[POV: Nardia]

  Dim horizon of Veshild’s moon shrank behind us.

  The Shiratori’s engine stayed as quiet as ever—an elegant, almost polite sweep as we lifted off and drifted back into open space.

  (Haaah… We made it back. Alive…!)

  I sank into my seat, chewing on the mix of exhaustion and shaky relief.

  “That said,” Genichiro muttered from the copilot seat, twisting around, “that Barlock guy? He was running. Full retreat.”

  “…Yeah.” Ahmad’s voice dropped a notch. “He was.”

  “…Barlock,” I repeated.

  I’d seen his face before—on a file Ahmad had shown me back when my life was still a pile of unanswered questions. Executive of the Witches Family. A walking black rumor on the frontier.

  And today—even at a distance—I’d felt his presence through comms like a cold hand on my throat.

  “Honestly… he was way scarier than the photo.”

  “Of course he was,” Ahmad said. “Photos have information edited out.”

  “Edited out?!” I yelped. “You edit out scary information?!”

  “You think an underworld exec’s photo gets circulated as-is?” Ahmad replied. “And in his case—he was an android.”

  “…Okay, fair.”

  “But if Barlock was there…” My stomach tightened. “This wasn’t a normal job, was it?”

  “It wasn’t,” Ahmad said, blunt. “Once a Ancients relic moves, it’s already abnormal. And if a corporation got there first—someone leaked information.”

  I grabbed my helmet. “This galaxy really does hate letting people relax.”

  Silence settled for a moment—soft, steady.

  Then Ahmad spoke.

  “…You did well, Nardia.”

  “Eh? M-me?!”

  “Today was too heavy for ‘training,’” he said. “But you held your ground. You watched the situation.”

  “I feel like I was mostly just screaming…”

  “Screaming is important,” Genichiro cut in, eyes forward. “If you’re scared of the right things, you’re more likely to live.”

  “…You’re saying something nice for once.”

  “Shut up.”

  It was brusque, but it landed like a clumsy pat on the shoulder.

  (…I want to get stronger.)

  “Ahmad,” I said quietly. “From here on… I’ll do my best.”

  “I’m counting on it,” he replied.

  That calm profile of his looked like an adventure map drawn in human form.

  When the Shiratori returned to Team Rashid’s base, my heckling fatigue hit maximum.

  “Move,” Ahmad said, stepping down the ramp.

  I followed him with the wobble of a person whose legs were filing a formal complaint.

  The base was calm. Maintenance drones glided by in near silence.

  (Why does this feel like… coming home?)

  “Alright,” Ahmad said on the comm deck. “Reporting. Watch how I do it.”

  Genichiro and Thomas were already seated.

  And that was when an incoming call cut in.

  “Hm. Spam?” Ahmad muttered, and accepted.

  A young man appeared—perfect suit, perfect smile, perfect bureaucrat face. Like he was calling from a room where even the oxygen was regulated.

  “Pleasure to meet you,” he said smoothly. “I’m Romonori of Gandhara Heavy Industries.”

  “The company from that shuttle?” Ahmad asked.

  Romonori’s smile deepened. Then he said something insane in the same tone you’d use to confirm a delivery address.

  “Per our authorization documents, you will now transfer all Ancients artifacts and all related data to us. Of course, our four corporate security guards.”

  “…Huh?”

  “Wait!” I shot forward. “We handled that thing with our lives on the line! Why are you saying ‘transfer’ like it’s a package?!”

  “It is regulation,” Romonori said, still smiling.

  That face—zero visible malice. Which somehow made it worse.

  Ahmad checked the files Romonori had sent. His expression darkened.

  “…Confirmed. The paperwork is real. GDC headquarters approved it.”

  “Headquarters approved it?!”

  “This is the frontier, Nardia,” Ahmad said flatly.

  If you encounter this tale on Amazon, note that it's taken without the author's consent. Report it.

  “No! So if someone waves a document around, they just take everything?!”

  “Paperwork is strong,” Ahmad said.

  “…Paperwork is strong,” I echoed, numb.

  “Receipts are stronger.”

  “Why did you suddenly drop space philosophy on me?!”

  Romonori continued, gentle as a knife.

  “Please provide the deliverables. Naturally, we will pay regulation-standard credits. A collection ship will arrive immediately.”

