Chapter 2 part 5

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 handed over the Titan’s salvaged components. The techs ran their scanners over the haul, their machines whirring as they logged the bounty and etched the credit chit for the Guild.  

Since this wasn’t a planned hunt—and Titans weren’t exactly casual prey—I made sure they tagged the incident for the xenobiology team.  

“Narwhal, did you scan its digestive tract?”  

“Uh. Forgot that part.”  

“Right. Next time, don’t skip it. If it’s been snacking on colonists or cargo drones, protocols change.”  

Honestly, I’d rather not rummage through some alien monstrosity’s stomach.  

But if it’s procedure, I’ll suck it up and remember.  

“Back when my crew bagged a Stellar Ogre, we had to catalog every last organ in its gut.”  

“Disgusting.”  

“Exactly. Handling higher-tier xeno-beasts is… a whole other mess.”  

With the chit processed, we headed back toward the outpost.  

For now, I left the cosmic shrimps drifting in the stasis pod in my quarters. They’d need a full decontamination cycle in the containment field—annoying, but mandatory. 

Then came the real headache: filing the Titan encounter report.  

If I’d been alone, I might’ve skipped the paperwork, but with Aioi around, I had to play the role of the responsible senior. The curse of being “a good influence.”  

“A Titan near the moon’s mining zone? That’s trouble. With all these rookies strip-mining minerals unsupervised, someone probably pissed it off.”  

After slotting the chit into the Guild terminal, we got summoned to the vice commander’s office.  

The vice commander—a spacer who looked like he hadn’t slept in three cycles—handled all the bureaucratic sludge the Guild’s absentee commander dodged.  

His neural display probably flickered with a real-time map of the Belt’s shipping lanes as we walked in. Guild brass always had the void routes memorized better than their own birthdays.  

“So, the two of you brought down this Titan?”  

“Yep. Aioi weakened it with her plasma caster, and I finished it off point-blank.”  

“No, my shots barely scratched it,” Aioi muttered.  

“I see. We didn’t have any contracts logged for that sector. Memory’s a bit hazy, though.”  

“We were just fishing. That stretch of the belt’s swarming with crustaceans this season.”  

“Ah, figures.”  

The vice commander’s frown deepened.  

“We’ll need to investigate. I’ll dispatch a Silver-tier crew to sweep the area for hostiles. Call it off after a few clean patrols.”  

“Guild personnel? Not Station Security?”  

“Bad timing. Security’s buried in dock disputes and cargo inspections. External threats fall to us for now.”  

The station’s population surge was causing chaos in the corridors. Not my circus, not my monkeys—but I felt for the guy.  

“Oh, Narwhal and Aioi are both still Bronze-tier, right?”  

“I’m whatever.”  

“Says the guy allergic to promotions.”  

“Allergic, yeah. That’s it.”  

“Aioi, you’re close to ranking up. Any plans?”  

“Not really. Bronze 3’s still new. Feels too fast.”  

Her ID badge glimmered near her collar, projecting three holographic stars. Bronze 3—one step from Silver. Same as me.  

And tier promotions—where your badge actually changes color—are when the Guild starts nitpicking your every move. Me? I’ve got command breathing down my neck to climb faster.  

“Steady progress is good. Skilled shooters are rare.”  

“Y-yes, sir.”  

“And Narwhal, you’re stacking up contributions, but…”  

“Heh, yes, sir. Exemplary as always, right?”  

“Just remember: refusing promotion is fine, but don’t make it look like the Guild’s biased. We can’t have rumors of species discrimination.”  

Give me a break. There’s a dozen rookies who’d kill for training. That’s contribution enough.  

“Understood. I’ll keep it by the book.”  

Stepping out of the vice commander’s office, the tension in my shoulders finally eased.  

  

“Talking to command is exhausting,” 

I grumbled.  

“Right? Corporate elites are worse,” Aioi added.  

“Oh? You deal with them often?”  

“Can’t say much, but yeah. I stick to the background—rim-worlders like me don’t exactly blend in with the suits.”  

“Smart move.”  

The Corporate Nobility in this sector were notoriously cutthroat. Staying invisible was the best survival tactic, especially for mixed-species folks like me.  

  

Next cycle, during our off-shift, we hit the *Gift of the Nebula Cantina* to crack into the shrimps. Prepping them myself was too much hassle, so we let the kitchen handle it. I just wanted to unwind with a synth-ale.  

“These are the shrimps we caught?” Aioi asked.  

“Yup. Their shells crisp up perfect in a plasma fryer.”  

“Whoa, the colors… and that smell!”  

“Dig in.”  

Aioi’s eyes lit up as she took the first bite.  

“Mmm! Incredible!”  

Her reaction was worth the trip alone. I followed suit.  

“Thanks for hauling these in,” I said.  

“You’re paying, so eat your fill.”  

“Fair’s fair!”  

The shrimps’ shells were perfectly crunchy, and even the bigger ones were tender enough to devour whole.  

Let’s see… ah, nice texture.  

