DAY 83 — 08:14 (SHIPTIME)
Galatea didn't welcome you.
It measured you, weighed you, decided what you were worth before your landing gear finished settling.
Lyra threaded the Union into a rented berth tucked under the shadow of a fat merchant DropShip—cheap cover bought with an extra "handling fee" that smelled like bribery even when the invoice pretended otherwise. The Leopard slid in close like a guard dog that never slept.
As soon as the clamps locked, the ship changed from flight-calm to work-calm: the kind where every breath had a cost.
The mech bay doors sealed. Air cycled. The smell came back—hot coolant, machine oil, scorched armor, and the faint metallic tang of old blood that never completely left ferrocrete seams.
Moonjaw's machines stood in a half-circle like sleeping giants:
Dire Wolf in its berth with left torso panels open, missile bay doors cracked like teeth.
Highlander with a shoulder plate removed, gauss feed line exposed.
Awesome clean and disciplined, PPC housings opened with surgical neatness.
Marauder waiting near the sim interface stand, cockpit open for repeated climbs and drills.
Orion braced on stabilization stands in the center pad, leg assembly partially stripped, actuator housings spread on a cart like organs on a table.
The Griffin sat farther back tagged as reserve/training, stripped and quiet.
Dack stepped off the ramp and took it in without slowing.
He didn't love ports. Ports meant eyes. Eyes meant stories. Stories meant someone deciding you were profitable to rob.
Lyra moved beside him with her slate tucked under one arm. She wore a fitted black suit with red piping—clean, practical, the kind of clothes that didn't snag on ladders. Hair tied back tight, expression calm like the universe was another checklist.
"Berth contract signed," she said. "Fuel and water tickets approved. Machine-shop slot reserved for the Orion leg work. I paid extra for privacy."
Dack gave a small nod. "Good."
The triplets were already flowing into their roles.
Sera set herself near the ramp choke point, polite posture, hard eyes. Elin lifted a comm headset and started listening to dockside chatter through a filtered channel. Iona walked the cargo ledger twice, counting as if numbers could keep thieves away.
Rook and Rafe stood under the Orion's left knee assembly, both in grease-streaked coveralls. Same posture. Same tilt of the head. They looked too young to be this competent and too focused to care what anyone thought.
Rafe held a diagnostic slate up under the joint.
Rook had a flashlight and a small mirror, checking hard-to-see seams.
Rafe: "The—"
Rook: "—brace—"
Rafe: "—from the—"
Rook: "—market—"
Rafe: "—fits."
Rook: "It's real."
Dack looked at the part. "No cracks."
Rafe shook her head. "Clean."
Rook added, "We checked twice."
Morrigan was under the Orion's torso with arms crossed, watching the twins like she was daring them to disappoint her. Today she wore black and red turned into attitude: tight black tank, black shorts, red straps at the hips, boots that could stomp on a man's throat. Her eyeliner made her glare look sharper than it already was.
"You two better not be liars," Morrigan said.
Rook: "We're not."
Rafe: "We don't lie."
Jinx's laugh rang from the Highlander's pad. "They're adorable."
Taila, standing near the Marauder ladder, didn't laugh. She watched the Orion work with that hungry seriousness she got when she wanted to belong through competence, not pity. Black halter top tight against her chest, long black combat leggings with red stripes down the sides, hair tied back into a braid that kept falling over her shoulder anyway.
Quill moved around the Awesome's open panel with steady hands, checking a coil assembly and heat sink lines like maintenance was prayer. Her black-and-red kit was more conservative than Jinx's, more utilitarian, but still clearly the pack's colors now.
And Helena…
Helena Varr was a camera feed on Lyra's workstation: a small cabin, bolted furniture, locked door. She sat with her back against the wall, posture composed, eyes following the camera sometimes like she knew exactly where it was.
Not smiling.
Not pleading.
Waiting.
Dack saw the feed, stored it, and kept walking.
---
By late morning, the bay became a rhythm.
