Glass crunches under Trigger's boot as he shifts his weight behind the overturned table. His Havoc-7 sits heavy in his grip, its weight familiar yet frustrating as he checks the ammo counter glowing softly on the side. Fifty-two shots left out of a hundred, and he's already burned through his primary mag.

  He reaches down, fingers closing around a jagged piece of glass from what used to be a bottle of something expensive. The shard catches the flickering emergency lighting as he carefully angles it above his cover, using the reflection to survey the carnage.

  With a bolter hole burned through his left shoulder, given to him when he stupidly dared to test himself against the speed of several trained gunmen, even raising a bit of glass takes a herculean effort.

  The bar looks like a warzone, because that's exactly what it became. Tables lie scattered like fallen dominoes, their metal frames bent and scorched from laserfire. The walls sport a constellation of blackened holes where bolts punched through, and the air still carries that distinctive ozone smell of discharged energy weapons. Bodies sprawl across the floor in ungraceful positions, most wearing the same black tactical gear stripped of any identifying marks, some of them clutching their weapons even in death.

  Mixed among them are three civilians, caught in the wrong place at the wrong time when the shooting started. A canine bartender sits slumped against the back wall, his apron smoldering from a shot to the chest. A pair of feline patrons lie near the door, dressed in party clothes and clearly too young to actually be drinking. Tragically, they'll never learn from this mistake.

  Through the shattered windows, rain sheets down in the darkness outside. Lightning flashes, and in that brief strobe of illumination, Trigger counts three shapes moving through the downpour. They advance in a staggered line, weapons up, using parked vehicles as cover.

  He lowers the glass shard and raises his wristcomm shakily, tapping the emergency frequency. Static hisses back at him. He tries again, adjusting the signal strength.

  "Boss?" Lars' voice finally crackles through, strained but alive.

  "Status," Trigger keeps his voice low, ears listening for the figures beyond the windows.

  "Took one in the leg, but I'm still breathing. Found some cover in the kitchen, but a second team came in through the back after the first breach and jumped me. Not going anywhere fast, but I can still shoot if needed."

  Trigger allows himself a small exhale of relief. Small mercies. "The others? I haven't been able to reach them."

  "Eli's sniper nest on the 3rd floor got made. Had to hit the bricks when they started lobbing grenades up there. He's probably repositioning and keeping quiet so they don't hear." A pause, then Lars continues. "Eddy caught shrapnel in his leg, bad. Made the call to have Stella evac him. He wasn't any good all messed up like that."

  "And Mila? She went to support you," Trigger asks, though something cold settles in his stomach when Lars doesn't immediately respond.

  The silence stretches longer than it should. When Lars speaks again, his voice carries a weight that makes Trigger's blood turn to ice.

  "Boss... Mila is..."

  Movement catches Trigger's eye, forcing him to look to his side. There, sprawled in an expanding pool of crimson, Jodie lies motionless. Her eyes stare at nothing, and the sight makes Trigger's stomach twist violently. The coyote's overalls are soaked dark, and her compact hold-out blaster lies just out of reach of her outstretched fingers.

  'This went so wrong…'

  Boot steps crunch on glass. The hunters are inside now, moving with the same tactical wariness they displayed outside. Trigger can hear their measured breathing, the soft clicks of weapon safeties being flipped off and the whine of charging capacitors. Three of them at least, maybe more.

  His finger finds the trigger of his Havoc. No mercy. Not for these bastards. Not after what they've done to his people. He tenses, ready to spring from cover and turn them into corpses, but the moment he breaks cover, the world seemingly freezes in place.

  Every raindrop hangs suspended in midair. The lightning bolt outside becomes a frozen fracture across the sky. The advancing killers stand like statues, weapons raised but unmoving.

  "Okay, can we stop starting with the impossible scenarios?" Jodie's voice resonates from everywhere and nowhere at once, irritation dripping from every word. "I'm gettin' real sick of dying as soon as things start! Besides, Kale just messaged and he said the Aquila is ready!"

  [SIMULATION ABORTED!] ?

  The bar, the bodies, the rain, the gun in his hands, the "blood" and "burns" on his shirt, everything glows with an intense blue light that consumes the world. When it fades, Trigger finds himself sitting in the familiar confines of a VR pod, the wireframe walls still humming as they power down. Immediately, the comfort controls kick in, and cool air blows from above.

