Chapter 4 part 2

####Noble Problems Require Spacer Solutions

Let’s talk about that enigmatic female warrior, Stella—the one who docked yesterday.

From the moment she set foot on this station, it was obvious: she’s Core System nobility.

The evidence? It’s written all over her. Her quantum-forged equipment gleamed with the kind of craftsmanship only accessible to the elite, her speech carried a precision that betrayed her refined upbringing, and her demeanor screamed of someone unaccustomed to the grit of frontier life. Oh, and she casually mentioned training at a prestigious combat academy. That last detail was the clincher.

Those academies are a dead giveaway. They don’t prepare students for battles against xeno beasts or raiders; their curriculum is geared toward dueling humanoids in elegant arenas. And let’s not forget: energy blade combat is almost exclusively the domain of either the Imperial military or nobles learning self-defense. The military academies? They flaunt their graduates openly—merc crews like the *Stellar Shield* can’t stop bragging about their ties. But someone concealing their academy’s name? That’s classic noble behavior. It’s a way to protect the family’s reputation while maintaining plausible deniability.

So, why’s a noblewoman slumming it with the Mercenary Spacers' Guild? Her reasons are unclear, but there are patterns to these things.

Maybe she’s running from an arranged noble marriage, or maybe her warrior spirit rebelled against the sterile opulence of noble life. Either way, her presence here raises a bigger concern: her family’s influence.

If her house officially disowned her—stripped her of titles, cut her off from the Core’s political web—then we could breathe easy. But if not? Well, that’s a disaster waiting to happen.

Imagine if a rebellious daughter secretly fled her orbital estate to join a frontier guild.

Noble houses guard their reputations jealously. Even the mere *idea* of their heir consorting with “lesser beings” would send shockwaves through their councils.

And if one of us spacers dared to grow too familiar with her? The consequences would be swift and brutal. “Oh, you knew our daughter? Guess we’ll space you now.” That level of response wouldn’t be an overreaction in their eyes.

Even parents who *loved* their children—by Core standards, anyway—would spare no effort to erase all traces of a connection between their noble bloodline and a commoner spacer. That’s just how the Core operates in this era.

Make no mistake, Stella is a warrior.

That quantum blade of hers isn’t just a decoration; it channels raw cosmic energy, and she knows how to wield it. A lone woman traversing deep space without an escort suggests one of two things: either supreme confidence in her skills, or training so elite that she doesn’t need anyone watching her back. Likely both.

Nobles like her are dangerous. Whether it’s enhanced genetics or the finest education credits can buy, they often surpass even veteran soldiers. The parents are deadly; the children, doubly so.

Thinking about getting close to her? Building connections with someone that important?

That’s suicide. Especially if you look like me—a Solflariian half-breed.

Nobles barely tolerate full-blooded Imperialists from the Rim, let alone someone with my genes.

"Times like these, just drinking at the cantina is best...ahh, gulp gulp."

That’s why, under the artificial sky of the station, I headed straight to the *Gift of the Nebula* instead of the guild hall.

Stella’s “another time” yesterday sounded polite enough, but with nobles, you can never tell. It might’ve been a warning. It might’ve been a threat. Either way, I’m not risking it.

If there’s even a one-percent chance of trouble, I’m steering clear of that sector. Whether Stella is a benevolent noble or a vengeful one doesn’t matter. Staying alive out here means avoiding unnecessary risks.

"Open this early in the station’s cycle, huh? Cheers, even though the artificial sun’s still bright..."

The cantina’s airlock hissed as I cycled through, and the familiar heat and noise hit me like a solar flare. The place was packed—spacers crowded around every table, the air thick with laughter, arguments, and the occasional burst of profanity.

"Oh, Narwhal’s here too."

"Of course I’d come," I replied, slipping through the press of bodies.

"No seats left though. Hahaha!"

"Still no Andromeda ale? What’s taking so long with the shipments?"

The atmosphere was almost suffocating. Too many bodies crammed into one space, and yet it felt oddly comforting. Familiar faces, familiar havoc. It was payday, maybe?

