corner of his mouth lift.
“In the frontier,” he said, “you don’t last long if you jump at every little thing. You’d need three hearts.”
“Wow. Listen to you. And here I thought you were just reckless.”
“I’m reckless,” he agreed without shame. “But I get results.”
…Unfortunately, he wasn’t wrong.
Dad had been rescued. My stepmother was restrained. The Family’s executives were bundled into the Shiratori’s holding cells like trash bags waiting for pickup. Even the mech wreckage had been tagged and towed, because apparently this ship did everything except make my life peaceful.
And me?
I was sitting at Dad’s bedside, fingers wrapped around his hand.
He was still asleep, but his breathing and heartbeat were steady. The medical AI had already begun the recovery process. Armad said he’d wake up with time.
I swallowed the tight feeling in my throat and looked up.
“…Seriously. Thank you. You saved my life, and you saved my dad.”
Armad shrugged.
“No need. It’s work.”
“No, let me say it! Even if it’s ‘work’! You saved my life—what—twice now!”
“Not twice. Three times,” he said, utterly calm. “When your pressure suit froze. When the Family’s mech targeted you. And when you got out of the medical capsule and nearly choked because a bird-shaped manipulator force-fed you medicine.”
“The last one has nothing to do with you!”
“If I’d left it alone, you would’ve died.”
“Wait—seriously!? That bird is that dangerous!? Your medical equipment is terrifying!”
Armad laughed quietly, like I’d complimented his interior decorating.
“Medicine can be violent at times. The bird isn’t at fault.”
“Oh, it’s absolutely at fault. That thing has the personality of an evil AI. I’m telling you.”
He finished his coffee and set the cup down with a soft clink.
“Anyway,” he said, “I should get going. The frontier is wide. There are always more sparks—Family or otherwise.”
“…You’re leaving?”
The words came out before I could stop them, and my voice wobbled like an idiot.
Armad didn’t hesitate. He flipped his cloak and headed for the airlock like he was walking out of a convenience store.
“Something came up,” he said. “I have to deal with it. There’s no more work for me here. With you and your father, this planet can stand back up.”
“But…!”
My mouth tried to sprint ahead of my pride. It’s lonely. Stay a little longer. Those words climbed up my throat—
—and then Armad stopped at the airlock and looked back.
The black snow glittered under the ship’s lights, little ink flecks catching white illumination.
“Sorry I’m not your prince on a white horse,” he said, smiling lightly, “but…”
He shrugged like it was the most obvious thing in the world.
“I’m a rescuer and an adventurer. I don’t have time to fall in love. And if I did fall, it’d be a hassle.”
“Your lines are way too hardboiled!” I snapped. “Fine! Then at least get ‘held up’ a little! On principle!”
“Can’t,” he said. “Not my nature.”
The airlock opened. A narrow passage unfolded toward the outer hatch.
Beyond it waited Shiratori’s mothership—an enormous white shadow hanging in orbit.
Armad lifted one hand in a casual farewell.
“The Shiratori will run on autopilot to my base in the Barijit system,” he said. “Once you’re safely back home, signal the AI when the timing’s right. Later.”
Then—like he couldn’t resist leaving one last smear of bravado behind—he let out a single, lazy laugh.
“Hah.”
Reading on this site? This novel is published elsewhere. Support the author by seeking out the original.
And he was gone, shooting out into space.
Just like that.
A beat later, the mothership—Al Safar, apparently—lit its engines and drifted away in moments, shrinking into the distance like a rumor.
The Shiratori immediately entered an automated descent sequence.
“—Aaaagh, seriously!” I groaned, staring at the empty airlock. “Where is my prince charming!? Because it’s definitely not that hardboiled man!”
The bridge lights dimmed a fraction as the ship shifted power to the descent thrusters. Somewhere deeper inside the hull, a stabilizer whined.
A calm voice floated from a ceiling speaker.
“Automated descent sequence engaged. Estimated touchdown: seventy-eight minutes. Please remain seated. Please refrain from kicking the medical patient.”
“…I didn’t kick him that hard,” I muttered.
That was when the thin metal shard my brother had given me bumped against my finger inside my pocket.
My brother was a GDC hustler who made money across the stars. If he came back, he could laugh and kick this backwater power struggle off the planet… probably.
And yet, lately, contact had been spotty. Either he was busy… or he’d gotten himself tangled up in some “annoying ruin job.”
As I was thinking that, the Shiratori’s terminal went ping.
My spine went cold.
A message appeared.
[Frontier Security Service Invoice]
Request ID: ALR-99837
Operation: Witches’ Family Crackdown / Rescue Support
Total Due: 8,900,000 credits
Due Date: Within 14 days
Agent: Armad L. Rashid
“…Huh!?” I barked. “An invoice!? I didn’t request anything! This wasn’t free!? This wasn’t charity!?”
And because the universe hates me personally, there was fine print.
Small print: Regardless of the rescue target’s consent, any labor costs incurred based on on-site conditions will be billed in full.
“This is a scam!!”
My finger hovered over the “details” tab like it was a detonator.
I tapped it anyway.
A neat itemized list unfolded, smug as a bureaucrat.
- Hostage extraction / emergency medical stabilization
- Armed mech neutralization (hazard differential: frontier-grade)
- Environmental contamination response (black snow particulate filtration)
- Restraint drone deployment (x12)
- Legal processing / detainment paperwork (dead-law jurisdiction)
- Expedited departure fee
Expedited departure fee.
I stared at it until my vision threatened to blur.
“Did he just… charge me for leaving fast?”
The terminal, of course, offered no sympathy.
So I did what any reasonable person would do.
