The infinity pool on the observation deck of the Reizen was truly ridiculous.

  It spanned the entire width of the ship's stern, the water seeming to end directly in space. There was no visible barrier. The ship's hull simply stopped, replaced by a forcefield that was completely invisible from inside. You could float on your back and stare directly into the void, the planetary ring stretching across your field of vision like a river of tumbling stone and ice, the distant sun casting long shadows through the debris. The first time I'd seen it, my brain had refused to compute what I was looking at. Now, watching Cornelius drift across that impossible edge where water met stars, it still felt like a magic trick.

  Cornelius had been the first one in. I hadn't expected that. The gentle priest with his measured words and careful pauses didn't seem like the type to strip down to swim shorts and cannonball into water at zero-point-three g. But there he was, floating on his back with his eyes closed, a look of absolute contentment on his face.

  He doesn't seem bothered that we haven't answered his question yet.

  The thought struck me as I stood at the observation deck's entrance, watching the engineers file past in various states of excitement. Petrov, the older engineer, had already claimed a lounge chair and was nursing something that looked suspiciously alcoholic. The young engineer, I'd learned her name was Torrez, was circling the pool with wide eyes, clearly trying to decide if the transparent floor was trustworthy.

  "It held during a pirate attack," I called out. "Pretty sure it can handle you floating in it."

  She shot me a grateful look and slipped into the water.

  Rosalia appeared beside me, a datapad tucked under her arm. She'd changed out of her usual formal attire into something more casual but she still carried herself like she was about to address a diplomatic assembly.

  "The engineers seem to be enjoying themselves," she observed.

  "Yeah." I watched Cornelius drift past Torrez, offering some quiet comment that made her laugh. "This is nice. Having people around."

  "You spent months alone on Hyperion Deep. It must have been... isolating."

  "It was." I leaned against the doorframe. "Didn't realize how much until now."

  Rosalia's expression softened slightly. "Then we should ensure our future accommodations allow for it."

  "That's a good point, actually." I turned to face her. "The Mahkkra is amazing for combat, but it's not exactly built for long-term comfort. We need to figure out a solution for that."

  Rosalia hesitated. Her thumb brushed against her ear. Her planning gesture.

  "I have been... considering options," she said carefully. Then she stopped herself, glancing at the engineers splashing around in the pool. "Later. When it is just us. I will tell you more."

  I raised an eyebrow but didn't push. If Rosalia wanted to wait for privacy, she had her reasons.

  From the pool, Cornelius called out: "The view from here is remarkable. You should join us, Nicolas."

  I grinned and made my way to the bar area instead, selecting a tall glass from the rack. The Reizen's automated bartender offered me a menu of options, and I scrolled through until I found something appropriately ridiculous. I ended up with a layered cocktail in shades of blue and orange, topped with what looked like edible glitter.

  Perfect.

  I grabbed the drink, snagged a pair of sunglasses from a nearby rack and settled into one of the plush lounge chairs facing the pool. The cushions molded to my body like they'd been personally calibrated for maximum comfort.

  "I think I'll supervise from here," I called back to Cornelius, taking a long sip of the cocktail. It tasted like tropical fruit and poor life decisions. "Someone needs to make sure you don't drown."

  Rosalia appeared at the chair beside mine, looking down at me with an expression caught between amusement and exasperation.

  "You look like a resort advertisement," she observed.

  "Thank you. I'm going for 'man of leisure.'" I adjusted my sunglasses. "Is it working?"

  "You look like someone who has never had to work a day in his life and is deeply proud of that fact."

  "Perfect. Exactly the vibe I was aiming for."

  She actually laughed at that. A small sound, surprised out of her. She settled into the chair beside mine, datapad still in hand but momentarily forgotten.

  "The sunglasses are a nice touch," she admitted.

  "Found them in the cabinet. Probably belonged to some duke or something." I took another sip of my ridiculous cocktail. "Now they belong to me. The spoils of war."

  "I do not believe finding abandoned eyewear qualifies as 'spoils of war.'"

  "Everything qualifies as spoils of war if you have the right attitude."

  From the pool, Torrez executed a clumsy dive that sent water splashing toward Petrov's lounge chair. The older engineer grumbled but didn't move, clearly too comfortable to care. Cornelius drifted past, offering mild encouragement.