  'Glad I wasn't wearing a full flightsuit,' Trigger thinks dully, looking down at the simple, sweaty shirt and cargo pants he opted for this morning. He swings his left arm around, free now that the suite's grav module isn't trying to arrest his movement to simulate injury. 'Would have been extra hot.'

  "Being taken out by a cheap shot wasn't fun," Mila's voice cuts through next, frustration evident in her tone. "Can we maybe start a bit more mild? Not with crazy hunter-killer teams that don't feel fear or pain or anything?"

  The VR pod's interior lights up with a soft blue glow, and holographic projections shimmer into existence around Trigger. The rest of Strider Squadron materializes in a circle, their semi-transparent avatars standing in their respective pods, each one slightly tinted with their pod's color designation.

  "We would have done fine if you'd followed the plan," Eli says, his eagle features sharp even in holographic form. His arms cross over his chest. "The first wave would have been easy if we'd used the confusion of the initial breach to retaliate. Classic counter-ambush."

  Eddy's avatar points at the eagle indignantly, his scales shifting to red even in projection. "We got a whole half-second of notice when that door got kicked in before the bolts started flying! Plus, there were a ton of people caught in the crossfire. What were we supposed to do, just gun down everyone?"

  "Of course not," Eli shakes his head, and Eddy's eyes widen in surprise at the apparent agreement. Then the eagle continues, "Shooting civilians would be a waste of ammo. Just pick your shots carefully and prioritize threats."

  "Are you serious right now?" Mila jumps back in. "That's your takeaway? Not that maybe throwing us into a meat grinder scenario helps nobody?"

  "Trigger did it."

  "Yeah, once! Not every day for four days straight!"

  Eli turns his beak up. "Combat doesn't ask permission before it gets hard," he shoots back. "Better you learn to handle pressure here than freeze up when it's real."

  "Up yours, guy! There's a difference between pressure and im-freakin-possible!" Eddy protests, his avatar's fully-regrown tail lashing.

  The bickering escalates, Eli defending his philosophy of training hard to fight easy while Mila and Eddy argue for graduated difficulty. Trigger notices both Stella and Lars look like they want to weigh in against Eli's methods, but they remain silent for now. Stella's avatar shifts uncomfortably, while Lars just watches with a thoughtful frown.

  "Enough," Trigger cuts in. The arguing stops immediately. "This style of training doesn't seem to be conducive to everyone's growth. For now, we stick with lower-level simulations during full-team exercises until everyone's up to speed. Once our less martial members have the basics down, we'll gradually increase difficulty."

  He looks directly at Eli's avatar. "We'll also divide into teams periodically. That way, dedicated combat personnel can practice at higher levels while others build fundamentals. Seems fair, right?"

  Eli's avatar crosses its arms tighter, and a grumble comes through the audio. But he doesn't disagree, which Trigger takes as acceptance.

  "Good." Trigger turns to Jodie's projection. "You said Kale contacted you?"

  He glances down at his wristcomm, noticing the missed call indicator blinking. Must have come through while he was in the simulation.

  Jodie's bad mood evaporates like morning mist, replaced by tail-wagging enthusiasm. "Yeah! While I was spectating your little massacre, Kale called after you and Eli didn't pick up. The Aquila's repairs are finished! We're cleared to move back in!"

  The coyote's projection wiggles with barely contained excitement. "I've been talkin' to the base's logistics guy, and they got plenty of junk sitting around in closets that no-one will miss, so I've been having 'em set some aside for us. I got loadsa things I can fix up and install while we're still in drydock. Can I be dismissed to go get started? Please?"

  Trigger considers the eager mechanic with a raised eyebrow. "Go ahead."

  His mind goes back to the Sovereign incursion into Griath II a little over a week ago, and the thoughts he had in the aftermath. His fists nearly clench, held back only by an insistent, internal mantra.

  It's for them. Your own hangups don't matter.

  "...I'd like to discuss your upgrades, and suggest a few of my own before you begin, though, so have a list ready," Trigger continues, calm forcefully injected into each word. "We'll gather everyone's belongings and meet you there with the fighters."