Rook and Rafe worked the Orion's knee brace into place, reseating the bearing assembly and shimming the housing with careful precision. The actuator line got reattached with fresh seals. They spoke in fragments, finishing each other's thoughts in the way of people who'd spent their whole lives in the same small spaces.
Jinx lay on her back under the Highlander's shoulder mount, ponytail messy, sleeves rolled up. She tightened a clamp on the gauss feed line herself, hands steady, jaw set in concentration.
Taila climbed in and out of the Marauder cockpit like it was punishment. Checklist. Harness. Sensor alignment. Step down. Repeat.
She was trying to make the Marauder accept her presence through repetition.
Dack watched her a moment, then moved to the sim module console.
"Sim run," he said.
Taila looked up fast. "Now?"
"Yes," Dack said.
Jinx popped up from under the Highlander like a gremlin with grease on her cheek. Her jacket was black with red piping and the wolf-moon sigil stitched onto the shoulder. Tight tank top beneath, gym shorts, boots. She looked like trouble that knew how to file a contract.
"Cohesion again?" she asked, eyes bright.
Dack glanced at Quill. "Cohesion."
Quill nodded once. "Understood."
Morrigan's voice came from under the Orion. "I'm not getting in a sim pod until my Orion exists."
Dack replied, "You are."
Morrigan slid out enough to glare up at him. "Why."
"Because you keep charging," Dack said. "And a sim is cheaper than rebuilding your cockpit."
Morrigan's nostrils flared. Then she sat up, hair falling into her eyes. "Fine."
Jinx grinned. "He scolded you."
Morrigan snapped, "Shut up."
Jinx's grin only widened. "No."
Taila looked between them, then at Dack. "What am I running."
Dack didn't hesitate. "Marauder."
Taila swallowed. "Okay."
Lyra's voice came over internal comms from her station. "Sim pods are ready. I loaded three scenarios. Planet-side. No shipboard nonsense."
"Good," Dack said.
Jinx laughed softly like she'd been given a toy.
---
The Union's training module wasn't fancy, but it was honest.
Mock cockpits, wraparound displays, haptic feedback that punished sloppy heat management with bruises and nausea. Enough to teach you discipline without getting you killed.
Dack dropped into the Dire Wolf station first. His hands settled on the controls like the machine was an extension of his nervous system.
He keyed the channel. "Form up. Stay in lanes. Don't chase."
Jinx, immediately: "Yes, boss."
Taila: "Okay."
Quill: "Acknowledged."
Morrigan, grudging: "Yeah."
Scenario One: canyon road escort, broken terrain, raiders trying to split them with speed.
A simulated Jenner flashed on the ridge line as bait. A Panther lurked farther back to snipe. Two more light contacts threatened flanks.
Taila started to drift like she used to in the Griffin—eyes hunting the fastest moving blip, body wanting to chase. The Marauder didn't like chasing. It wanted you to pick a killing lane and hold it.
Dack's voice came calm. "Taila. Hold. Let them enter your range."
Taila hesitated, then forced herself to stop moving. The Marauder steadied. Heat curve leveled.
The Jenner sprinted into the canyon mouth, trying to dart past the escort lane.
Taila fired—PPC first, then followed with her medium lasers as the sim updated range. The PPC hit hard enough to register armor strip; the laser follow-up scored the same section and forced the Jenner to veer away.
She didn't chase.
She held.
"Good," Dack said.
Taila's breathing hitched, then steadied.
Jinx's Highlander covered the opposite ridge with simulated gauss lanes—she didn't fire constantly, but when she did, it was clean and cruel, the kind of shot that ended confidence.
Quill anchored center in the Awesome, keeping a disciplined posture and firing PPCs in measured cadence—enough to deny approach lanes, never wasting heat.
Morrigan—running a sim Orion profile—tried to push forward out of habit and then forced herself to stop when Dack's Dire Wolf shifted lanes to block her angle like a silent wall.