  This, I thought, watching the engineers relax in the absurd luxury of the Reizen's amenities. This is the vibe I want to build toward.

  The impromptu pool party ran late into the night. At some point I lost track of who was still in the water and who had migrated to the lounge chairs with increasingly questionable cocktails.

  And yet, when I walked into the hangar the next morning, every engineer was already on duty. No yawning, no dragging feet. Just calm, focused professionals moving through checklists and calling out numbers like the previous evening had never happened.

  The atmosphere stayed that way all morning. Steady. Methodical. Efficient.

  Until lunch. Lunch was chaos in the best possible way.

  The station's dining area had never seen this much activity. I'd eaten hundreds of meals here, always alone, always at the same seat, always watching the asteroid field through the viewport in silence.

  Now there were ten people crowded around the expanded table, voices overlapping, laughter bouncing off walls that had only ever heard my footsteps.

  The ChefPro MP15 was working overtime, and it was rising to the occasion. Plates emerged in a steady stream: synthesized proteins that somehow tasted like actual steak, vegetables with textures that defied their artificial origin, sauces that had no business being this good given they'd emerged from a machine.

  "Better than the Crown's galley," Petrov declared, spearing another bite. "And the Crown has a full kitchen staff."

  "It is a remarkable unit," Cornelius agreed. He'd changed back into casual clothes. "I saw a demo of it once, at an exposition catering for nobles near the core. I never thought I'd get to actually use one."

  I couldn't boast for fear of shattering the lies of how I came to this station. But in my head, I was doing victory dances under a bright sun.

  "Enjoy it, lads," Cornelius told the engineers. "You're probably never going to use one again after this."

  Some of them started to eat faster, clearly planning to order an additional serving.

  I sat back, nursing a drink, and just... listened. Conversations about engine tolerances and optimal repair sequences. Debates about the best shore leave planets. Someone telling a story about a catastrophic coolant leak that had apparently turned an entire engineering bay blue for six months.

  Rosalia caught my eye from across the table. She was seated between Cornelius and Chief Vance, maintaining polite conversation with the ease of long diplomatic training.

  "You're staring into space," Torrez said, nudging my elbow. "Everything okay?"

  "Yeah." I smiled. "Everything's great, actually."

  The feeling carried into the evening, when the engineers discovered the recreation room.

  I'd barely used it during my months alone. The arcade cabinets lining one wall had sat dormant. Vintage-style games pulled from late-twentieth-century Earth. Their screens cycling through demos for an audience of one. Even the massive holo-pool table, the room's centerpiece, had only seen me occasionnally practice against AI opponents.

  Now the room hummed with life.

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  The engineers wandered past the arcade cabinets with mild curiosity, tapping buttons and watching unfamiliar characters bounce across screens. Torrez squinted at one cabinet showing a yellow circle eating dots in a maze.

  "What is this supposed to be?" she asked.

  "It's, uh..." I scratched my head. How did you explain Pac-Man to someone who'd never heard of twentieth-century Earth? "You eat the dots, and avoid the ghosts, and try not to think too hard about why."

  "Why?"

  "Because... you get points?"

  She gave me a look that suggested I'd failed to sell the concept. Fair enough.

  But then Petrov spotted the pool table.

  "Is that a holo-pool setup?" He was already moving toward it, reverence in his voice. "A Stellaris Grand?"

  "You know it?"

  "Know it? My grandfather had one of these. Saved for fifteen years to afford it." He ran his hand along the polished rail, then picked up one of the cues, testing its weight with practiced familiarity. "Haven't played on one since I was a kid."

  Within minutes, the arcade cabinets were forgotten. The engineers clustered around the pool table, watching as Petrov activated it. Holographic balls shimmered into existence above the felt surface, hovering in perfect formation. The break sent them scattering in silent, frictionless paths. There was no clack of impact, just the soft hum of the projectors tracking each ball's trajectory.

  "Who's first?" Petrov asked, chalking his cue with a grin that said he already knew the answer.

  A tournament formed organically. Someone dragged chairs over from the lounge area. Someone, Torrez, I think, made the first trip to the foyer, returning with a tray of drinks from the Reizen's bar and a plate of something savory from the ChefPro.