  "Yes!" Jodie's avatar gives a mock salute before winking out of existence, the sound of her pod door opening and shutting echoing a little through the walls.

  "We'll call it here for now," Trigger says, and his pod begins its shutdown sequence with a soft hiss of depressurizing seals.

  The others follow suit, pods opening in sequence as the team extracts themselves from the training systems. They make their way back through the orbital base's corridors in relative quiet, everyone processing the morning's intense simulations. The cramped quarters feel even smaller as six people try to pack simultaneously, bumping elbows and stepping over bags.

  Twenty minutes later, they're in the guest hangar loading their belongings into the fighters and waiting for a shuttle to the opposite side of the station for whoever the odd man out will be. The space echoes with the sound of cargo compartments opening and duffels being stowed. Trigger watches Eddy struggle with his oversized bag, looking quite miserable as he trudges towards the Wyvern.

  A transport shuttle pulls up to the hangar entrance, its antigrav-coils whining as it settles onto the deck. The pilot, a bored-looking rat, unseals his window with a hiss and sticks his head out.

  "Drydock transit, got room for one more," he calls out.

  "Dibs!" Eddy practically throws himself toward the shuttle, scuttling up the dropping rear ramp before it can even open all the way. "Sorry, toots!" He calls to Stella, who stands, frozen midstep with a dropped jaw. "No more fighters or adrenaline for ol' Eddy today!"

  "Well aren't you just a gentleman!" The skunk yells back, scowling.

  Eddy grins wide as the hatch closes, pointing at the psychic with a pair of finger guns. "It's called 'egalitarianism', baby. We're all equally bad, and-!"

  The shuttle lurches and takes to the air, and Eddy, still standing, trips forward and bashes his head into the nearly-closed ramp with a loud Bong!

  Stella stands there holding her small bag, ears drooping slightly as the shuttle pulls away. She turns to look at the remaining fighters with obvious apprehension.

  "You're with me," Trigger says, gesturing to the Wyvern, making her tense up.

  He helps her up the ladder, noting how her hand trembles when it takes his. Her grip is clammy despite the hangar's cool temperature. Once she's in the rear seat, he leans in to check her harness.

  "Strap in tight. Don't touch anything," he says firmly, even if he knows the WSO controls are disabled.

  Stella nods quickly, hands folded tightly in her lap as Trigger settles into the pilot's seat. He runs through preflight checks quick as can be, systems coming online with familiar hums and beeps.

  "Killigan Orbital Control, this is the MVF Stratos Wyvern requesting departure clearance from Guest Hangar Two, flying with the MVF Revived, MVF Aggressor, and MVF Slinky-II, on my wing," he begins, opening his radio.

  "Stratos Wyvern, Killigan Orbital Control. You're cleared for departure. Maintain heading zero-nine-zero until clear of the station envelope, then proceed to Drydock Four. Safe flight."

  The Wyvern lifts smoothly in VTOL mode, landing gear retracting as they clear the deck. Trigger guides them toward the hangar exit, then out to the faux airfield and its fantastic, planetary sky. Behind them, three more fighters power up, Mila, Eli, and Lars falling into loose formation.

  They pass through the barrier in the edge of the round station and into open space, and Trigger angles out, planning to clear the superstructure before looping around to the drydock. The stars wheel slowly past the canopy as they navigate between sensor arrays and communication dishes.

  Movement in his peripheral vision draws his attention. Stella flinches in the rear seat, her reflection in the canopy showing her jaw clenched tight.

  "Calm down," Trigger says, giving her a glance over his shoulder. "We'll be there in a few minutes."

  "I'm as calm as I can be," comes the quiet reply. She winces again, this time bringing a hand up toward her head before forcing it back down.

  This time Trigger recognizes it for what it is: pain, not fear.

  "What's wrong?"

  "Nothing. I'm fine."

  "That wasn't a request," Trigger says more firmly. "What's wrong?"

  Silence stretches between them, broken only by the Wyvern's engine hum. Finally, Stella reaches back to rub the metallic port at the base of her skull, the one Trigger noticed when they first met.

  "I use anti-inflammation meds for my psionics," she admits quietly. "The cartridge in my cyberware ran dry yesterday."

