We made our way through the station's corridors toward the secondary hangar where the Reizen was docked. The sounds of work reached us before we arrived: the whine of power tools, the clang of metal, voices calling out technical specifications.

  Chief Vance stood at a portable workstation, reviewing schematics and issuing quiet orders. He looked up as we approached, and his expression shifted into something carefully neutral.

  "Lady Rainmaker. Captain." He nodded in greeting, then cleared his throat. "I was hoping to have a word with you both, actually."

  Something in his tone made my stomach tighten.

  "Is there a problem?" Rosalia asked.

  "Not... exactly." Vance scratched the back of his neck, clearly choosing his words with care. "The repairs are proceeding well now. Hull integrity will be restored within two days. The drive systems will take another day after that."

  "That sounds positive," I said cautiously.

  "It is. Now." He fixed us both with a look that reminded me uncomfortably of my high school shop teacher. "However, I need to address the... repair attempts... that were made before we arrived."

  Oh no.

  "Ah," Rosalia said, her composure flickering just slightly. "You found those."

  "Kind of hard to miss." Vance pulled up a schematic on his workstation, pointing to several highlighted sections. "Someone tried to bypass the damaged power conduits to the FTL drive by rerouting through the secondary atmospheric systems. It all looks good on system logs, but it will cause overload to the tertiary regulators once you transition to hyperspace. Which would cause a cascade failure in the backup life support junction."

  I winced. "That was me. I thought I could..."

  "With respect, Captain, you thought wrong." Vance's voice was firm but not unkind. "Jury-rigging a power bypass without understanding the load distribution is how ships end up as debris fields. You're lucky we ran tests and caught it before the whole grid collapsed."

  "I did try to tell him," Rosalia murmured.

  "And then someone," Vance continued, giving Rosalia a pointed look, "tried to link incompatible power grids by manually overriding the safety protocols. Which disabled the automatic shutoffs. Which meant the cascade failure would have had nothing stopping it from spreading to adjacent systems."

  Rosalia had the grace to look slightly abashed.

  "You were attempting to turn a damaged yacht into a very expensive bomb." Vance shook his head. "Look, I understand. You really wanted to install a new FTL drive on this ship, because, right now, it's not a spaceship. It's basically just a very expensive station module. But engineering isn't something you can improvise your way through. There's a reason we train for years."

  I felt my cheeks burning. He was right. We'd been in over our heads, making things worse while thinking we were clever. We'd tried to improvise a new FTL from spare parts and cram it into a housing it didn't fit.

  "We're sorry," I said. "Genuinely. We didn't know what else to do."

  Vance's expression softened slightly. "I'm not trying to make you feel bad, Captain. I'm trying to make sure you understand why we're here. Some things you can learn on the fly. Ship engineering isn't one of them." He gestured at the work crews around us. "Let us do what we're trained for. That's why the Navy sent us."

  I nodded, and something in my chest actually loosened.

  He's right. And honestly? It's a relief.

  This is what having a crew means. Not doing everything yourself. Letting others be good at what they're good at.

  "Thank you," I said, and meant it. "Really. It's... it's nice to have people who actually know what they're doing."

  Vance cracked a small smile. "That's all I needed to hear. Now, if you want to observe the repairs, you're welcome to. Just don't touch anything."

  "Deal," I said.

  Vance nodded, then pulled up another schematic on his workstation. "One more thing, while I have you. The hull extension."

  My stomach did a small flip. "What about it?"

  "The drive housing you fabricated." He rotated the schematic, showing the elaborate crescent structure from multiple angles. The white-gold plating, the rhodium inlays, the iridescent dome, the golden phoenix with its impossibly reflective beak. "We ran diagnostics on it as part of the overall assessment."

  Oh no. He's going to tell me I did something catastrophically wrong. Again.

  "Structurally, it's sound," Vance said, and I felt my shoulders drop with relief. "Better than sound, actually. Mass distribution is balanced, stress tolerances are well within safety margins, and the integration with the original hull is good. Not perfect, but we can fix that easily."

  "That's... good to hear."

  "The materials, though..." Vance shook his head slowly, and I couldn't tell if it was admiration or disbelief. "That's something else entirely. Isotope-pure rhodium on the beak? Luminescent inlays? A color-shifting niobium-titanium dome?" He looked at me. "You built this?"

  "I had access to some... unusual materials," I said carefully. "And a lot of time."

