Under the Lunar's Gaze Under the Lunar’s Gaze The mission had its complications, but in the end, we wrapped things up without disaster. After a short break at the outpost, we set course back for Baldr Sector as the next shift began. The three outlaws we’d captured made the trip more tedious, but they moved without protest through the station’s winding halls. Maybe they’d accepted their fate, or maybe it was the sheer bulk of Goressa’s mechanized exosuit—a sight that unnerved even me—that kept them in line. Whatever the reason, they stayed silent. During the return flight, Lunar proved yet again why she was the best marksman in the sector, picking off a stellar fowl mid-transit. Her weapon of choice, the Final Shot, was no ordinary tool—a sleek, plasma bow that fired superheated bolts with terrifying accuracy. One shot was all it took to sever the creature’s guidance node and thought center. A feat like that demanded years of discipline. Me? I’d rather chew glass than spend decades ...

Horn of The Unicorn Horn of The Unicorn The Bragi Expanse sprawls like a shattered necklace of rock and ice, drifting in the void just beyond the Baldr Sector. For the people of Baldr, this asteroid belt isn’t just a distant cluster of debris—it’s their lifeline. Their homeworld, barren and resource-starved, depends entirely on the Expanse for the gleaming, crystalline ore that fuels their starships and keeps their cities alive. Without it, the long winters—brought on by their sun’s unpredictable temper—would freeze them into oblivion. But the Expanse isn’t just a treasure trove. It’s a lawless stretch of space where danger lurks in every shadow. Xeno-beasts, drifters, outlaws, and pirates all stake their claim here, turning what should be a simple mining operation into a constant struggle. Yet Baldr can’t afford to retreat. The ore is too precious. Dotted throughout the belt are maintenance outposts—small, skeletal stations with just enough room for a few weary miners to rest, repair ...

Plasma Lance? More Like Plasma Chance! Plasma Lance? More Like Plasma Chance! "Hold position. Gravity snare ahead." My fingers danced across the comm panel, switching frequencies to the Diana crew’s channel. "Lunar, Moona, sensors are picking up an artificial gravity distortion. Suggest we pause and assess before proceeding." I signaled the trailing ships to cut thrust, letting momentum carry us closer to the scattered wreckage drifting in our path. No question about it—tucked among the jagged remnants of obliterated asteroids was something that didn’t belong. A gravity snare. Invisible tendrils of manipulated force, woven to ensnare ships mid-flight like a spider’s web catching unwary prey. A pilot’s worst nightmare in the endless dark. These things were supposed to be tagged—registered with the Mercenary Guild, broadcasting identification codes like a warning sign. But this one? Silent. Unmarked. And worse, built into its core were pulse emitters designed to fry a...

Professional's Handbook to Blowing Your Space Evaluation How to Tank Your Spacer Evaluation with Style Somehow, I found myself agreeing to a joint mission with Diana. The terms were clear enough: prove I could hold my own in hostile territory if I planned on dragging Aioi into deeper zones again. Fair, really. It’s not overprotectiveness—it’s basic crew safety. Nobody wants to send a younger crewmate off with someone who looks like he’s been patched together with duct tape and stubbornness. And look, I get it. I know what I look like—some half-sane drifter who’s spent too many years sucking vacuum. It was only a matter of time before someone insisted on a formal test. Not my first time jumping through bureaucratic hoops to justify my survival. The trial mission? Two cycles patrolling a junk cluster. It was the kind of work everyone hates but someone has to do: scouting for rookie pilots who'd gone missing after flying too deep, pulling down unauthorized signal towers set up by ...

Zero Shrimp, One Titan, and a Very Annoyed Space Captain Zero Shrimp, One Titan, and a Very Annoyed Space Captain The station’s atmosphere cyclers hummed softly, pushing crisp, filtered air through the corridors—a relief after hours breathing the stale, metallic tang of my suit’s recycler. I popped the seals on my helmet, inhaling deeply, and trailed Aioi through the sterile white halls of the processing hub.   Today’s haul: ten cosmic shrimps and the neural hub of a Void Titan. Not terrible, except Aioi had snagged every last shrimp. Hard to flex seniority when your junior outclasses you in low-gravity foraging. Next time, I’d practice my technique. Maybe watch a tutorial holo or two.   “A Titan drifting this close? That’s not right. No active bounties on it, were there?”   “None. It was just… hovering in near side of the moon near the mining field’s edge.”   “That’s not good. Someone should look into that.”   At the processing desk, I ...