  Trigger frowns, banking slightly to avoid a careless cargo hauler. "Have you been using your powers? I told you not to."

  "No!" The denial comes quickly, almost desperate. "I haven't, I swear. It's just... even mild psionics involve abnormally high neural activity, particularly in the parietal and frontal lobes." Her voice takes on a clinical sort of tone, like she's reciting from a long-memorized text. "Psionically charged neurons burn through ATP and oxygen at extreme rates, leading to localized hypoxia and heat buildup in the brain. The resulting cytokine release causes inflammation of both spinal and brain tissue."

  She pauses, and when she continues, there's a bitter edge to her voice. "Weak psychics like me, who can't completely clamp down on their powers, need medication for life."

  The quiet returns for a moment, and Trigger finds himself frowning. "What is this medication called? And how is it administered?"

  "Psiontizol," she answers slowly. Her hand rises and rubs the metallic port jutting between tufts of purple again. "It's produced in a small cartridge that can be swapped in and out of appropriate ports."

  Trigger nods once, then looks at the little projected window on the side of his canopy, where Nidhogg always sits and waits. "Nidhogg, have a few refills of this 'Psiontizol' sent to the Aquila. Use my account, and be discreet. Don't want everyone to know we have a psychic on board."

  "Captain Trigger, that's-"

  "Purchase confirmed," Nidhogg interrupts the skunk. "Courier dispatched. ETA: one hour."

  Stella slumps in her seat. "Captain, I don't have any money to pay you back for that!"

  "Would you prefer to spend weeks in pain as we complete our current assignment?" Trigger asks, his attention on his radar. He gets no argument. "Pay me back when you can. I don't care about timeframes."

  The drydock comes into view as they round the station's superstructure, and Trigger gets his first look at the repaired Aquila floating in the maintenance cradle. The Libret shipwrights do good work, he has to admit. From this distance, he can barely tell the corvette was ever damaged.

  The rear portion of the hull gleams under the work lights, fresh plating seamlessly welded where the reactor housing had been breached. The top turret's damaged barrel has been replaced with factory-new components, and the blown-off plas-flakker mount practically sparkles with fresh manufacture. Even the scorch marks along the flanks have been buffed out, leaving the ship looking better than when they'd first acquired it.

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  His gaze shifts to the massive structure tethered nearby: the half-dissected hulk that was once the front section of the Sovereign cruiser he tore in half. Work crews swarm over it like ants, cutting away armor plating and stripping valuable components. Salvage tugs haul away sections of hull, while smaller craft ferry electronics and intact weapons systems to storage facilities.

  'The base here on Killigan won't be hurting for raw materials for a while,' Trigger muses.

  As they approach the Aquila's hangar, the bay doors slide open, nice and smooth. Immediately, Trigger notices the organized chaos that has overtaken Jodie's workstation. Crates, salvaged components, and what can only be described as technological junk sprawl across a significant portion of the hangar deck, encroaching on his usual landing spot.

  A projection flickers to life on the side of his canopy: Jodie's face, wearing a sheepish expression.

  "Sorry about the lack of space!" she says quickly. "I promise all the bits and bobs I've taken off the base's hands will be useful. Every single piece!"

  Trigger waves her off. "I'll just come in carefully."

  The landing requires more finesse than usual, the Wyvern's VTOL systems whining as he carefully avoids hitting any of Jodie's dumpster dives with scorching engine wash. Behind him, Lars, Eli, and Mila perform their usual approaches, each finding space easier in the cramped hanger.

  Once powered down and dismounted, they gather near Jodie's workstation. Eddy stands beside her, sulking with a wad of red-dyed paper towel stuffed up his left nostril.

  "I've checked over all the repairs," Jodie announces, her wristcomm projecting a detailed checklist in holographic blue. Items scroll past: hull integrity, reactor containment, weapons systems, life support, all marked with green checkmarks. "Everything looks good and spaceworthy. They even recalibrated the inertial dampeners while they were at it."

  "Good work," Trigger says, pleased with her thoroughness. "Have you made your list of proposed modifications before we leave?"

  Jodie nods, then her eyes flick to Stella for just a moment before she taps her wristcomm. A notification pops up on Trigger's device: private message received.

