DAY 85 — 07:06 (SHIPTIME)
The Dire Wolf's cockpit sealed with a heavy, familiar thud.
Dack sat still for a moment with his hands resting on the controls, letting the reactor hum settle the noise in his head. Outside the canopy, Galatea's starport haze smeared the horizon into a dull gray line. Inside, it was clean and tight and honest—metal, switches, warning lights, a machine that didn't lie to him unless it was breaking.
He glanced at the maintenance log, the sim cohesion report, then the broker packet Lyra had forwarded overnight. The header still sat there like a threat you could invoice.
CLAN ELEMENTS CONFIRMED
He exhaled once.
"Eighty-five," he murmured, and powered down.
When he climbed back out into the Union's mech bay, the ship met him with noise and heat and the steady rhythm of people trying to keep expensive monsters alive.
The Orion dominated the center pad—braced, half-open, still ugly in the way a heavy always was. New markings on the left knee housing showed where Rook and Rafe had reseated and shimmed the assembly. Fresh sealant lines. Fresh paint dabs. A fix made from grit and skill instead of factory training.
Rook was on the ladder, flashlight in her mouth.
Rafe was under the knee with a torque wrench, forearm slick with grease.
They both looked up at the same time when they heard Dack's boots on deck.
Rafe: "Captain—"
Rook: "You're up."
Dack nodded. "Status."
Rook: "Orion—"
Rafe: "—walks."
Rook: "Knee—"
Rafe: "—holds."
Rook: "If—"
Rafe: "—she—"
Rook: "—behaves."
From inside the Orion's open cockpit, Morrigan's voice snapped. "I heard that."
Jinx's laugh carried from the Highlander pad where she was draped across a tool cart like it was a throne. She wore black and red like it was a dare—tight top, short jacket, fitted shorts, boots, and the Dire Wolf sigil stitched on her shoulder. Long dirty-blonde hair fell over one shoulder. Her blue eyes were too bright for seven in the morning.
"They're not wrong," Jinx said happily.
Morrigan climbed down a rung and glared at her. Gothic eyeliner sharp. Expression sharper. "Say that again."
Jinx leaned back, hands behind her head. "They're not wrong."
Taila stood near the Marauder's ladder, braid over her shoulder, tight black halter top and black leggings with red stripes. She tried to look unimpressed, but her mouth twitched like she was fighting a smile. "You two are going to get us killed with flirting."
"We're not flirting," Rook said instantly.
"We're performing maintenance," Rafe added, just as fast.
Jinx's grin widened. "That's what flirting is."
Quill moved past the Awesome with a diagnostic slate in one hand, expression calm and unsmiling. "Focus."
Cassia Rell stood near the Griffin, arms folded tightly as if posture could make her disappear. Short dark hair. Old academy jacket with the insignia cut off. She looked like she'd slept lightly and listened too hard all night.
Dack took two steps toward the Orion pad.
Rook and Rafe moved at the same time.
They hopped down—quick, practiced—and each took one side of him like they'd choreographed it without ever discussing it.
Before Dack could speak, Rafe rose on her toes and kissed him on the cheek.
Rook mirrored her on the other side—soft, quick, and confident like it was a standard greeting.
Then both stepped back in perfect unison and went right back to work like nothing had happened.
Dack paused mid-stride.
Jinx made a delighted noise. "Oh my God."
Taila's cheeks went pink immediately. "Did they just—"
Morrigan stared like her brain had stalled.
Quill didn't change expression, but her eyes shifted a fraction.
Cassia blinked, completely lost.
Dack rubbed his cheek once, slow. "What was that."
Rafe didn't look up from her wrench. "A check."
Rook added, "A greeting."
Rafe: "A—"
Rook: "—ritual."
Jinx sat up, eyes sparkling. "THE RITUAL."
Taila sputtered. "Jinx!"
Jinx pointed at Dack like she was announcing a legal decree. "Every time he walks through the mech bay, they kiss him. It's tradition now. Pack rules."
Dack looked at the twins. "You just made that up."
Rook: "Yes."
Rafe: "But it feels right."
Dack stared at them for a long second.
Then he said, "Don't do it when I'm carrying something hot."
Jinx burst into laughter.
Taila covered her face with both hands, mortified and smiling.
Morrigan muttered, "This ship is insane."
Quill's voice was quiet. "Agreed."
Cassia, still confused, said carefully, "Is… is that allowed?"
Jinx swung her legs off the cart and sauntered closer, grin wicked. "Allowed? Sweetie, we're mercenaries. 'Allowed' is a bedtime story."
Lyra's voice cut in from the bay intercom, calm and crisp. "The ship is under my administration. The mech bay is a work area. If you start distracting people during critical maintenance, I will lock you out."
Jinx looked up toward the camera and batted her eyelashes. "Yes, ma'am."
Taila murmured, "She means it."
