Chapter 2 part 3

Expert's Guide to Not Catching Void Shrimp

Fresh from the Guild’s Training Camps, the new recruits are like space foam—barely formed, still drifting, and entirely unprepared for the harshness that lies beyond regulated space.

First off, they're completely unsuitable for protection assignments. These are merely youngsters from the distant settlements, unpolished and inexperienced, without elder endorsements or meaningful connections to their names.

Had they possessed ties to a planetary representative or respected craft master, perhaps they might secure a proper introduction—possibly even land employment worth its value in Stellar Credits. But the harsh truth remains: no one entrusts crucial assignments to anonymous newcomers.

Gathering materials? A pointless endeavor for them. The productive worlds near commerce routes have already been depleted of their valuables. Any plant life or precious element worth exchanging has been collected down to the final fragment. If they're desperate enough to forage, they'll need to journey deep into the drifting rock clusters or further into unmapped cosmic clouds.

Even the basic positions—working on neglected space hub repairs—becomes fiercely competitive during this season. It's the most straightforward kind of temporary work, and every beginner rushes to claim it during the employment surge. Yet even these agreements are limited.

And what's left? The remnants of the assignment board: refuse processing, spirit-crushing building projects, or, if they're courageous—or misguided—enough, elimination missions in the emptiness.

The so-called "3K tasks"—culling, clearing, and Chaos. They're invariably exhausting.

Consistently perilous. And yet, curiously, elimination requests remain wildly sought-after among starry-eyed recruits.

Is it overconfidence? That frontier-developed assurance that comes from enduring harsh settlement life? Or is it unbridled aspiration—fantasies of becoming celebrated association hunters? Whatever drives them, there's no shortage of novices registering for missions far exceeding their capabilities.

As one might expect, the outcome repeats annually: a somber count of the deceased.

They lack prudence, seasoning, and the survival instincts needed in the emptiness.

The association attempts to educate them—fundamental survival discussions, strategic briefings—but the instant they're released, everything taught vanishes. "Let's begin the hunt!" they exclaim. And away they rush into the drifting rock fields, equipped with nothing but excessive confidence and substandard equipment.

Every cycle repeats this tragic performance: unseasoned beginners accepting two-tier elimination requests without ever encountering an Alien creature before. They wander the fields like disoriented machines, drawing trouble. And when they fail? Guardian automatons move in to tidy the aftermath.

It's thoroughly draining.

"It's excessively crowded. There's no worthwhile employment remaining for me,"

my subordinate, Aioi, complained while examining the wavering light-projection of the association assignment board. Her irritation was unmistakable.

Her team, *Diana*, focuses on elimination assignments, but when the drifting rock fields overflow with oblivious amateurs, everything becomes unbalanced.

Even the Alien habitation patterns shift as the living network responds to the influx of clumsy humans.

"I'm without assignments too," I acknowledged. "Even the upkeep positions on Baldr Hub have all been claimed."

"Not that we'd remove those opportunities from the newcomers anyway," she remarked, crossing her arms.

"Rest assured, I wouldn't allow those youngsters to go hungry. I was considering establishing camp in the deeper rock zones, but that's impossible with this year's multitude."

"Baldr's prosperity has been accelerating lately. It's not merely locals anymore—people journey from settlements light-distances away to establish themselves here. Unsurprisingly, it's so congested."

Baldr Hub's unexpected economic flourishing

A strange phenomenon, stemming from the widespread adoption of Commander Chaos (my own) brilliant creations, now characterizes the hub's swift advancement.

And, honestly speaking, I initiated it all.

I set everything in motion.

"There are pressing recruitment notices from various fabrication centers. Not association contracts, but the compensation is reasonable. Could prove worthwhile when the assignment board empties."

"Fabrication centers, hmm? They're multiplying like jump portals around here."

"Unending construction, never sufficient personnel to maintain pace. Busy times, indeed—I suppose that's a favorable challenge to have."

Baldr is evolving into a thriving center of interplanetary exchange.

Previously dismissed as an underdeveloped hub adrift in an unremarkable region, it functioned merely as a minor stopover for cargo vessels. But now, with its newfound industries flourishing like stellar explosions, the hub vibrates with activity. Vessels from faraway settlements converge here, eager to exchange goods and innovations.

The Leader of Baldr's unsuspecting administrator never anticipated this surge in activity. According to all reports, he's struggling amid the Chaos. It's rather entertaining, truthfully.

"Hey, Aioi," I suggested, struck by a sudden inspiration. "If you're unoccupied, care to visit the satellite?"

"The satellite? For what purpose? There's nothing there."

"There's an icebound body of water out there, undisturbed by the amateurs. Better to travel in pairs for this excursion. Meet me at the eastern entrance with your equipment if you're interested."

She gave me a doubtful glance before eventually shrugging. "Very well, I'm intrigued. I'll join you."

After some preparation, we departed.

The satellite's landscape extended before us, a barren stretch of frozen water and sharp stone. I modified my protective garment's heat regulators, my exhalation momentarily clouding the viewing panel before the internal mechanisms compensated. The only audible sounds were the distant hum of Baldr Hub through my headgear's communication system and the occasional rumble of rock collisions reverberating through the satellite's sparse atmosphere.

"Well then," I said, smiling as I unloaded my equipment. "Let's capture some celestial crustaceans."