Scenario Two escalated: mixed mediums, longer engagement, heat pressure.
The enemy ran a simulated Phoenix Hawk that wanted to jump and knife-fight. A Shadow Hawk tried to flank. A Hunchback threatened the center lane with brute force.
Taila's heat spiked when she got excited. The Marauder punished her with slow turns and a stubborn inability to "quick fix" mistakes.
Dack didn't insult her. He corrected. "Breathe. Reset. Pick your lane."
She did.
Quill's Awesome held center like an anchor. Jinx's Highlander watched the lanes like a predator. Morrigan's Orion held flank, visibly fighting her urge to lunge.
By the end of scenario two, they weren't a perfect unit.
But they were a unit.
Scenario Three: the ugly one. Two-direction ambush, civilians in the middle, a hostile command unit trying to drag them into a split.
This time, they didn't talk much.
They moved.
Jinx covered Taila when Taila's heat climbed. Quill kept the center stable so Dack could reposition for decisive angles. Morrigan held flank instead of diving into the middle like a knife. Taila stopped chasing blips and started guarding space.
When the sim ended, the training module lights came up slow and harsh.
Taila climbed out of her harness, sweaty and flushed, braid stuck to her cheek. She looked angry at herself anyway.
"I still messed up," she said.
Dack looked at her. "You corrected."
Taila blinked, then nodded once, as if she'd been handed permission to breathe.
Quill removed her glove with precise movements. "Cohesion improved."
Morrigan snorted. "Because he's boring."
Dack glanced at her. "Boring keeps you alive."
Morrigan stared at him, then looked away like she hated that it made sense.
Jinx leaned in close to Taila, grinning. "You were hot in there."
Taila's cheeks went pink. "Jinx…"
Jinx's voice softened—barely—but it was real. "You did good."
Taila froze at the sincerity, then nodded again, smaller this time.
---
Back in the mech bay, Lyra handed Dack a slate.
"Expenses," she said. "Berth fee. Fuel. Water. Orion parts. Shop time. We're stable. Still not rich."
Dack skimmed fast. "Next stop after this."
Lyra tapped the nav line. "We stay on Galatea long enough to finish the Orion leg and resupply. Also…" Her eyes flicked to a separate tab. "Hiring pool."
Dack nodded. "We need another pilot."
Lyra didn't argue. "I already set a short list."
Jinx bounced up beside them, hair loosened from her ponytail, blue eyes bright. "Bring me back someone cute."
Taila, quieter: "Someone who listens."
Morrigan: "Someone who doesn't cry."
Quill: "Someone who holds formation."
Jinx: "Someone with boobs."
Taila sputtered. "Jinx!"
Jinx winked. "What? It's morale."
Dack looked at Lyra. "Two hours."
Lyra nodded. "One. If we want a private bay."
Dack turned. "Go."
Jinx watched him go and made a little pleased noise like he'd just done something attractive.
Lyra didn't react outwardly. She just followed.
---
The hiring district was a hard place full of soft lies.
Contract kiosks. Recruiter sharks. Sim arcades that smelled like sweat and desperation. Old bars with soundproof booths. Alleys full of people who'd lost everything except pride.
Lyra led Dack to a sim facility that wasn't fancy but was clean. A woman at the counter started to smile, then caught herself when Dack's eyes landed on her.
"Private bay," Lyra said. "Two hours."
"Rate's doubled," the clerk replied automatically.
Dack's voice was calm. "No."
The clerk blinked. "Excuse me?"
Lyra slid a slate forward. "Immediate payment. No audience. No recording."
The clerk hesitated, looked at Dack again, then swallowed. "Bay three."
They took it.
Bay three was quiet. No crowd. No cheap cheers. Just a sim core humming behind a maintenance wall and a harness cradle that looked like it had held a hundred dreams and broken half of them.
The young woman waiting there stood with her hands behind her back like she'd been drilled into it.