  Vance grunted. "Well, it's impressive work. Gaudy as all hell, but impressive." He zoomed in on the phoenix figure. "The question is: do you want to keep it?"

  I glanced at Rosalia. "What do you mean?"

  "The extension was built to house your new FTL drive. That part was necessary. You couldn't exactly stuff it back inside the original hull. But the new one we're installing, it fits in the original space. It's meant to be compatible." he gestured at the ornamental elements, "So now it's optional. Just decoration. We could strip it away and restore the original hull design. No one would ever know you'd modified her."

  "We are planning to sell her," Rosalia said. "As soon as we reach Varkesh Prime."

  Vance's eyebrows rose slightly. "Selling? A Kestrel-class in this condition?"

  "We need the funds," Rosalia said. Her voice was matter-of-fact, no trace of sentimentality. "For our future operations. We will require flexibility. And options."

  "Mind if I ask what kind of options?" Vance said. "Might help me give better advice."

  Rosalia glanced at me. I shrugged. We hadn't exactly sat down and drawn up a long-term fleet plan together yet. Whatever she chose to share now was as much news to me as to him.

  "We intend to continue working as independents," she said. "Traveling. Taking on contracts. For that, we will need a ship better suited to our needs than the Reizen."

  "So you are thinking about a replacement," Vance said slowly. "Another ship. Maybe something a bit less… ornamental."

  "Something more practical," Rosalia agreed.

  Vance rubbed his chin, studying us both with renewed interest. "Well, if you're selling and planning to buy again, definitely keep the ornamentation. All of it. Rich buyers eat this stuff up. Be it heritage, craftsmanship or one-of-a-kind modifications. This phoenix alone could add twenty, thirty percent to the asking price for the right customer. Maybe more."

  "That is what we hoped," Rosalia said.

  "The Kestrel-class already commands premium prices. Add in the custom FTL housing, the exotic materials, the obvious quality of work..." He nodded slowly. "You could do very well. Might get you a serious start on whatever you want next."

  "We will take whatever we can get," I said.

  Vance was quiet for a moment, still looking at us with that assessing gaze. Then he seemed to come to a decision.

  "Look," he said, "if you're serious about buying another ship. I mean actually serious, not just daydreaming, I have contacts. Proper shipyards. The ones that do good work for the rich or the military. Places that deal in high-end hulls, not budget freighters."

  I straightened. "You do?"

  "Spent fifteen years in Naval logistics before I transferred to field engineering. You don't move that many ships without knowing who builds them and who services them." He pulled out a datapad, made a few notes. "Korvan Dynamics in the Meridian sector. Draugr Space Industries near the core. A few independents who do quality work without the corporate markup."

  "That would be... incredibly helpful," Rosalia said, and I could hear genuine gratitude beneath her diplomatic tone.

  "I can give you a recommendation, too," Vance added. "Some of these places, you can't just walk in and order. You need someone to vouch for you before they'll show you the good catalog, or even talk to you about a custom build." He looked up from his datapad. "You helped the Navy today. Gave us technology that'll keep our people safer. I don't forget that kind of thing."

  "Yes," I said, probably too quickly. "Yes, we would absolutely appreciate that. Thank you."

  Vance cracked a small smile, the first genuine one I'd seen from him. "Don't thank me yet. Ships are complicated beasts. Expensive to buy, expensive to run, expensive to crew. Make sure you know what you're getting into before you sign anything."

  Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.

  "We will do our research," Rosalia assured him.

  "Good." He tucked the datapad away. "I'll have the recommendation ready before we finish repairs. Anything else you need, you know where to find me."

  "Thank you, Chief Vance," Rosalia said. "For everything."

  "Just doing my job, Lady Rainmaker." But the warmth in his gruff voice was unmistakable now.

  We walked up the cargo ramp and into the ship's interior. The familiar smell of the Reizen hit me. Most ships smell of recycled air and lubricant. This one had an undertone of scented wood and sea.

  The sounds of work led us to an access panel near the cargo bay's rear bulkhead. Three engineers were clustered around it, but my attention went immediately to the figure half-buried in the open maintenance crawlway.

  Cornelius.

  He'd changed out of his casual clothes into a simple work coverall, and he was elbow-deep in a tangle of conduits and junction boxes. His movements were sure and economical. No hint of hesitation, no wasted motion. He pulled a damaged component free, examined it briefly, then handed it back to one of the waiting engineers without looking.