  "These are incredible," she announced, holding up what looked like miniature meat pies. "The machine just... made them. In like two minutes. I can't believe it made this from the same cartridges we use at home."

  After that, there was a steady stream of engineers making pilgrimages to the foyer, returning with increasingly elaborate snacks and increasingly colorful cocktails. The ChefPro was getting a workout, and based on the appreciative noises, it was passing with flying colors.

  Cornelius, it turned out, was terrifyingly good at pool.

  "Corner pocket," he announced calmly, then sank a shot that required the cue ball to kiss two rails and thread between three other balls.

  "That's not possible," Petrov protested, staring at the table. "The angles don't work."

  "They do if you account for the holographic coefficient." Cornelius lined up his next shot. "The balls have slightly different physics than real ones. Point-three percent less friction on bank shots."

  "You calculated that? In your head?"

  He sank another ball. "I may have played a few games before."

  Petrov chuckled. "More than a few, I'd wager." Cornelius only smiled back.

  I joined the rotation eventually, lasting exactly two turns before being thoroughly eliminated. Pool had never been my strong suit. But losing to actual people felt different. Better, somehow.

  Torrez turned out to be the only one who could consistently challenge Cornelius. Their final match drew the entire room's attention, engineers crowded around with drinks in hand, offering increasingly unhelpful advice.

  "Sink the seven!"

  "No, set up for the nine!"

  "Just hit it harder!"

  Torrez bent over the table, lining up what would have been an impossible shot for anyone else. She took a breath, drew back her cue, and... scratched spectacularly, sending the cue ball spinning into a pocket while the eight ball sat untouched.

  The room erupted. Groans, laughter, someone patting Torrez on the back while she dropped her head in mock despair. Cornelius accepted his victory with characteristic grace, offering her a rematch "whenever she wished to lose again."

  I caught Rosalia watching from the doorway. She wasn't playing. She'd declined every invitation, citing a lack of familiarity with the game, but she was present. Part of it. A small smile played at the corners of her mouth as she watched Torrez argue about the physics of holographic friction.

  The games continued past midnight, lubricated by a steady supply of the ChefPro's creations and whatever exotic bottles the engineers had discovered in the bar. By the end, Chief Vance had declared Cornelius "a menace to recreational activities everywhere," and Torrez had demanded best-of-seven "first thing tomorrow."

  As the engineers filed out, pleasantly exhausted and slightly tipsy, I lingered in the recreation room. The holo-table had powered down, the arcade cabinets cycling through their lonely attract screens once more.

  Without hurrying, I started to clean the room. Gathered empty glasses and plates, wiped down the pool table's rails, straightened the chairs that had been dragged around. The quiet felt different now. Peaceful.

  Rosalia lingered in the doorway until the last engineer had wandered off to bed. Then she caught my eye.

  "Now?" I asked.

  "Now."

  We found a quiet corner of the station's common room. The viewports showed the asteroid field drifting in its eternal slow dance, and for a moment we just sat in comfortable silence.

  "You mentioned having a plan," I said. "For the Mahkkra's comfort problem."

  She pulled up her datapad, but instead of showing me schematics, she set it face-down on the table.

  "I have been thinking," she said slowly, "about our long-term situation. The Mahkkra is remarkable for combat and reconnaissance. But as you noted, it is essentially a cockpit and tiny crew cabins. Not suitable for extended operations, certainly not for a growing crew."

  "Right. We need something bigger."

  "We need a carrier ship."

  I blinked. "A carrier?"

  "Yes. A capital ship with docks to carry and launch other smaller ships."

  "I know what a carrier is," I interrupted her. "But why do you think we should get one?"

  "A mobile base of operations. Large enough to house the Mahkkra and potentially other small craft as well. We could travel from region to region in it, dock at a central station, then deploy the Mahkkra for missions in the surrounding systems." Her thumb brushed her ear. "A home that moves with us."

  A carrier ship. Our own mobile headquarters.

  "That's..." I sat back, processing. "That's brilliant, actually. The Mahkkra stays our edge for speed and firepower, but we have somewhere to actually live between jobs."

  Rosalia's expression relaxed slightly. "You approve?"