Lean. Athletic. Short dark hair that had started as "academy neat" and grown into "survival practical." An old jacket with the insignia cut off—stitch scars still visible. Sharp eyes that wanted to be defiant and couldn't stop being tired underneath.
Lyra spoke first. "Name."
The woman's chin lifted. "Cassia Rell."
Dack didn't waste words. "Academy."
"Lysander Collegiate," Cassia said, fast. "MechWarrior track."
Lyra's eyes narrowed slightly. "That's not cheap."
"No," Cassia said, and the word had bitterness in it.
Dack: "Why you're here."
Cassia's jaw tightened. "Expelled."
Lyra: "For what."
Cassia hesitated, then spoke like she wanted to control the story before it controlled her. "I embarrassed someone with money. Live-fire evaluation. I hit what I was aiming at."
Lyra's gaze held. "That's not an expulsion offense."
Cassia's mouth curled. "Not officially."
Dack asked, "What are you good at."
Cassia answered immediately. "Precision."
Dack: "What are you bad at."
Cassia's cheeks colored with anger. "Close engagements. Chaos. When it collapses into knife range, I… overcorrect."
That honesty mattered. It didn't make her safe. It made her trainable.
Dack looked at the harness. "Load an Enforcer profile."
Cassia didn't ask permission twice. She strapped in, movements disciplined. She looked calmer in the cradle than she did standing, like the cockpit gave her a world she understood.
Dack sat at the observer station. Lyra stayed standing, arms folded, eyes on the data feed.
Dack keyed the intercom. "Rules. You listen. You don't improvise yourself into a coffin."
Cassia: "Understood."
Dack: "Scenario. Ridge hold. Two lances hostile. Mixed lights and mediums. Your job is to disable. Keep range. You break lane, you fail."
Cassia: "Yes, sir."
The sim loaded: dusty planet-side ridge, broken rock, wind that didn't exist but still made the scene feel real.
Cassia didn't panic.
She waited.
A hostile Jenner sprinted into view, cocky and fast.
Cassia fired the AC/10, then followed with the large laser timed tight. The Jenner's sim armor stripped. The right leg went critical. The machine stumbled and fell.
Cassia didn't chase the kill. She held.
A Phoenix Hawk jumped, trying to slip into a blind arc.
Cassia waited for landing. AC/10 into center mass. Large laser into the same wound. The Hawk's heat spiked, internal damage flagged.
Lyra's eyes flicked to the hit chart. Clean.
Then the sim squeezed. A Spider jumped close—too close.
Cassia's breathing changed. Micro-panic. The Enforcer's turn rate couldn't keep up. She tried to backpedal, tried to "fix" the problem with motion.
The Spider tagged her flank. Heat climbed. Stability wavered.
Dack's voice cut in. "Plant. Use mass. Don't spin."
Cassia forced herself to stop flailing. She took one more hit she hated, then fired as the Spider landed—AC/10 and laser in a tight sequence. The Spider's leg snapped in the sim. It fell hard.
Cassia exhaled, ragged but controlled. "Down."
The scenario ended ugly but survivable. Cassia's marks were excellent. Her close-range discipline was not.
When she unstrapped, she looked furious at herself.
"Well?" she demanded.
Dack looked at her. "You can shoot."
Cassia's chin lifted.
Dack continued. "You can't fight yet."
Cassia's mouth tightened. "Then why am I here."
Lyra answered, calm. "Because you admitted it."
Dack nodded once. "Probation."
Cassia blinked. "What."
"You ride," Dack said. "You train. You listen. You earn a cockpit."
Cassia's pride flared. "I don't need pity."
Dack's voice stayed level. "It's not pity. We need another gun. You need stability. This works if you don't make it personal."
Cassia stared at him a long second, then swallowed. "Fine."
Lyra slid her slate forward. "Less pay until you prove you're worth more."
Cassia thumbprinted.
The contract locked.
Dack turned to leave without ceremony.
Cassia's voice followed, quieter. "Captain Jarn?"