Or wait—no, station time showed it was still early in the cycle. What’s with all the activity? Then it hit me.

"Why are all you spacers hanging around here...?"

Burger’s voice floated through the din. "Same reason as you, Narwhal. We all heard about yesterday. No one wants to stay at the guild hub, right?"

I laughed dryly, craning my neck to spot him but failing to locate his hulking figure in the crowd.

"Narwhal," Julio chimed in, "bet there are plenty of open seats at the guild lounge now."

"Where, Julio? You vacuum-head! I’m absolutely avoiding the guild today." I paused, narrowing my eyes. "Wait, are there really no open seats?"

"Wide open? Some folks are even using cargo containers as chairs."

"Supposedly the top-rated establishment in this sector…" I muttered, glancing around the cantina. "But still."

The *Gift of the Nebula* wasn’t exactly luxurious, but it had a charm that kept us coming back. Credit charges were low—probably too low to turn much profit—but the owner seemed more interested in the lively energy of the place than his bottom line. I imagined him monitoring the Havoc from his back office, smiling at the bustling scene he’d cultivated.

"Hey, make way… don’t grab my posterior! Next spacer who tries loses an organ to deep space!"

"Bwahaha!"

"Scary! Sorry, my bad!"

Sticking around was pointless. I turned to leave the crowded, chaotic cantina when a familiar figure emerged from the throng of humanoid bodies.

It was Yunikon, one of Diana’ plasma bow specialists—Aioi's sister figure...or brother figure? The specifics were never clear.

“Phew, too many beings in one place... Narwhal, if you’re heading out, I’m coming with you. We’re finding a quieter spot, right?”

“Hm? Well, yeah. Just killing time until the next cycle.”

“Then take me along. It’s way too cramped in here.”

I could sympathize. In a place like this, you couldn’t even predict when your drink order would materialize through the Havoc.

Don't know if anyone knows Yunikon is male, with his unique features, probably attracted more than a little unwanted attention.

“Hey, look! Narwhal’s getting cozy with an Diana operative!”

“What?! Isn’t that against Guild protocols?”

I rolled my eyes. “What protocols? Whatever. Let's go to the guild to report it? I’ll cover your drinks.”

“Nah, staying far away from the Guild today. I’d rather face a hungry xeno beast than get mixed up with nobles.”

“Yeah, better safe than spaced.”

Such is the influence of Galactic Nobility.

“Well, let’s go,”

“Yeah, let’s. Damn, isn’t there a cheap cantina somewhere nearby?”

And so, Yunikon and I wandered off together, in search of a less suffocating place to drink.

After pacing through the cold, recycled corridors of the station for a while, we stumbled across a quieter establishment. The air in this sector felt harsh—older filtration systems in need of maintenance—but the glow of the *Starfarer’s Cantina* drew us in.

The place wasn’t far from the Guild headquarters or the *Gift of the Nebula*, and it catered to a similar clientele: synthetic and exotic meats, decently brewed ales.

It wasn’t as crowded as the cantina we’d just left—probably because the drinks were pricier. But the seating was more spacious, and the interior felt inviting, not desperate to cram as many bodies as possible into a single cycle. The ale wasn’t too watered down either, which was the main draw. Still, my wallet felt heavier just walking in.

“I come here sometimes,” Yunikon mentioned as we slid into a booth. “When Diana scores a big haul from missions, we bring cargo here to wholesale.”

“Oh, I see. So next time Diana makes a big score, I’ll drop by,”

Yunikon chuckled. “Ah, don’t get your hopes up. They’re not that generous with discounts.”

“Figures.”

I bit my tongue before making a remark about stingy cantinas. No sense in risking my ale getting “accidentally” diluted at the bar.

As we settled in, I turned to Yunikon. “So, why aren’t you with Diana today? Aren’t you usually together?”

They shrugged. “Ah, yeah. Diana is at the Guild right now.”

“The Guild? Why there of all places?”

“Oh, you noticed?” Yunikon gave me a wry smile. “Our captain said she wants to take a job related to that noblewoman, if one comes up. So she’s at the Guild, feeling things out.”