  Then he ended the call.

  The screen went dark, and my mood dropped with it.

  Anger and defeat churned together in my gut.

  “Ahmad!! That was absolutely wrong, right?!”

  “It’s real, so there’s nothing we can do.”

  “There is absolutely something we can do!”

  Genichiro shrugged. “The frontier is mostly like this.”

  “I don’t want to get used to it—!”

  Genichiro sighed, deeper than usual. “Rules are harsh everywhere. Big corporations turn that harshness into a weapon.”

  “…A weapon…”

  Romonori’s spotless suit flashed in my mind. The type who smiles while holding the universe’s sharpest receipt.

  “Shouldn’t we protest to the GDC?” I asked.

  “They’ll say it’s regulation-standard,” Ahmad replied.

  “Regulation-standard… ugh!”

  Ahmad sent his non-breaking version report anyway—fast, crisp.

  “Veshild’s moon. Ancients machine rampage confirmed. Gandhara shuttle destroyed but four survived. Machine neutralized by Genichiro. Barlock interference confirmed. Gara XFI-Za-A vessel confirmed. Barlock possibly non-human. Artifacts scheduled to be transferred to Romonori…”

  “Non-human…?” I repeated.

  “Rankorow is a hypothesis,” Ahmad said. “No proof. But Gara XFI-Za-A have ties with another species called the Rankorow. What I saw wasn’t Earth-human—and it wasn’t Gara XFI-Za-A either.”

  A chill crawled up my spine.

  (So Barlock really wasn’t human.)

  A polite docking chime sounded.

  “Inbound vessel approaching. External authorization confirmed.”

  I froze. “That was fast.”

  Genichiro pulled up the dock feed.

  A long, narrow corporate ship slid into view—painted white, labeled GANDHARA HEAVY INDUSTRIES.

  And it had escorts.

  The dock feed zoomed in on the escort craft.

  They weren’t civilian shuttles. They were compact interceptors with external hardpoints—missile rails, beam emitters, the kind of “defensive equipment” that only exists because someone expects to shoot.

  Thomas whistled. “That’s not a pickup. That’s a statement.”

  “A statement that says ‘try it,’” Genichiro replied.

  I stared at the corporate ship’s hull markings and felt my teeth grind. “They lost a shuttle on Veshild’s moon. So they’re taking ours.”

  “They’re taking what we recovered,” Ahmad corrected without looking away from the screen. “And they’ll call it lawful.”

  “Lawful is doing a lot of work in that sentence,” I muttered.

  Ahmad didn’t answer. He was already moving—pulling up dock permissions, cross-checking authorization IDs, scanning for anything that would let him deny access.

  And finding nothing.

  Because of course the paperwork was perfect.

  (How do you fight something you can’t punch?)

  “Why does a pickup ship need armed escorts?” I whispered.

  Genichiro’s mouth twisted. “Because they’re not here to ask.”

  Before Ahmad left the comm deck, he keyed a quick internal command.

  “Lock down our storage access,” he said to the base system. “Record everything. If they touch anything outside the clause, I want a log down to the millisecond.”

  “Acknowledged. Surveillance mode: active.”

  I hugged myself, suddenly aware of how small I was in this room full of adults who’d already accepted that the universe was unfair.

  “Is this… common?” I asked, hating how quiet my voice sounded.

  Genichiro didn’t meet my eyes. “Common enough that you learn to read contracts faster than you learn to sleep.”

  Thomas, unusually subdued, added, “At least they’re showing their face. Some corps don’t even do that.”

  “That’s worse,” I whispered.

  “Welcome to the ugly side,” Genichiro said.

  Ahmad stood. “Nardia. Stay back. Let me talk.”

  He walked out before I could argue.

  Through the corridor cameras we watched the corporate ship latch to the dock with professional precision.

  The airlock cycled.

  A line of suits and armored security stepped out—too many for “collection.”

  At the front was Romonori, smile intact.

  He bowed slightly to Ahmad. “Captain Rashid. Thank you for your cooperation.”

  “I haven’t agreed to anything,” Ahmad replied.

  “You have, by regulation,” Romonori said gently. “Your signature is implied by your charter.”

  Implied signature?! That’s a mugging with stationery!

  Romonori produced the clause on a tablet. I only caught the parts that mattered: transfer upon discovery, standard pay, NDA, penalty.