Dack stopped. "What."
Cassia hesitated. "I… don't know how crews work."
Dack looked at her. "Watch. Talk less. Do what you're told."
Cassia swallowed. "Yes, sir."
Lyra's eyes flicked to Dack—faint amusement—and then she walked.
---
When they returned to the Union, the mech bay was still loud with honest work.
Jinx spotted them first and slid off the Highlander ladder like she was dropping into a bar fight.
"Did you bring me back something cute?" she asked, eyes sparkling.
Lyra answered before Dack did. "We brought back someone expensive."
Cassia stepped into the bay and froze.
She took in the machines—Dire Wolf, Highlander, Awesome, Marauder, the braced Orion—and her breath caught like she'd walked into a temple.
Then she saw the women.
Jinx in black and red like a warning label. Taila standing near Dack's shoulder like she belonged there now. Morrigan watching like she wanted to bite. Quill calm and cold. Triplets hovering at the edges, awkward and alert.
Cassia's face went pink. "I—hello."
Jinx leaned in close to Cassia, studying her like a cat deciding if it was adopting something. "She's pretty."
Cassia stiffened. "I'm—"
Jinx grinned. "Awkward. Cute."
Taila's cheeks warmed. "Jinx…"
Morrigan, surprisingly: "Don't scare her off."
Jinx's eyes widened in delight. "You care."
Morrigan's glare turned lethal.
Dack stepped between Cassia and the noise. "Probation. She trains. She listens."
Cassia nodded fast. "Yes. I listen."
Jinx looked at Dack. "You picked a puppy."
Dack replied, "Don't kick it."
Taila's mouth twitched. Quill's eyes shifted slightly. Even Lyra's expression softened by a fraction.
Cassia blinked, confused by the energy. "I'll… do my best."
Lyra gestured toward the corridor. "I'll assign you a cabin. Ship rules. You violate them, you're off at the next port."
Cassia nodded. "Understood."
Dack turned back toward the Orion pad. "Rook. Rafe."
The twins looked up.
Rafe: "Brace—"
Rook: "—installed."
Rafe: "Actuator—"
Rook: "—reseated."
Rafe: "We can—"
Rook: "—test."
Dack nodded once. "Do it."
Morrigan eyed the Orion like it was finally becoming hers.
Taila looked back at the Marauder cockpit like it had become a mountain she was determined to climb.
Jinx grinned, pleased with the new addition to the pack—then her expression flickered for a half-second, a tightness around the eyes and mouth.
Taila caught it.
Lyra caught it.
They didn't look at each other. They didn't need to.
Jinx's hand brushed her lower stomach once under the edge of her jacket, small and quick, like she was checking a secret.
Then she pasted her grin back on like armor.
---
Night fell without ceremony.
Work slowed. The bay quieted. People moved into routines that made survival possible.
In the shared cabin—the big one they'd claimed as the pack's center—Jinx sprawled across the bed like she owned gravity. Taila sat near the edge, legs tucked under her, trying to look calm while her cheeks stayed faintly pink. Lyra sat at the desk with a slate, but she wasn't truly working anymore. Her eyes kept drifting back to Dack like she was choosing to be present.
Dack peeled off his pilot suit and hung it neatly. Black undershirt, combat shorts. Old bruises on his shoulders from harness straps and years of feedback.
Jinx patted the bed beside her. "Come here."
Dack sat.
Jinx climbed into his lap without asking, arms sliding around his neck. She kissed him hard and familiar, like she wanted to remind herself the world still had solid things in it.
Taila moved closer, fingertips brushing Dack's shoulder, then Jinx's hip—hesitant, then bolder when nobody stopped her.
Lyra set her slate aside and came in quietly, mouth brushing Dack's throat in a kiss that felt measured and needy at the same time.
They didn't talk much.
They didn't have to.
Clothes came off in stages—slow, deliberate, close. Jinx was bold and guiding, Taila eager and shy in a way that turned into soft sounds when she stopped fighting it, Lyra steady and intense, hands sure where she touched.