I couldn’t hide my surprise. To willingly wade into that political mess? I knew Diana was ambitious, but this seemed reckless.

Did Lunar—their captain—have some experience dealing with nobles, or was this just hubris?

Still, I had to admit: with an all-female crew, the risks of scandal were lower. Maybe Lunar calculated that.

“So you got excluded, huh,” I teased.

Yunikon laughed softly. “Yeah, just this time. It’s for my sake, mostly. They’re keeping me out of the crossfire.”

“Smart move. Best not to get involved with big shots.”

“Narwhal, do you dislike the nobility?”

I sighed. “It’s not about dislike. They’re practically my natural enemies. Look at my markings. If some noble decided to pick a fight over them in a place like that, it’d get ugly fast.”

Yunikon frowned. “Oh…”

The bioluminescent streaks in my hair—proof of Solflare ancestry—glimmered under the cantina’s artificial lights.

Local thugs making trouble over them didn’t bother me; I could handle that.

But with nobles? Even if I won the brawl, I’d lose the war. The consequences would follow me no matter where I ran.

The safest course of action was to avoid those situations entirely.

Keeping out of sight from nobles is the best course of action.

And if, by some misfortune, I ended up in one?

I’d grovel. Bow my head. Beg pitifully for mercy while planning my escape at full speed. Nobles rarely found it worth the effort to hunt down and kill “innocents” without good reason. It was bad for their reputation.

The Spacers’ Guild would protect me, to an extent. But if a noble pushed things too far? Well, I’d have to unleash my *Commander Havoc* abilities and ruin their business ventures. I didn’t want to go there, but sometimes survival left no other choice.

“Come to think of it,” I said, studying Yunikon’s faintly glimmering hair, “you’ve got a bit of Solflare blood too, don’t you?”

“Yeah, supposedly from my great-great-grandmother’s side. She was from a star system just across the Solflare Commonwealth border. But I’ve never been there. I was born and raised here, in the Baldr Sector and my genetic markers are barely visible. Unlike yours.”

“Makes sense,”

I said. Yunikon’s subtle shimmer was different from my stark bioluminescence, but it wasn’t uncommon for border-world families to carry mixed traits.

Trade between the Commonwealth and the Empire had left genetic markers scattered across the galaxy, even before the wars.

“What about you, Narwhal? Is it okay to ask?”

“Me?” I leaned back, running a hand through my glowing streaks. “My colony was right on the border. Just a mix of pure Imperial and pure Solflare blood.”

Yunikon raised a brow. “Whoa… that sounds dramatic.”

I chuckled. “Not really. Just a small mining colony.”

Mixed heritage was unremarkable on frontier colonies like mine.

Though, in truth, I didn’t remember much from back then.

My early years had been a blur of survival, as I struggled to control my awakened powers. Family, home—those were luxuries I hadn’t had the time to enjoy.

“What was your colony called?” Yunikon asked.

I hesitated, then shrugged. “You wouldn’t know it if I said. It was destroyed in the war.”

Yunikon’s eyes widened. “Huh?”

“No, really. It was right on the border. First wiped out by the Imperial fleet’s conscription, then the Solflare armada came through and massacred whoever was left. I thought I was dead for sure.”

That had been one of the closest brushes with death I’d ever had.

Without my powers awakening in time, I wouldn’t have survived.

“…Sorry, Narwhal,” Yunikon said softly,

As I reminisced, Yunikon's mood sank to the floor across from me.

Not good, the atmosphere's dead. Heavy topic.

“No, don’t worry about it. It’s old news. I don’t think about it much anymore.”

“Even so…”

I waved over a service droid to cut the tension. “Hey, Yunikon, what’ll you have? Let’s order some drinks—and a hot meal while we’re at it. Service droid!”

I did my best to lighten the mood. By the end of the meal, the warm food and drinks seemed to bring Yunikon back to life, and we shared some genuine laughs.

Still, I had the nagging feeling Yunikon now saw me as someone weighed down by a tragic past. The truth? I didn’t care. I barely had any attachment to my home colony from back when I was desperately trying to survive in this life.

But that’s not something I’d ever say out loud.