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“It all sounds creepy,” Doc said. “But I’m always down for some creep.”

“What it sounds like is broken,” Tambi said. “Rennick wouldn’t be paying this much if there wasn’t something seriously fucked with this vessel. Cass, what do you think? This much credit means a metric ton of danger. You down for it? You’re our go-to with the seriously unstable cores and things that like to blow up.”

All eyes shifted to me. I’d studied alien tech since my dad brought home an old Lactern engine from an auction. It was fascinating. Fascinating enough that I studied it for four years, and apprenticed under a grumpy professor who loved Star Trek more than his husband. And the tech showing up every time Earth made friends with another planet blew my ever-loving mind.

Since I qualified in Space Tech Engineering before joining the army, yep, that was the lame name for my degree, every commanding officer who’d ever called a thing too dangerous to touch got proven wrong by me.

“I’m in,” I said. “Where do I sign?”

Tambi smiled. She knew I’d want the challenge. “Doc? You’ll need to run sweeps on the bio meds, see if anything’s glitching. It may need a full reboot.”

“Obviously, I’m in.” She stole more food off my plate.

Monica nodded. “My cut will pay for my new ride. Got my eye on a sweet hydro-powered Harley. Vroom, vroom. I need something big and powerful between my thighs. It’s been too long.”

“Didn’t you have that guy from the local barracks sniffing around?” I asked.

“He did more than sniff.” Monica chuckled low. “But... he was all show. Didn’t walk the talk. You know how that goes.”

We all nodded a little sadly. Although Dead Stick Salvage was the best of the best with ship repairs, our love lives were designated on the critical list, most likely terminal, and don’t attempt a repair should be tattooed on our butts.

We enjoyed getting well-fucked, but none of the guys stuck. Mostly because they all pulled the same tired shit Monica just went through.

“Then we’re all in. Contract signed and sent back.” Tambi hit a few keys, then cracked her knuckles. “Time for a celebration.”

It involved more tequila, a premium brand, of course, and the bar’s best double chocolate brownies with caramel sauce and ice cream, which Darius delighted in serving to us with candles, so we could celebrate by blowing spit all over our dessert. It was such a gross tradition.

We were scooping the last of the sugar rush into our mouths when Darius hurried over.

“I don’t want to break up the party, but there’s been a sighting of a Kelvane ship coming your way. She’s limping bad despite being assisted in, so I hope she makes it.”

Tambi checked her laptop and hissed through her teeth. “WTF? Rennick is arriving now?”

“Was that the deal?” I asked.

“He said he’d let me know an arrival time.”

“This must be him letting us know.” Doc scooped up her last mouthful of dessert and then downed another shot. “I’m lubed and ready to pull this broken baby apart and make her shiny and happy again.”

“Fuck!” Tambi muttered under her breath. “He must think the big bucks mean we’re at his beck and call. I’m not down for that.”

“You’ll soon set him right.” I patted her shoulder.

Although we were equal partners in Dead Stick Salvage, Tambi was our official, ass-kicking mother hen, and we loved her for it. She dealt with the admin crap and contract negotiations so we didn’t have to. She was also no slouch when an extra hand was needed on a tricky repair. Everyone pulled their weight, and we got the rewards to go with it.

We settled the tab and walked along the ship docking bay together, thick coats zipped against a tit freezing night, arm in arm. This was my favorite season. Crisp air. Falling orange leaves. And all the hot chocolate the crew could handle.

We’d been back at the yard for ten minutes, heaters cranked to keep things cozy, when the birds scattered off the pilings. A look outside showed a low-flying craft hauling a ship toward us.

I let out a soft sigh and leaned against Monica. It was fucking beautiful. A Kelvane hull, grown instead of built, all long, curved lines. Sleek, shiny, and... dead. No hum came off the drive core, and every window was fogged from the inside.

“Huh.” Doc crossed her arms. “What’s going on in there?”

“Maybe it’s humid.” Tambi tucked her hands into her coat pockets. “Do these aliens run hot and sweaty? I’ve never met one before. Doc, what’s their profile?”

“Not tropical. Humanoid in design. We’re a spin-off from their DNA, so there are basic anatomical similarities. They’re bigger, though. Way bigger. And into their patriarchies.”

“Sexist, thug, douchebags?” Monica asked.