Dack stayed the center. Not gentle exactly—just controlled. He held them, moved with them, made space for Taila's nerves to melt and Jinx's hunger to settle into something deeper, and for Lyra's restraint to crack in quiet ways.
The bed creaked. The ship hummed. The world outside stayed far away.
After, the cabin went still in that heavy, satisfied silence that made even a mercenary life feel briefly sane.
Jinx curled against Dack's chest, sweaty hair sticking to her cheek. Taila pressed in on his other side, one hand resting on his ribs like she needed to confirm he was real. Lyra lay near his shoulder, one arm draped across him, breathing measured but softer than usual.
Dack stared at the ceiling a minute, then said, "We need a bigger bed."
Jinx laughed quietly into his collarbone. "That's the first time you've complained."
Taila hid her face against him, mortified and smiling.
Lyra murmured, practical even now, "Noted."
Dack's arm stayed around Jinx—firm, protective without thinking about it. His eyes closed.
He slept.
Jinx didn't. Not fully.
She listened to his breathing, felt the weight of his hand on her back, and the warmth in her chest rose again—too big, too real, the kind that made her throat ache.
A baby.
Not a guess.
Not a joke.
Confirmed. Planned. Hidden.
Her eyes burned.
She turned her face slightly and wiped a tear against Dack's shirt like she was erasing evidence.
Taila noticed. She always did now.
Taila's hand slid under the blanket and found Jinx's fingers, squeezing once—quiet, steady.
Lyra's voice came soft, barely more than breath. "You're okay."
Jinx made a tiny, broken sound that was half laugh, half sob. "I'm… happy."
Taila whispered immediately, earnest. "Me too."
Lyra's tone stayed calm, but it had steel under it. "We keep the timing."
Jinx swallowed. "I know."
Lyra continued, "He'll change how he fights the second he knows."
Jinx let out a shaky breath. "He already fights like he's trying to carry all of us."
Lyra's answer was quiet. "He'll do it harder."
Taila squeezed Jinx's hand again. "When we tell him… I'll be there."
Jinx turned her head and kissed Taila's forehead under the blanket—small, careful, affectionate. "Good girl."
Taila made an embarrassed sound but didn't pull away.
Dack shifted in his sleep, a low grunt, and his arm tightened briefly like his body recognized change before his mind did.
Jinx froze.
Lyra held still.
Taila went quiet.
Dack's eyes stayed shut. "Stop moving."
Jinx pressed closer and whispered, "Yes, boss."
Dack made a faint sound that could've been annoyance or contentment. His hand stayed on her back.
The cabin settled again.
Lyra stared at the ceiling, mind already building schedules—clinic slot, cover story, diet adjustments, keeping Jinx hydrated, keeping Dack from noticing the wrong detail at the wrong time.
Taila stayed awake longer than she meant to, listening to Dack breathe, feeling Jinx's fingers in hers, trying to understand the shape of her life now.
Jinx finally closed her eyes, smiling into Dack's chest while she kept the secret tucked behind her teeth—happy, terrified, and determined to choose the moment that truth became his.
---
Later, when Dack woke briefly to check the ship's status, he climbed into the Dire Wolf cockpit and sealed the hatch out of habit—just long enough to let the reactor hum settle his thoughts.
He said the number once, quiet, for himself.
"Eighty-three."
Then he stared at the training summary scrolling on his display: hit ratios, heat curves, cohesion timing, reaction lag.
A new pilot onboard. An Orion coming back to life. Taila learning a heavier machine. Quill integrating. The pack tightening.
It was progress.
It also meant the next job could be bigger.
And the next enemy could be worse.
Dack keyed the ship comm. "Lyra. Keep us quiet."
Lyra's reply came immediately, calm. "Already done."
He cut the channel, looked forward into the glass, and let the Dire Wolf's hum hold him steady.
Moonjaw wasn't done building yet.