I opened a comm channel and stabbed the call request like I was trying to punch a hole through space-time.
“Armad! Pick up! This is illegal! This is morally illegal! That’s a thing!”
A second later, an automated reply blinked onto the screen.
[Agent Unavailable]
Armad L. Rashid is currently deployed.
For billing disputes, please visit Frontier Security Service—Barijit System Office.
Note: Physical appearance may be required to verify identity and prevent fraud.
The urge to scream didn’t go away. It just… condensed into something sharp.
I opened the dispute form anyway, because I’m stubborn and I refuse to let the universe win without paperwork.
A new window appeared.
[DISPUTE REQUEST — PRELIMINARY QUESTIONS]
- Are you currently in immediate danger?
- Is your ship on fire?
- Is your ship on fire because you were negligent?
- Do you acknowledge that “rescue” is defined as “any operation conducted to prevent loss of life or assets,” including but not limited to neutralization of hostile forces?
- Do you acknowledge that frontier “dead-law” allows enforcement and billing under emergency authority?
I stared at the list.
“That… that is a whole lot of ‘yes’ shaped like ‘no.’”
I scrolled.
At the bottom, in the same cheerful font the terminal used for Have a nice day, was another line:
Billing target: Primary beneficiary (estate of Z—)
Dad.
He’d billed Dad.
My stomach did a slow, offended flip.
“Okay,” I told the air, voice thin. “So the plan is: wake Dad up, let him breathe, and then casually drop ‘By the way, we owe eight point nine million credits’ like it’s a weather update.”
The terminal pinged again with a helpful addendum.
Tip: Payment plans available. Late fees apply. Interest compounds daily.
“Late fees,” I repeated. “On a rescue.”
Somewhere in the ship, a restraint drone clanked past, hauling a bound criminal like a sack of laundry.
I rubbed my face with both hands.
“Frontier Security really looked at heroism and thought: Let’s monetize that.”
“Oh, so you’re telling me I have to fly to Barijit to complain in person.”
The Shiratori’s AI chimed in, helpfully.
“Barijit System listed as: authorized destination.”
“Stop being so eager,” I told the ceiling. “You’re not helping.”
Right then, a faint voice drifted from deeper in the medical block.
“…H-hime…?”
“Dad!!”
Dad’s eyes opened slowly.
I bolted to him, almost tripping over my own feet, and he gave me a weak smile like he’d decided waking up wasn’t worth arguing with.
“…Did you… save me…?”
“Yeah… well… half me, half that weird guy…”
Dad’s gaze wandered, then he pointed at the terminal with a hand that barely wanted to move.
“…An invoice…?”
“Don’t look!” I snapped, throwing myself between him and the screen like the invoice could bite. “You absolutely can’t look right now!”
Dad let out a pained chuckle and held his head.
“…We’ll need to… increase mining investment… What are resource prices like now…? No—before that, we have to clean up the remaining Family—”
“What, are you planning to get tricked again?” I snapped. “Quit it, Dad. After Mom, you’ve messed up your ‘choosing women’ twice already.”
“…Ugh,” he muttered, going visibly droopy. “That hurts…”
So, naturally, I kicked his butt—lightly.
“Ow!? Hey. What kind of father gets kicked by his own daughter…?”
“If you get fooled by another weird woman, I’m kicking harder next time!”
Dad lay back, still smiling like he couldn’t even argue. His eyelids drooped, the adrenaline finally draining out of him.
The medical AI spoke, brisk and unapologetic.
“Patient consciousness restored. Cardiopulmonary metrics stable. Please allow rest to prevent relapse.”
“Yeah, yeah,” I muttered. “I’m letting him rest. I’m just… also letting him rest with a warning.”
Dad gave a tiny laugh, then his breathing evened out again.
I exhaled, long and slow, and pressed my forehead to the window.
Outside, the black snow still drifted, soft and eerie and wrong. Beyond it, the planet waited—scarred, angry, and somehow still mine.
“…He really left,” I whispered.
Armad wasn’t a prince. No white horse. Probably not boyfriend material.
But he’d shown up when everything was collapsing, and he’d kicked a hole through the nightmare like it owed him money.
…Then he’d actually sent me the bill.
“Fine,” I said to my reflection in the glass. “Next time I see him, I’m definitely complaining. Especially about that invoice.”
My grin twitched into place, sharp and stubborn.
And while I was at it—
My fingers slid back into my pocket and closed around my brother’s metal shard.
“—I’m finding you too,” I added under my breath.
I walked back to the terminal, opened a new panel, and set the shard on the scanner bed.
The Shiratori’s UI flickered.
[GDC TAG: PARTIAL IDENTIFIER DETECTED]
[LAST REGISTERED RELAY: BARIIJIT SYSTEM NODE]
[STATUS: NO RECENT HANDSHAKE]
No recent handshake.
Of course.
“Busy,” I told myself, even though the thought tasted like a lie. “He’s just busy.”
The AI offered a neutral suggestion.
“Recommended action: establish relay contact upon arrival within Barijit system range.”
I stared at the glowing text. At the word arrival like it was trying to become a destiny.
Behind me, Dad slept. The ship descended. The planet’s mess waited below.
And somewhere out there, my brother was either ignoring me—
—or he couldn’t answer.
“Okay,” I said, tapping the panel shut with more force than necessary. “Barijit it is.”
The Shiratori’s bridge lights pulsed once, as if satisfied.
“Course plotting available upon request,” the AI said.
I turned back to the viewport, to the drifting black snow, and let my grin sharpen into something that felt almost like a promise.
“Yeah,” I whispered. “My story isn’t over yet.”
(End of Volume I)