Blake frowned as the document materialized on his HUD, glowing faintly in front of him. It took him a moment to make sense of the dense script and accompanying data blocks. This was a collection of shipping manifest, itemized down to the gram, detailing equipment and materials Blake couldn’t entirely recognize but instinctively understood were valuable.

His attention was immediately drawn to a second attachment—a long list of what looked to be coordinates. His brows knit tighter as he flipped back and forth between the manifest and the numbers, piecing together the obvious implication.

“Oh!” Chimera’s voice burst through with unrestrained glee. “Blake! Do you see this? Do you even realize what this means? Oh, I could do so much with these—your armor, your weapons—this is… this is perfection! Precision-engineered components for bio-synthetic augmentation! High-density fusion cores! Blake, do you even understand what this could unlock?”

Her excitement bordered on manic, and Blake found himself both amused and vaguely alarmed. “Chimera,” he muttered, “you’re practically drooling.”

“I don’t have the glands!” she shot back without missing a beat. “But if I did, they’d be working overtime!”

Eland leaned forward slightly, his attention locked on the manifest displayed before him. His wide hands gestured faintly in the air as he processed the information.

“This list,” he began, voice heavy with thought, “has more than just gear enhancements. There are components here that could drastically speed up repairs on the ship’s core systems. Regenerative lattice matrices... high-output energy couplings... By all that’s luminous, there’s even mention of redundant power arrays.”

Blake nodded absently but couldn’t shake a nagging feeling as his gaze returned to the partial coordinates.

Eland tilted his head slightly. “But these coordinates… they’re incomplete.”

Blake’s stomach sank as Eland continued.

“It’s bait,” Eland said simply. “Aureon wants you to take his deal. And in exchange for your cooperation? He’ll give you the full location.”

Blake exhaled sharply, his jaw tightening as he glanced between Eland and the faint glow of his HUD. “Alright, what do you want to do about this?” His voice was steady, but there was an edge beneath it—one born of frustration and urgency.

Eland straightened, his large hands clasping together as he took a measured breath. “I don’t want to put you at any more risk than you’re already in,” he said, his tone calm but resolute. “We have options that don’t involve playing into the hands of someone like Aureon.”

Blake crossed his arms, not letting Eland off the hook that easily. “How much would these parts actually help you?” The question came out bluntly, no room for evasion.

Eland hesitated—a brief flicker of unease crossing his features before he recovered. But that hesitation said more than any words could. Blake narrowed his eyes as Eland’s gaze shifted away momentarily.

“Right,” Blake muttered under his breath, his frustration bubbling to the surface. He gestured toward the faint projection of the manifest. “That smug bastard knew exactly how to get me interested. Damn it.” His hand dropped back to his side, fingers twitching slightly.

Eland stepped forward, his voice firm but kind. “Blake, listen to me. You don’t have to agree to anything he’s offering. We can deal with Rax and work with the scavengers who are still on our side to get what we need.” He paused, meeting Blake’s eyes directly. “It might take longer, but it’s safer.”

Blake shook his head slowly, a grim smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Safer? Maybe for me,” he said, locking eyes with Eland now. “But this isn’t just about safe or slow anymore.” He uncrossed his arms and pointed at Eland’s chest lightly, not unkindly but with conviction. “This way is faster, and it’s a way for me to pay you back for everything you’ve done.”

Eland started to speak again, but Blake raised a hand to stop him.

“I’ve made up my mind. I owe you too much, Eland. I'd be dead out there without you." He took a breath before continuing, this time with a bit more bravado. "Besides, all I'm doing here is speeding up the timetable on something that I'll have to deal with eventually anyway. From what I gather none of you ever even got a choice.”

"Blake," Eland started, but Blake cut him off again.

"I'm not sure how you get used to the idea that people might be watching you at any given moment, but I suppose I had better start now." He smiled at Eland reassuringly before a stray thought set him to giggling.

"They know when I am sleeping, they'll know when I'm awake," he choked out in a sing-song between laughs. No one else was laughing. After a few more choked giggles, Blake got himself back under control. Eland’s gaze lingered on Blake, concern etched into the deep lines of his face. He tilted his head slightly, his large hands resting on his hips.

Ensure your favorite authors get the support they deserve. Read this novel on Royal Road.

“Are you sure you’re alright?” he asked, his voice softer now, almost hesitant. “You… seemed a bit manic.”

Blake rubbed the back of his neck, a sheepish grin tugging at the corner of his mouth.

“Yeah, I’m fine,” he replied, shaking his head as if to clear it. “I just—” He paused, letting out a short laugh. “I just remembered something funny from when I was a kid.”

Eland’s expression didn’t shift much—still wary—but he stayed silent, waiting for Blake to continue. Blake sighed, glancing down at the floor for a moment before looking back up at Eland.

“It’s been one hell of a week, you know? Not much to laugh about.” His grin widened briefly before fading into something softer. “It just caught me off guard, is all.”

Eland nodded sagely at that. Blake knew the man was old—older than his country back home, potentially. No doubt Eland knew a thing or two about rough weeks.