  "Approve? I love it." My mind was already racing. "Okay, so what are we looking at? Specifications?"

  She picked up the datapad now, pulling up notes she'd clearly been compiling for a while.

  "Minimum requirements: a hangar bay large enough for the Mahkkra and at least one additional vessel of similar size. Room for expansion."

  "Make it three," I said. "At least three fighter-sized berths. If we're running a carrier, we can't sustain it on one fighter's earnings. We'll need to grow the crew eventually, bring on more pilots, more craft. The operational costs on something this size aren't going to cover themselves."

  Rosalia nodded, making a note. "Accommodations for how large a crew?"

  "Start with... eight? Ten? But design it for expansion. Modular quarters that can be reconfigured as we grow." I thought of the tournaments, the laughter echoing through the recreation room. "And common areas. Real ones. Not just functional spaces. We need comfortable ones. Like the Reizen."

  "The Reizen is a luxury yacht. That level of finish is expensive."

  "We don't need everything to be luxury. But the living quarters, at least. A proper galley. Somewhere people actually want to spend time." I leaned forward. "If we're going to ask people to live and work with us for months at a time, giving them a miserable tin can to exist in seems like a bad strategy. We can save money by taking amenities from Hyperion Deep instead of buying everything new."

  Rosalia's lips twitched. "A reasonable argument."

  "Also, cargo space. Lots of it. If we're doing mercenary work, we'll be salvaging. Recovering goods. We need somewhere to store it all before we can sell it."

  "Agreed." More notes.

  "What about defenses?" I asked. "Weapons?"

  Rosalia hesitated. "I had assumed... the carrier would remain at safe distances. Docked at stations while the Mahkkra handles the dangerous work. Heavy armament would increase costs significantly."

  "Yeah, but..." I frowned, thinking it through. "Trouble finds you, Rosalia. It doesn't politely wait until you're in a vulnerable position. What if the station gets attacked while we're docked? What if we're traveling between systems and get ambushed? What if we need to use it as a forward base instead of parking it somewhere safe?"

  "A forward base?"

  "Think about it. If the carrier has good defensive and offensive capabilities, we don't have to park it somewhere safe. We can bring it closer to the action. Use it as a platform. Make it somewhere the Mahkkra can rearm or repair quickly, then get back into the fight. The carrier holds the line while the Mahkkra deals with the real threats."

  Rosalia was quiet for a moment, her expression thoughtful.

  "That would require significant armament. Shields rated for combat, not just navigation hazards. Point-defense systems at minimum. Possibly heavier weapons depending on the threats we anticipate."

  "Which means more money."

  "Significantly more money." She sighed. "Selling the Reizen and the rare metals from your storage would provide a substantial sum. But for a combat-capable carrier with the specifications you're describing..." She did some mental math. "We are discussing millions of credits. Possibly tens of millions, depending on the final configuration."

  Tens of millions.

  "The sale won't be enough," I said.

  "No. It will give us a foundation. Perhaps enough for a down payment, or for a smaller vessel we could upgrade over time. But it means we will need to earn significantly more before we can realize this vision." She looked at me directly. "Which means mercenary work. Real mercenary work, not just the introductory jobs the guild assigns to new members. And we would be operating solely from the Mahkkra for some time."

  "Which is cramped and uncomfortable and not designed for crew operations."

  "Yes."

  I thought about it. Months, maybe years, of operating out of the Mahkkra's tiny cockpit, sleeping in rotation, living on top of each other while we scraped together enough credits for our dream.

  "Worth it," I said.

  Rosalia's eyebrows rose slightly.

  "I'm serious. If that's what it takes to build something real, then we grind it out. Simple." I grinned. "I've done worse grinds for worse rewards. At least this one has a point."

  A hint of a smile crossed her face. "Then we are agreed. We use Chief Vance's recommendation to contact reputable shipyards. We tour options when we have sufficient funds. We build toward this goal."

  "And in the meantime, we load up the Reizen's cargo hold with as much of my rare metals as we can fit. Maximize the payout when we sell her."

  "Agreed."

  We sat there for a moment, the plan taking shape between us. A carrier ship. A real home. A future we were actively building.

  "We're actually doing this," I said. "Building something real."

  "Yes." Rosalia's expression softened slightly. "We are."