  "The secondary relay needs replacement, not repair," he said, his voice slightly muffled by the crawlway. "The quantum resonance is out of tolerance. Point-three percent might seem acceptable, but it will not do for a vessel like this."

  "Point-three is within standard spec," one of the engineers said. She was young, probably fresh from the Academy.

  "Standard spec is for standard civilian craft," Cornelius replied patiently. "This is a Kestrel-class luxury yacht. Diplomatic transport. The kind of vessel that carries nobles, ambassadors, members of royal families." He emerged partially from the crawlway, fixing her with a calm look. "When people of influence spend this much money on a ship, they expect above-average tolerances. Point-three might be acceptable on a cargo hauler. Here it should be point-one or better."

  The young engineer considered this, her brow furrowing. "I... hadn't thought about it that way."

  "It's not your fault. The Academy teaches you specifications. Experience teaches you expectations." He gave her a slight smile. "The difference matters when your passengers can end careers with a word."

  She nodded slowly. "I'll grab a replacement from stores. Point-one tolerance or better."

  "Thank you."

  I watched as Cornelius continued working, his hands moving with the easy confidence of long practice. The other engineers didn't hover or second-guess him. They handed him tools when he asked, offered suggestions that he actually listened to, and generally treated him as a colleague rather than an outsider.

  He wasn't lying. Twenty years of experience doesn't disappear.

  An older engineer, gray-haired, weathered hands, leaned in to check Cornelius's work. "That's a nice bypass you've rigged there. Academy teach you that?"

  "Army," Cornelius said. "Twelve years keeping patrol craft running on half the parts we needed and a quarter of the budget."

  The older engineer grunted in approval. "Military mechanics. Best training there is. You learn to make things work when they shouldn't."

  "You learn that failure isn't an option when people are counting on you," Cornelius agreed. There was something in his voice. Not pride exactly, but a quiet satisfaction. The words of someone who had found meaning in their work.

  He emerged from the crawlway, wiping his hands on a rag. That's when he noticed us standing there.

  His expression shifted. Just slightly. A flicker of something I couldn't quite read. Then he smiled, calm and measured.

  "Lady Rainmaker. Nicolas." He turned back to the engineers. "Give me a moment to finish the primary connections, then you can run the diagnostic cycle."

  He didn't rush. Didn't abandon his work to come speak with us immediately. Instead, he ducked back into the crawlway, made a few more adjustments, and then carefully extracted himself. Only when he was satisfied that the task was properly completed did he strip off his work gloves and approach us.

  Methodical. Responsible. Finishes what he starts.

  "The repairs are progressing well," he said, wiping a smudge of grease from his cheek. "Chief Vance's team is excellent. The Reizen will be better than new when they're finished."

  "So I see," Rosalia said. There was something assessing in her gaze. "You have been... participating."

  "Sitting idle while others work has never suited me." He tucked the rag into his coverall pocket. "Besides, I believe in contributing where I can."

  He glanced between us, and something shifted in his demeanor. The casual ease remained, but underneath it I sensed a weight. A decision being made.

  "If you have a moment," he said, "I wondered if I might speak with you both. Privately."

  Rosalia and I exchanged a glance.

  He timed this. Deliberately. He wanted us to see him work first.

  Smart. Or genuine. Maybe both.

  "Of course," Rosalia said smoothly. "There is a conference room in the main hub."

  Cornelius nodded. He turned to the older engineer. "Petrov, can you oversee the diagnostic cycle? The sequence should be standard, but watch the tertiary relays. I don't like the power fluctuations I'm seeing. Those lines were probably compromised too."

  "Got it covered," Petrov said with a wave. "Go handle your business."

  We walked back through the Reizen and out into the station proper. Cornelius fell into step beside us, his work coverall at odds with the station's clean corridors but his bearing as composed as ever.

  None of us spoke. But there was an understanding forming, unspoken but present.

  Whatever Cornelius wanted to discuss, he'd been preparing for this moment. And he'd made sure we saw him prove himself first.

  We settled into a private conference room in the Reizen. Rosalia closed the door and activated a privacy field. It activated with a low hum that set my teeth on edge for a moment, then faded into the background.

  Cornelius didn't waste time with preamble.

  "I want to join your crew. As a full member." I looked at Rosalia. She looked at me. Neither of us had expected quite this level of directness.

  "That is... not a small request," Rosalia said carefully.