Aioi stared, regarding me as if I'd lost my senses. "Hold on—crustaceans? You brought me here to angle for fish!?"

From my container, I extracted a handcrafted angling pole, its elegant design a combination of salvaged materials. Meanwhile, Aioi gripped her energy weapon, completely mystified.

"I believed we were hunting Alien beasts!" she protested.

"Space crustaceans are currently abundant. This body of water is swarming with them right now," I clarified, undisturbed by her outburst.

"You genuinely couldn't accomplish this alone?"

"Angling in solitude is tedious. Besides, you were unoccupied, weren't you?"

No communication signals reach this section of the satellite. I'm certain some individuals can endure hours in isolation, but that lifestyle doesn't suit me. I require someone nearby to keep the silence at bay—it's challenging out here without conversation to ground me.

"Ughhh... oh, is this one intended for me?"

"Of course. Observe, my personally crafted, exceptionally high-performance angling poles. Planning to market these universe-class treasures soon."

"They resemble... branches with cord attached. Nevertheless, I appreciate it. I'll attempt this activity."

In Baldr, fresh aquatic creatures or shellfish represent rare delicacies. Most available varieties have been dehydrated or smoke-preserved, the kind only culinary enthusiasts typically pursue. Occasionally, some hobbyist will capture an unusual specimen and prepare it at the association, but that's the extent of it.

These frozen satellite lakes, however? They're abundant with aquatic life and space crustaceans—an ideal location for an angler like myself.

"Are these insects in the receptacle suitable as bait?"

"Indeed, position them near areas where the water movement is gentle, and you'll receive nibbles promptly."

"Ahhh, understood."

Bait angling here demands patience above all else.

If I possessed proper artificial lures, I'd be manipulating the pole like some faster-than-light technician working relentlessly. But these poles—well, let's just acknowledge that mechanical spools aren't included in their design. Eventually, I'd enjoy experimenting with an advanced setup, but presently, I'll continue with traditional stationary angling.

The two of us lower our lines into the frozen depths, positioned side by side, waiting silently for movement. No urgency, no frantic activity, merely the quiet rhythm of expectation.

The aquatic creatures we pursue are cunning—they'll sample the bait and retreat if your reaction proves too hasty. That's precisely why moments extend, unhurried and peaceful, as time flows similarly to the gentle current beneath the ice.

“Aioi, ever fish back home?”

“Nope. We set traps. Used blasters. Fishing was for bored uncles.”

“You’ve never had void shrimp?!”

“Not even once.”

“You’re kidding.”

“I’m not. Had crab, though. Big fan.”

“You’ve lived half a life.”

“Half shrimp, half what?”

“Half joy.”

“I don’t get it.”

“You will.”

“I’d rather not.”

“Oh?”

As we traded jabs, her line jerked.

“Wait. It’s moving!”

“Give it ten seconds.”

“It’s really pulling—”

“Patience. Let it take the bait.”

No way. First bite goes to her?

“Okay... now?”

“Slow and steady.”

She lifted the rod. A glimmering void shrimp, barely bigger than her palm, dangled from the hook.

“Nice! Good size. Better than I expected.”

“Ooooh.”

“Seal it in the case.”

Clink. “That was too easy.”

“You’re a prodigy. First-timer success.”

“Hm.”

Was that a smug “hm”?

Okay then. Watch this pro work.

“Oh! Another one!”

What!?

Her rod bent again. A second bite. Well, guess a good spot works wonders.

"Whoa, it’s tugging hard!"

Where there’s two, there’s three, they say.

"And... got another as soon as I dropped the line back in! No, calm down... wait patiently... then carefully..."

Hold on!

“Aioi!”

“Yes?”

“How many!?”

“Ten? Maybe more.”

“Switch spots!”

“Fine... fine.”

Something’s not right. No bites for me—and she’s just meters away?

If I stand where she was...

“Mr. Narwhal... look over there...”

Aioi’s voice turned low. Her face went still.

**Author's Note:**

Ah, welcome back, dear reader! I see you've survived another round of cosmic chaos and crustacean capers. Let's dive right into the latest escapades of our beloved Galaxia Narwhal—aka the man who can turn a simple fishing trip into a full-blown celebration of satellite life's eccentricities.

First off, let me just say, if you thought playing dress-up as a galactic tyrant was easy, try angling for void shrimp on a frozen satellite. It's a test of patience, skill, and the ability to endure Aioi's increasingly sharp tongue. But hey, all's well that ends with a glimmering catch, right?

And let's talk about our starry-eyed recruits—fresh from the Guild’s Training Camps, ready to take on the void with nothing but excessive confidence and substandard equipment. They're like space foam, folks. Barely formed, still drifting, and entirely unprepared for the harshness that lies beyond regulated space. But amidst all the chaos and competition, there's a sobering truth. Life out here in the void isn't easy. It's a constant battle against chaos, noise, and the cold, unfeeling expanse of space. Yet, these folks keep going, day after day, with a resilience that would put a black hole to shame.

So here's to the void shrimp, the frozen lakes, the kebabs, the ale, and the kebabs. May your catches be ever plentiful, your victories ever in your favor, and your optimism ever unfiltered.

And remember, if you ever find yourself in need of a good laugh or a heartwarming tale of triumph against the odds, just tune in to the next chapter of "Expert's Guide to Not Catching Void Shrimp." Trust me, it's going to be out of this world.

Until next time, stay snarky and keep reaching for the stars!