  "Some of the stuff I want to do involves some, uh, 'strange' but pretty 'real' tweaks," she says carefully, clearly choosing her words with Stella in mind. "Technical improvements that might seem unusual but have proven benefits."

  Trigger catches her meaning immediately.

  "I'll review everything after everyone's had time to clean up and decompress from this morning's training," he says, pulling at the sweat-stained collar of his shirt. "We've earned a break."

  "VR pods? On a ship this small? Are you sure you're not getting too big for your overalls, Coyote?"

  In the rear of the Aquila, standing before the twin reactors with their near-silent hums, Trigger, Eli, and Jodie are gathered in a small circle, going over the list of modifications the mechanic wants to install.

  "I'm certain!" Jodie exclaims, poking her finger through the hologram hovering over her wristcomm. On the hologram is a 3D layout of the Aquila's engine room and assorted maintenance points. "I know proper pods suck down too much juice and CPU resources for a corvette, but I'm thinkin' it can work. See, take a look here!"

  She moves her finger over a maintenance closet, one a few meters to their left. "With a bit 'o Strangereal electrical refits, I can delete this whole section and roll it into the starboard reactor closet without it being too cramped, then we can get the hardware for four pods back here. The efficiency jump from the refit will see to the power problems, so it'll all work grand so long as we ain't mid-fight or somethin'. Granted, it won't be top of the line or nothin, but it beats not havin' 'em."

  Eli rubs his chin with a thoughtful frown, mirroring Trigger.

  'That is true. Being able to train on the move would see serious yields down the line…' Trigger thinks. "And the CPU resources you mentioned?"

  "Heh," Jodie grins. "I ran across some techie in the halls of the main admin building that was tossing out a busted RetSoft AG4350 mainframe. I mentioned how I and Strider Squadron, 'you know, they guys who blew out the Sovs' were here on the base commander's hospitality, and if he was just going to trash the mainframe…"

  Trigger holds up a hand to halt her, frowning. "They were going to throw it away? When the surrounding sectors are undergoing a depression due to an electronics shortage? That's wasteful to a gross degree."

  "Military." is all Eli has to say on the matter.

  Trigger's hand falls. "True."

  "Anyway," Jodie chuckles. "I was gonna install the AG4350 and make that the new primary mainframe for the Aquila, then with Nidhogg's help, install a partition of him into the AG4350 to be ship's primary CPU, then relegate the old AG3400 to just VR duty," Jodie continues, swiping a clawed finger over her wristcomm screen, playing a little animation of the new mainframe being set up in the bridge, then the old one being pulled out and moved aft by a flat, little Jodie dragging a hovercart. "I've run the numbers, and not only will the ship run loads better with Nidhogg properly integrated, I can do a seamless hotswap with his help, so the whole thing will be a one-day project, barring anything wild happening."

  Bringing up his own wrist, Trigger goes through Jodie's checklist.

  - POWER RELAY REFIT

  - WEAPON CAPACITOR REFIT

  - REACTOR SHIELDING

  - E-WAR SUITE (TALK WITH NID MAYBE CAN ROLL INTO MAINFRAME)

  The list goes on for quite a ways, ending with the mainframe swap and VR pod install, and a note saying it all should take only three days.

  Trigger nods slowly. "Three days is ambitious."

  "Don't worry none, Trigger," Jodie is quick to defend herself, dismissing her holograms and lifting a hand to poke her captain's chest. "Between the bots and I, three days is easy."

  "Take four," is Trigger's reply. "Use the final day for checks if all else is done before then. No insult intended, but I don't want you to rush under any circumstances." He pauses, inwardly grimacing. "Besides. I have one more proposed upgrade. Due to parts unavailability, I don't expect it to be installed at this stop, but I would like you to go over it and get back to me on the feasibility of the install."

  "Sure, what have you got-" Jodie stops dead, her eyes going wide when Trigger opens his wristcomm, displaying his own holographic schematic.

  Eli sucks in a sharp breath, his cybernetic eye unfolding, bearing the three extra lenses inside as he stares down at the hologram above Trigger's hand. "This is…"

  Before them is a belly-view of the Aquila, but it's not the flat, aerodynamic panels all of them are now familiar with. No, instead, a large cradle with four large, fighter-sized slots has given the ship a gut.