  "No. It isn't." Cornelius folded his hands on the table. His posture was relaxed but his eyes were intent. "Which is why I wanted to be clear about what I'm offering."

  "We're listening."

  "First: mechanical skills. I spent twenty years keeping ships running before I took holy orders. That knowledge doesn't disappear." A slight pause.

  I thought of the way the engineers had deferred to his expertise.

  "Second: Ecclesiarch contacts. I have access to information networks that span the Empire. Resources you cannot reach on your own. This would extend to you, should you have need."

  "And third?" Rosalia asked.

  "Protection." His voice was steady. "From certain... interests."

  "Protection from what?"

  He hesitated. A deliberate pause that felt different from his usual measured speech.

  "A faction within the Ecclesiarch. From the Church of Enlightened Knowledge. The specifics... " he paused, "require a longer conversation. One I'd like to have once you've decided whether to trust me."

  Smart. He's teasing us. He's offering, not demanding. Now we're the ones interested.

  "I am not trying to buy my way in," he said quietly. "If you refuse, I will still help where I can. But I believe we could do more together than apart."

  "Why us?" Rosalia asked. Her diplomatic training was on full display. "You are not a mere priest, but an agent of the Ecclesiarch. Surely, you have better things to do. And if you wished to change career, you already have resources and connections. Why attach yourself to two people with uncertain futures and powerful enemies?"

  Something flickered in his eyes. For a moment, the gentle priest looked almost sad.

  "Because you need help. And I am in a position to give it." He spread his hands. "Sometimes the calling is that simple."

  The silence stretched.

  He sighed and then looked at me directly.

  "And maybe because I think staying close to Nicolas is in the interest of the Ecclesiarch. You are already at the center of too many important events to be a coincidence. I know for a fact you are going to clash with the Church of Enlightened Knowledge. Maybe I want to prove to you that not all parts of the Ecclesiarch are the same and that you can trust some of the churches."

  I was stunned by his speech. I had no idea how to respond.

  "This is not a small decision," Rosalia said finally. "We need time to discuss."

  Cornelius nodded, unsurprised. "Of course. Take whatever time you need."

  He rose from his chair with practiced ease.

  "I'll be with the engineers if you need me. Chief Vance mentioned a power coupling that's been giving them trouble."

  A slight smile crossed his features. He was going to keep proving himself.

  The door closed behind him.

  Rosalia spoke first.

  "He is positioning himself well."

  Her analytical tone was in full force. Already processing, evaluating.

  "Waiting until Seraphine left. Showing us proof of his skills. Offering before revealing his leverage. Giving us space to decide without pressure." She tilted her head. "It is expertly done."

  "You think it's manipulation?"

  "I think it is strategic." A pause. "Which is not the same thing."

  "But you want to say yes?"

  "I want to keep him close." She met my eyes. "He knows your secret. If we refuse him, he walks away with that knowledge and we have no insight into how he uses it. If we accept him..."

  She tilted her head again.

  "We can watch him."

  I was on my feet before I realized it, pacing the length of the small room.

  "That's... cold."

  "It is practical."

  She wasn't wrong. Strategically, it made sense. Keep the man with dangerous knowledge where we could see him.

  But it felt wrong. Calculating. Using someone.

  Except... I actually liked Cornelius. Not just strategically. He'd been patient during our travel, explaining things I didn't understand. He talked to me like a person, not a curiosity or a threat.

  Was that performance? Or was it real?

  "And his knowledge and contacts are nothing to scoff at," she added. "His offer is generous. Maybe too generous."

  I stopped pacing.

  "I actually like him, you know. Not just strategically."

  "I know."

  "He's been nothing but helpful. Patient. The lessons during travel, the way he talks... I don't think it's an act."

  Rosalia softened slightly. Just a fraction, but I'd learned to read her tells.

  "No. I do not think it is an act either. But liking someone and trusting them are different things."

  "So we're saying yes because we like him, but mostly because we want to keep an eye on him and use his skills?"

  "We are saying yes because all reasons point the same direction." A hint of a smile. "That is fortunate."

  I couldn't help but smile back. "Okay."

  The decision was made. But there were still questions.

  "We tell him yes," I said. "But we hear what he has to say first. This 'protection' he mentioned. The longer conversation."

  "Agreed."

  We stood.

  "Tomorrow," Rosalia said. "We will give him our answer tomorrow."