  Ahmad’s eyes narrowed. “This clause was amended.”

  “Correct,” Romonori said. “Last week.”

  “Last week,” Ahmad repeated, voice flat.

  “Approved by headquarters.”

  Genichiro muttered, “People who don’t risk their lives sure love writing.”

  Romonori’s tone stayed polite, but sharpened.

  “If you refuse, corporate security will secure the deliverables under regulatory enforcement. You will be compensated regardless.”

  “That’s not compensation,” I whispered. “That’s theft with paperwork.”

  Ahmad didn’t blink. “Transfer happens under my supervision. No one enters our storage bay except my mechanic.”

  Romonori’s smile softened. “Agreed. We respect your operational dignity.”

  Operational dignity. I wanted to throw something.

  Genichiro headed out, shoulders tight.

  The four injured people we were treating followed them. They were merely hired mercenaries and seemed to know nothing about the incident.

  Minutes later, the intercom chimed.

  “Transfer in progress. Container integrity stable.”

  Stable should’ve been comforting.

  Instead it made me remember the way the Ancients fragments had buzzed in my teeth.

  Then a sharper tone.

  Genichiro’s voice snapped over comms. “Ahmad. Problem.”

  “What.”

  “The container’s reacting. Not heat. Not pressure. Signal. Like it’s answering something.”

  My throat went dry. “Signal…?”

  Romonori’s voice slid in, smooth. “Please proceed. Any anomalies will be handled by our specialists.”

  Genichiro hissed, “Your specialists are going to get eaten by a box.”

  Romonori chuckled softly, like it was party banter.

  Ahmad’s voice dropped. “Stop the transfer.”

  A pause.

  Romonori spoke again, still polite, heavier now. “Our authorization is lawful.”

  “And my base is lawful,” Ahmad replied. “You will not move a live Ancients component through my corridors.”

  Live.

  That word hit like a slap.

  Genichiro added, tight, “Readout looks like pattern recognition. Like it’s learning the environment.”

  I remembered Veshild’s moon—the guardian’s beam probing smoke. Testing. Adjusting.

  Ahmad spoke fast. “Romonori. Deep-space quarantine. Not Earth. Not a habitable zone. Send route confirmation.”

  Romonori’s smile returned to his voice. “Understood. We will comply with safety procedure.”

  A beat.

  “And the data package?” Romonori asked, gently.

  Ahmad paused, then nodded.

  “Transfer the data,” he said.

  My chest sagged—not because Ahmad was wrong, but because I could see how the frontier worked.

  Even strong people couldn’t punch paperwork.

  Only dodge it.

  After the corporate team left, the base felt quieter than before.

  Not peaceful.

  Hollow.

  Ahmad returned to the comm deck. He didn’t sit.

  “This is part of the job,” he said. “We take risks. Others take profits.”

  I wanted to argue. To scream. To smash Romonori’s smile into a real expression.

  But something else was louder.

  If this is normal… then I need to get strong enough to change it.

  Ahmad’s gaze softened a degree. “Don’t let it rot inside you.”

  “…Yes.”

  Then the comm terminal flashed—an incoming message.

  Priority high.

  Ahmad opened it, read in silence, and his expression shifted into controlled seriousness.

  “New order,” he said.

  My stomach tightened. “What kind of order?”

  “Report to the dock,” Ahmad replied. “We launch again tonight.”

  “…Tonight?! We just got back!”

  “That’s why,” Ahmad said. “Reassignment.”

  Genichiro’s eyes narrowed. “To what.”

  Ahmad lifted his gaze.

  “Escort,” he said. “Gandhara’s collection ship.”

  My blood went cold.

  “We’re escorting the thieves?!”

  “We’re escorting the sample,” Ahmad corrected. “GDC wants it contained—and they don’t trust Gandhara to do it alone.”

  Genichiro laughed once, humorless. “This galaxy is a joke.”

  Ahmad didn’t smile.

  “Shiratori will go alone in unmanned mode. Shiratori’s AI meets the high-level escort regulations, so it will be fine. When the company ship leaves the system, bring it back immediately.”

  And just like that, my day of “return” turned into a day of “not actually returning.”

  The universe didn’t let people rest.

  Not even for one chapter.

  And if I survived long enough to get used to it… I’d make sure I never accepted it.