  In those slots?

  MQ-99 drones. The same drones that have been brutalizing them in simulations for days now.

  "Trigger…" Jodie breathes, both her and Eli looking up at him for an explanation.

  "After we were forced to engage the Sovereigns," Trigger sighs, closing his eyes and shielding himself, just a little, from their collective, disbelieving gaze. "We were stretched too thin. There were too many objectives all moving through the battlefield too fast. We held the larger ships back, keeping them away from the Haul-o-Rex and Aquila, but the fighters were aggressive."

  He opens his eyes, looking between the coyote and the eagle. "Truth be told, I could have left Lars, Mila, and you, Eli, back to defend the Aquila as I took the fight to the Sovereigns solo, but…"

  "Everyone would pitch a fit," Jodie remarks.

  "Exactly," Trigger types out a message to Jodie, and sends his mockup to her, making her own device beep. "I mean no insult, but tactically, the most sound option in most scenarios is leaving the rest of the squad behind while I take point and engage any enemies."

  Eli shakes his head, his eye folding back into a single yellow lens. "Fuck. That would sound so god-damned arrogant coming out of anyone else," he sighs heavily. "So drones are your answer?"

  "Until we expand as a team and acquire a new carrier that can host at least two squadrons, drones are the answer… No matter how much I don't want to use them," Trigger grounds out, looking down to the grated floor, where he follows a pipe with his eyes. "Sometimes four fighters just isn't enough."

  "Oh, Trigger…" Jodie's ears pin back, and the coyote rises to the tips of her toes to pull him into a short hug, making the man stiffen up. "I know this had to be hard for you to ask," she says, releasing him and giving him a wide smile. "Don't you worry none. I'll work the kinks out of the design you sent me and we'll make it work."

  Trigger nods, this time a bit absently, still a little disoriented from the sudden contact. "Right. Thank you," he murmurs, then turns his attention to his XO. "Eli? Your input?"

  "If they fight as hard in real life as they do in the sims, then sure, I won't say no," the eagle says, but the downward turn of his beak remains. "How are they going to be controlled though? Who is going to program them?"

  Ah, being forced to admit another thing that galls him. Trigger leans back into the wall, resting his chin on his chest as he thinks. The faint vanilla-ish scent on his flightsuit eases his slight case of nerves, however. 'I don't remember buying vanilla detergent, but I'll have to get more when it runs out.'

  "As of this point, I'm convinced that Nidhogg has no ulterior motives, or motives that don't threaten the wellbeing of the team, so he will be controlling the drones," Trigger finally says. "They'll have standalone programming to thwart electronic warfare attacks, but in the absence of such threats, Nidhogg will pilot them."

  Again and again, the AI proves too useful to sideline. Letting Nidhogg participate in the team training over the last few days had more behind it than just rounding out the team into an even eight pilots, it also let Trigger watch the machine and how he - it flies.

  It's good. Better than Shilage. Better than Hugin and Munin. Nidhogg flies so well it can almost be mistaken for an organic ace. Only the little tells, the lack of twitches, the split second pause of processing before it moves gives it away. Even when keeping itself restrained, Nidhogg instantly reminded him of himself during the few times he'd been tasked with training new pilots after the war. Like him, the AI was always where it needed to be in their little wargames to seem like it was giving a plausible effort, but the moment someone pushed, it would ratchet its skill up just a little, never once faltering or failing to keep in control. Then, during cases of bad luck, its skill would fly to the roof, and pull something Trigger had only ever seen in his few peers.

  Having four of them flying around will keep his team alive until they can climb their way up the mountain.

  "You've given this plenty of thought," Eli states matter-of-factly, getting a silent nod from Trigger. "Then it has my approval. We should tell the others."

  "Tonight," Trigger promises. "After dinner, once everyone's food has settled. Good meeting, you two."

  They're getting drones for Niddy to fly around. Scary.

  Mila, out of her flightsuit and in some comfy sweatpants and a faded t-shirt, idly kicks her paws behind her as she looks down at the datapad on the bed.

  To her left, Trigger sits at his desk, organizing some head-spinningly dense spreadsheets on his terminal. If not for the top of his flightsuit being unzipped and hanging around his waist, the mink would swear he wasn't actually relaxing.