Shell’s good too… was worried they’d be tough, but no issues.  

“Goes down smooth,” Aioi mumbled through another mouthful.  

“Another round, please!”  

Damn, she’s putting away the synth-liquor. Knew she had a high tolerance, but I’ve never seen her actually tipsy.  

Aioi flagged down the server, already reaching for her next drink. Her metabolism burned through synthetic ethanol like it was nothing.  

“Try dipping it in fermented sauce,” I suggested.  

“This gloop? Looks sketchy…”  

“Trust me. It’s mandatory.”  

“Your entire philosophy is built on void-shrimps and weird sauce, but… fine. Mmm! Okay, that’s amazing!”  

“Told you.”  

Cosmic fishing and good food—  

simple joys in a chaotic universe.  

“Ahhh… fishing’s the best.”  

“Yeah?”  

Day-drinking and quality snacks. Now this is civilization.  

“Not like it’s the *meaning of life* or anything…”  

“Wanna go again sometime?” she asked.  

“Sure. Next time, I’ll pull my weight.”  

“Better.”  

Next time, I’d reclaim my dignity. After all, the catch always tastes sweeter when it’s your own.  

---------  

“Narwhal, I heard you took Aioi into the lunar belt.” The voice cut through the cantina’s chatter like a vibro-blade.  

One cycle later, as I was diligently attempting to rehydrate a vacuum-sealed ration bar with synth-milk at a station table, a striking woman slid into the seat across from me. Despite half the cantina being empty.  

“Nice work on that last mission,” I offered, trying to deflect.  

“I heard you tangled with a xeno-beast.”  

“It was… unplanned. Took all precautions.”  

“Did you?”  

The voice belonged to Lunar, captain of the *Diana*. Her tri-braided hair fell like woven shadow, each strand precise as a coiled wire.  

Lunar’s reputation preceded her. A prodigy with a callsign like “Final Shot,” she was the Baldr System’s deadliest plasma marksman. Her crew—an all-woman outfit—operated with machine-like precision.  

Rumors swirled about her past, but I’d never dug into them. If I had to guess? Scion of a fallen megacorp dynasty. She carried that polished, unyielding air—someone who’d learned to wield both privilege and ruin like weapons.  

Her command skills were undeniable. For years, she’d led her crew with flawless discipline, their reputation a gold standard in the sector.  

No wonder she was grilling me over the Titan incident. From her vantage, it probably reeked of reckless showboating—especially from a solo operator like me.  

And if I’m honest? I might’ve once did something rude to one of her crew. Starting to think *that’s* the real issue here.  

“Taking on a Void Titan solo is suicide,” she said, voice sharp. “Their bio-plating and energy shields aren’t just for show.”  

“If I’d been alone? Doubt I’d be here. But Aioi nailed its sensory array—turned the tide.”  

“Heard that. But that shot only grazed the surface, right?”  

She knew too much. Of course—Aioi must’ve briefed her. Not like I’d told her to keep it quiet.  

“Thing had already breached the perimeter, slipped past the asteroid outposts.”  

“Your judgment’s questionable, Narwhal. Was that victory skill, or just dumb luck?”  

“…Get to the point.”  

“Joint contract. I need to see if you can actually keep Aioi safe.”  

“Why me?”  

“If you can’t, stop taking her into deep void. She’s crucial to my crew.”  

I get it.  

She’s not wrong. If I’m dragging Aioi into the black, I’d better prove I’m not a liability—or step aside. That’s just command basics.  

“Already promised her another run. Cosmic fishing.”  

“…You’ll go?”  

“Yeah. She bagged ten shrimps last time. I got zero. Can’t let that stand.”  

“…Oh, she mentioned that. Said she outclassed you entirely.”  

“I’ll prove that was a statistical anomaly.”  

“…Let’s be clear—I don’t care about your fishing ego. Just show me you can handle a real op with us. Prove competence, and we’re square.”  

“Got it. Clean work. No mess.”  

The catch?  

I can’t exactly use my… specialty in public.  

Gotta do this the hard way.  

Should be fine… probably.  

  

“Lunar, sure you don’t want some of this ration bar? Rehydrates fast with synth-milk or fermented juice. Handy stuff. I’ll cut you a deal—dozen packs at cost.”  

“Pass.”  

“Figured.”

Author's Note:

Ah, welcome back, dear reader! I see you've survived another round of cosmic chaos and culinary delights, only to be thrown into the deep end with a Void Titan and a very annoyed space captain. 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 battle for survival and a bureaucratic nightmare.

First off, let me just say, if you thought angling for void shrimp was easy, try facing off against a three-meter-tall, feral beast from deep space and then dealing with the Guild's paperwork. It's a test of skill, agility, and the ability to endure Aioi's increasingly sharp tongue and the vice commander's bureaucratic sludge. But hey, all's well that ends with a glimmering catch, a beastly howl, and a well-deserved synth-ale, 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 "Zero Shrimp, One Titan, and a Very Annoyed Space Captain." Trust me, it's going to be out of this world.

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