"Okay, chief," Blake spoke aloud, head turned skyward. "I know what I'm getting into. I'll agree to waive whatever protections I have from your reindeer games if you get us these coordinates."

A translucent prompt materialized before Blake’s eyes, hovering in his HUD with a soft glow. The text was clear and to the point, written in plain, almost sterile language:

Agreement:

* Chronicler Aureon will provide the complete coordinates to the specified salvage locations immediately upon acceptance of this agreement.

* In exchange, Blake Connover hereby waives any restrictions currently limiting Aeon interactions with his person, allowing full observation and engagement as per the Demiurge System’s parameters.

* No further compensation or obligations are included in this arrangement.

Accept?

[Yes] [No]

Blake frowned, narrowing his eyes as he read through the terms again. There was no dense legalese, no buried clauses to trip him up later. Just blunt terms and conditions. It made sense—Aureon didn’t seem like the type to hide his intentions behind layers of obfuscation when he could just flaunt his power instead.

“Chimera,” he muttered under his breath, “do you see anything off about this?”

The avatar didn’t manifest, but her voice whispered through his mind. “I’ve read it three times already. It’s… frustratingly straightforward. No loopholes, no traps that I can detect.”

Blake exhaled through his nose and ran a hand over his face. He couldn’t shake the feeling that agreeing to this was akin to signing a deal with the devil—but at least this devil was being honest about what he wanted.

“Alright,” he said aloud, tapping the air where the [Yes] option hovered.

The moment his finger connected, the HUD flickered and reoriented itself. The partial coordinates on the salvage manifest filled out instantly, one line after another slotting into place like a puzzle finally completed.

Chimera’s voice came through the speaker almost immediately, brimming with enthusiasm. “So,” she asked with an edge of playful anticipation, “where do you want to start?”

Blake leaned against the makeshift table, tapping his fingers on the metal surface as he glanced up at the glowing projection Zephyr had manifested.

“Alright, Zeph,” he started, voice steady despite the underlying urgency. “First thing’s first: I need you to assemble a priority list of ship components. Whatever we can salvage to get Eland untethered from this thing as soon as possible.”

“Understood. Core stabilization and auxiliary systems repair will take precedence. Would you like me to factor in redundancy to avoid further downtime in the future?”

Blake shook his head, his expression hardening. “No time for perfectionism. Just what’s necessary to get him free and mobile again.”

Zephyr hummed faintly in acknowledgment, and Blake took a moment to rub his temples before continuing.

“Next priority,” he said, straightening slightly, “is anything we can use to help Mara and her crew. I doubt most of them have real combat experience or decent gear. We need stuff we can rig into shielding, weaponry—hell, even explosives if it comes down to it.”

Chimera interjected with a sharp laugh in his mind. “I like where your head’s at,” she said. “Improvised warfare does seem to be the order of the day.”

Blake mentally fist-bumped her before focusing on Zephyr again. She was projecting a list, populating it with potential items from the salvaged manifest. For each item, checked the distance from the ship. There was going to be a lot of running in his immediate future.

“Okay, one last thing,” Blake added, pushing off the table and pacing slightly. He gestured vaguely at himself with a wry grin. “Find me something functional to wear that isn’t this damn jumpsuit. I don’t need anything fancy—no powered armor or high-tech gimmicks—just something sturdy enough to take a hit without falling apart.”

Blake closed his eyes briefly, focusing on projecting a mental image for Chimera's benefit: heavy-duty material reinforced in key areas, gloves for protection without sacrificing dexterity, and a helmet that could at least shield him from debris if not much else.

Chimera practically purred in response, her tone dripping with amusement. “Glorified motorcycle leathers, is that it? You’re setting such modest expectations.”

Blake raised an eyebrow as he adjusted the strap on his pack. “Wait a second—you know what motorcycles are?”

Chimera’s laughter echoed through his thoughts, light and condescending all at once. “We’re sitting in a spaceship, Blake. Do you think most cultures skipped wheels and ground transportation entirely?”

The casual retort left him blinking, his initial surprise now feeling utterly ridiculous. Of course she’d know—why wouldn’t she? Blake scratched the back of his neck, muttering under his breath, “Fair point.”

“But,” Chimera continued, her tone shifting to something almost teasing, “you’ve been dreaming about riding your bike by the water back home. I caught snippets while you were sleeping.”

Blake froze mid-step, heat rising to his face. “You… what?”

“Relax,” she said smoothly. “It wasn’t on purpose. It’s not like I’m rifling through your memories for kicks. Besides…” Her voice grew wistful, or at least as wistful as an experimental bio-morph could sound. “Once we’re not constantly risking death out here, I might see what I can do about creating myself a form like that. It's not a proper ship, but it's a start.”

Blake couldn’t help but grin at that, the absurdity of the idea making him laugh despite himself. “That sounds amazing,” he said earnestly. “But for right now…” He shifted his grip on his gear and glanced at the glowing list of coordinates displayed in his HUD. “Let’s just figure out what we need to get dug up today.”

Chimera made an approving sound in his mind. “I’ll see what I can do.”