  After a tasty dinner that wasn't from a military commissary, Trigger let everyone in on what the little pow-wow between him, Jodie, and Eli was about, and the last thing Mila expected to be on the checklist was a drone bay.

  Then Trigger explained why, and she nearly teared up.

  She hasn't any idea how hard it would be to use tech that killed so many friends, even in the defence of new ones, but… They're worth that much to him?

  She's worth that much to him?

  Of course, she wasn't about to let Trigger go back and wallow alone in his thoughts after that, so when he excused himself, she marched right into his room and made herself at home. The stunt earned her a raised eyebrow, but he's yet to send her away, instead seeming… perfectly fine with her being there. Maybe she was just seeing things, but she swears Trigger has been looking more and more relaxed with someone to share the silence with.

  'Ten more minutes,' she thinks to herself. 'I'll let him work for ten more minutes, then we'll do something that isn't looking at finances or plotting how to make a fighter do FTL cartwheels.'

  At the seven minute mark, Trigger finally saves and closes out his spreadsheets, but just as Mila prepares to make her move, he instead opens a video call, drawing a quiet groan from her.

  Her captain turns his head to glance at her, raising a finger to his mouth in a silent shush, then returns back to his terminal. A moment later, none other than Farworth materializes on screen.

  "Captain Trigger! It's splendid to see you again!" The badger is all smiles, his gray mustache wobbling with each word. "I take it your ship is repaired?"

  "Indeed, Mister Farworth," Trigger flatly replies. His chair creaks a little as he leans back. "My mechanic is making final checks and changes, and we should be ready to leave within four days."

  "Of course, of course, take your time. I want my stalwart defenders in tip-top shape! Especially after that nasty bit of business with the Sovereigns, euh!" Farworth lets out an exaggerated shake. "Well, nasty in the life and limb aspect. The attempted raid has driven demand for every type of import sky-high, for fear of further freighters never making it. We're going to be very rich men, captain! Why, this might be my most profitable excursion by far! We might not have much to sell in Griath III, assuming I'm not cleaned out before we leave! Haha!"

  Trigger smiles and nods along, but Mila can see the set of his shoulders, and how the small talk is starting to grate on him. "Thats good to hear, Mister Farworth. Besides informing you of our status, I wanted to see if you could procure a few things for me."

  Farworth's jovial visage sharpens to laser-focus in an instant. "Oh?"

  Wordlessly, Trigger sends over a message, though from where she lays, Mila can't see the contents before it's gone.

  Farworth's eyes fall, likely to a screen out of view, as he considers whatever Trigger sent. One of his fingers twirls his muscache. "An interesting list of components, captain. As I'm sure you understand, acquiring many of these so far off the beaten path will be… a challenge."

  'Drone parts, maybe?' Mila blinks.

  "If it isn't within your ability," Trigger says with a tilt of his head. "Then I understand."

  The badger on-screen puffs up. "Hogwash. I said it was a challenge, not impossible. I can see what you want these for, captain, and anything that will make your merry band more of a fighting force to reckon with is something I am willing to find. I will speak with you about rates on the morrow, 7 AM, CST on the dot!"

  With that, the badger disconnects, and Mila wonders if Trigger just feigns having the social skills of a rock for fun.

  "Okay, enough work!" Mila jumps up, hugs one of Trigger's arms to her chest, and drags him to the bed. "You need to relax for a bit! Do something mindless!"

  Trigger blinks helplessly as she pushes him onto the covers, stomach down, then she takes the spot next to him, laying parallel and pressing herself to his warm side.

  "Have you ever seen Moonbeam Mink, Trigger?" She asks, snatching up her datapad and opening a folder labeled "MBM S1 - HILI STREAMRIP".

  "Ah? No?" He asks more than states, still looking as confused as can be.

  Mila grins. "Lemme show you, then!" she giggles, .

  How much of his interest is genuine and how much of it is just humoring her, Mila isn't sure, but Trigger lets her stay cuddled to his side through the whole first season of her favorite show about sparkly magical girls, not shying away from her one bit.

  Only well after midnight does he shoo her away, and as she turns in to bed, it's with a wide, victorious smile.