Dack didn't comment. He just kept walking, and when he passed between the Orion and the Dire Wolf berth again, Rook and Rafe leaned in without missing a beat—
Two quick kisses, one on each cheek.
Then back to work.
Jinx clasped her hands together like she was watching theater. "It's perfect."
Dack said, without heat, "You're enjoying this too much."
Jinx smiled bright. "I enjoy everything too much."
Taila's blush deepened, but her eyes stayed on Dack longer than she used to—steady, warm. Less fear. More belonging.
Dack noticed.
He didn't say anything.
---
The morning turned into work.
Lyra updated their dock paperwork, rotated security, and handled the quiet negotiations that kept people from asking what a unit like Moonjaw was doing tucked into a cheap berth with expensive machines. The triplets moved through the ship like ghosts, each doing her job with an awkward seriousness that made even Jinx drop her voice sometimes.
Rook and Rafe finished the Orion's left knee reassembly and ran a short power test. The Orion's leg flexed, actuators humming, and held.
Morrigan climbed up into the Orion cockpit again—helmet on, hands steady on the controls. For a second her posture softened, like she'd forgotten anyone was watching.
Then she caught Dack's eyes and snapped her expression back into its usual glare.
"What," she said.
Dack replied, "Don't break it."
Morrigan's eyes narrowed. "I'm not a child."
Jinx called from the Highlander pad, "You act like one."
Morrigan's voice went sharp. "Shut up."
Dack stepped closer to the Orion ladder and looked up at Morrigan through the canopy. "You did good yesterday."
Morrigan froze.
For a heartbeat she looked like she didn't know what to do with that. Praise didn't fit her usual world. In her world, you survived or you were punished. There wasn't much in between.
She swallowed. "It's a mech. I'm supposed to do good."
Dack's tone stayed simple. "Most people don't."
Morrigan didn't answer. She climbed down a rung, then another. When her boots hit deck, she hesitated—like she wanted to walk away but couldn't.
She reached out and grabbed Dack's sleeve near his forearm, not hard. More like she was testing whether touching him would burn.
Dack looked down at her hand.
Morrigan's voice came low, annoyed at herself. "You… you didn't treat me like cargo."
Dack answered, "You're not."
Morrigan's jaw clenched. "Pirate lord's daughter. Ransom bait. That's what people saw."
Dack didn't argue. "That's what they wanted."
Morrigan's fingers tightened on his sleeve—then loosened. "I hate needing anyone."
Dack said, "Then don't need me. Fight beside me."
Morrigan looked up at him, eyes sharp. Vulnerable for half a second.
Then she leaned in and pressed her forehead briefly to his shoulder like she was borrowing steadiness.
She stepped back fast like she regretted it, arms crossing again. "Don't get a big head."
Jinx whistled. "She touched you."
Taila, cheeks pink, whispered, "That's huge for her."
Quill watched Morrigan the way she watched a firing lane—quiet, alert. "Progress," she said softly, as if the word tasted strange.
Cassia stared like she'd just watched a new kind of combat. "This crew is… different."
Lyra's voice came over comms from the control station, calm. "It has to be."
Jinx hopped down from the Highlander pad and swaggered past Morrigan, then leaned into Dack's side. She brushed her lips against his jaw in a quick kiss that looked casual to anyone who didn't know secrets lived under skin.
Taila stepped in too, shy but braver than she used to be, and kissed Dack's cheek—soft, awkward, sincere.
Dack exhaled. "You're all going to start something."
Jinx's grin turned wicked. "We already did. It's called morale."
Taila's blush returned with a vengeance.
Morrigan stared at them, then at Dack, then looked away sharply like she was irritated she didn't feel as disgusted as she used to.
---
Near midday, Dack moved toward the Dire Wolf berth with a diagnostic slate. Rook and Rafe saw him coming and straightened like it was a formal occasion.
Rafe: "Ritual—"
Rook: "—time."
Dack said, "I'm working."
Rafe stepped in anyway and kissed his cheek.
Rook kissed the other.
Dack didn't stop walking afterward. He just said, "You're both weird."
Rook: "Yes."
Rafe: "Everyone said so."
Dack paused at the Dire Wolf's open panel and glanced back at them. "Why."
The twins hesitated—real hesitation this time.
Rafe spoke first, voice smaller. "People thought we were… wrong."
Rook added, finishing her thought like always. "Because we liked machines more than dates."
Rafe: "And we—"
Rook: "—didn't—"
Rafe: "—want—"
Rook: "—one."
Rafe: "Not one person."
Rook: "Not… half."
Rafe swallowed. "They'd ask one of us out. Like the other didn't exist."
Rook's eyes tightened. "We hated that."
Rafe's voice got firmer. "We decided we don't date unless they choose both of us."
Jinx made an appreciative sound. "Based."
Taila looked embarrassed but sympathetic.
Cassia's eyes widened like she'd never heard anyone say that out loud.
Dack looked at the twins for a long moment, then said simply, "I'm not splitting you."
Rook blinked.
Rafe blinked.
Their faces went pink in sync.
Then, as if their bodies moved before their brains could argue, they both stepped in and kissed him again—quick, warm, happy.
Jinx practically vibrated with delight. "THE RITUAL HAS PURPOSE."
Dack rubbed his cheek once and muttered, "Great."
But he didn't sound angry.
Taila watched him like she was collecting proof that the man she'd attached herself to was actually capable of tenderness, even if he didn't advertise it.
Morrigan watched too, mouth tight, eyes softer than she wanted.
Lyra stayed silent on the other side of the bay, but her gaze lingered on Dack for a beat longer than necessary before she forced herself back to work.
---
They were still cutting and sorting salvage from the Cinder Whelps' wrecked Catapult—heat sinks, actuator parts, intact cable runs—when Lyra's slate chimed again.
She walked straight to Dack without preamble. "Broker returned terms."
Dack took the slate and read.
A border world. Periphery-adjacent. Local government paying above market because they were terrified. Their militia had been chewed up. A Clan raiding element had been sighted—fast strikes, clean withdrawals, no random cruelty. Not pirates.
Real Clanners.
The broker's note was short:
They've issued a batchall to the defending forces. They want numbers and terms. If you answer wrong, they'll ignore it and burn you anyway. If you answer smart, you limit what you face.
Jinx leaned over Dack's shoulder, blue eyes scanning. "They're doing the honor thing."
Quill's voice went flat. "They always do. Until they don't."
Taila swallowed. "We can… we can't take a full Clan star."
Dack didn't answer right away. He looked around the bay at his machines:
Dire Wolf: his father's shadow, still the heaviest hammer he had.
Highlander: Jinx's brutality wrapped in steel.
Awesome: Quill's discipline made metal.
Marauder: Taila learning to be something bigger than fear.
Orion: Morrigan's new body, still healing.
Griffin: Cassia's probationary seat—range, precision, potential.
He looked at Lyra. "We answer the batchall."
Lyra's eyebrows rose slightly. "You want to negotiate with Clanners."
Dack nodded once. "I want to control what hits us first."
Jinx grinned, excited. "He's doing politics."
Taila whispered, "He's doing survival."
Quill's eyes narrowed, assessing. "If they accept your terms, you face fewer mechs. If they reject, you've warned them you're not prey."
Dack handed the slate back to Lyra. "Draft it. Simple. No bragging."
Lyra's voice stayed calm. "What terms."
Dack's answer came without drama. "One star. Not two. No aerospace in the first exchange. Planet-side only. If they want honor, they can keep it clean."
Jinx laughed softly. "That's the most insulting polite thing I've ever heard."
Morrigan's eyes glittered. "I like it."
Cassia looked between them, throat bobbing. "We're really going to fight Clans."
Dack looked at her. "You stay in lane. You do what you did yesterday. You don't chase heroes."
Cassia nodded fast. "Yes, sir."
Rook and Rafe stood close together, listening.
Rafe: "Clans—"
Rook: "—kill—"
Rafe: "—fast."
Rook: "We'll keep you alive."
Dack glanced at them. "You keep the machines alive. That's how you keep us alive."
Rook and Rafe both nodded like that was the highest compliment they'd ever been given.
Jinx slid her arm around Dack's waist, pressing close. She tilted her head up and kissed him lightly—once. Not playful. Something more grounded.
Taila mirrored it on his other side, a small kiss to his cheek, eyes warm.
Morrigan hesitated—then, to everyone's surprise, reached out and hooked one finger under Dack's sleeve near his wrist like she was claiming a tiny piece of him too.
She didn't kiss him.
Not yet.
But she didn't let go right away either.
Dack looked down at Morrigan's hand, then up at the bay, at the ship that was slowly becoming more than a contract platform.
He didn't make a speech.
He just said, "We get paid. We get better. We live."
Lyra turned away to draft the batchall response, already moving through clauses and language like it was another form of combat.
Quill went back to the Awesome's open panel, checking coil alignment with ruthless focus.
Taila climbed the Marauder ladder again, determination replacing nerves.
Jinx hopped back onto her tool cart, legs swinging, humming like she didn't have fear in her bones at all.
Cassia stood at the Griffin's ladder, staring at her hands like she was trying to decide what kind of person she had to become to survive what was coming.
Rook and Rafe returned to the Orion's knee, murmuring to each other, finishing each other's thoughts as they tightened the last bolts.
And every time Dack crossed the bay after that—every time he passed between machines and people and the hard work of staying alive—
Rook and Rafe kissed his cheeks in perfect sync.
Jinx kept calling it The Ritual, like naming it made it stronger.
And Dack, for all his bluntness, didn't stop them.
Because some things weren't distractions.
Some things were glue.