When Kali stepped off the shuttle and returned to the bustle of Caladrian Station, the air hit him like a wall, dry, metallic, and humming with the endless churn of industry. He hadn't made it ten paces from the docks before a familiar voice called out.
"Hey, mister!"
He turned.
Lio stood there, grinning wide, all crooked teeth and boundless energy. But something was different.
The kid was in mechanic's gear now, loose-fitting coveralls smeared with soot and streaked with grease, a wrench holstered at his side like a badge of honor. His goggles sat askew on his head, the lenses scuffed and half-cracked, but he wore them like they made him somebody.
He looked taller too. Straighter in the shoulders. A little more filled out, a little less hollow around the eyes.
"Lio," Kali said, one brow lifting. "You look different."
"I know, right?" the boy chirped, practically bouncing on his heels. "Old man Turner took me in as his apprentice. Said I've got a knack for 'listening to machines when they ain't talking.' I think that's a compliment."
Kali's mouth curved into a rare, genuine half-smile. "Sounds like it is."
The kid beamed, rubbing a dirty hand across his face, leaving a streak of black on his cheek without noticing. "I get to sleep in the workshop now. Ain't got a proper bed yet, but Turner gave me a cot. Better than the vents."
"You earning?" Kali asked.
Lio shrugged, but he didn't look ashamed. "Some. Enough for food and secondhand boots. Turner says if I stick around, I'll get certified in a year."
Kali studied him a moment longer. The soot, the grime, the bright eyes under all of it. Maybe the kid had a shot. "Well then," Kali said, stepping beside him. "How about I buy you that lunch I owe you?"
Lio's eyes lit up like solar flares. "For real? With meat and everything?"
Kali gave a small nod. "With meat. Maybe even soup."
"Hot damn!" Lio laughed and started walking ahead, waving his arms like he was parting a crowd that wasn't there. "There's this new place down on Sublevel Nine, smells like someone knows what they're doing for once. You'll like it."
Kali followed with quiet steps and the smallest hint of peace in his posture.
The lift down was slow and clunky, its walls etched with graffiti from dozens of languages, most of which Kali didn't recognize. Lio talked the entire descent, spinning stories about Turner's shop and the strange things that came through. Broken war drones, voice-warped navigational AIs, even a salvaged piece of a machina interface that Turner refused to touch.
"Guy said it was humming at night," Lio added with a shiver. "Like singing. Turner just locked it in a crate and tossed it in the cold bay. Told me not to ever go near it."
Kali said nothing, but his silence was enough to keep Lio chattering.
When the lift doors screeched open, Sublevel Nine greeted them like a long-lost cousin with questionable hygiene. The corridor was dim, flickering with old neon signs and half-functioning atmospheric fans that coughed dust into the recycled air. It wasn't pretty, but it had soul, gritty, stubborn, unwashed soul.
"There it is!" Lio pointed to a stall wedged between a black-market parts vendor and a silk tailor. "Vana's Joint. Best meat this side of the station.
The eatery was little more than a steel box with counter seating, a few plastic chairs, and a cooking station that looked like it had been salvaged from a mining rig. But it smelled heavenly, charred protein, garlic oil, something spicy that tickled the sinuses.
They sat on wobbling stools as a woman with cybernetic arms and a visor across her eyes slid two bowls across the counter. No menu. No questions. You got what was ready.
Lio dug in with zero hesitation.
Kali took his time, inspecting the contents: thick strips of vat-grown meat layered over noodles in a dark, umami-rich broth. Steam curled into the air like memory. He took a bite. It was good. Too good for Sublevel Nine.
"You know," Lio said between slurps, "I always wondered what your deal is. You don't look like a corp guy. You don't talk like a spacer. You're not local either."
Kali raised an eyebrow.
"Don't worry," Lio added quickly. "Not prying or anything. I just think you've seen a lot."
Kali took another bite before replying, voice low. "Too much."
That seemed to satisfy the kid.
They ate in companionable silence for a while after that. The low hum of the station, the clang of metal from somewhere deeper in the level, and the distant bark of a merchant arguing over pricing, it all blended into the background.
Lio leaned back eventually, rubbing his stomach. "Damn. That hit the spot. Thanks, mister."
Kali gave him a slight nod. "You earned it. Keep Turner close. Learn fast."
Lio saluted playfully. "Yes sir, boss sir."
"How old are you, anyway?" Kali asked, realizing belatedly how wrong he'd been to assume the kid was ten.
Lio slurped the last strand of noodle before replying, "Thirteen. Gonna be fourteen next month."
Kali blinked. "You've got your whole life in front of you," he murmured, more to himself than to Lio. There was a faint trace of something in his voice, melancholy, or maybe the ghost of a memory that hadn't aged well.
Lio opened his mouth, likely ready to launch into one of his long-winded tangents, but was interrupted by a soft chime from Kali's wrist communicator. The display flared to life, Turner's signature glyph and a message beneath it: "Meet me in the district. Got something to tell ya."
Kali slid a quick payment to Vana. The cook nodded without a word, already elbow-deep in the next pot.
"C'mon," Kali said, standing and adjusting his coat. "Let's get moving."
Lio hopped off his stool with a grin, brushing crumbs from his grease-stained coveralls. The kid bounced a little as he walked, full of energy and the kind of hope Kali had long since traded for survival instinct.
They left the glow of the noodle stall and stepped back into the dim arteries of Sublevel Nine. The neon flickered as they passed beneath, and the air smelled faintly of ozone and old circuitry. Somewhere above, the distant whine of a docking ship filtered through the station's bones.
As they made their way toward the mechanic district, Kali cast a sidelong glance at Lio, thirteen going on fourteen, all ribs and spark, talking about engines like they were magic. He walked fast to keep up, occasionally skipping a step, as if life itself couldn't move quick enough.
It didn't take them long to reach the mechanic district.
The air shifted as they entered, it got hotter, smelled like oil, and the stink of chemical coolant. Sparks popped from open booths. Vents hissed. The whole place thrummed like a living organism made of scrap and sweat and diesel ambition.
As usual, it was packed. Workers shouted over the din, drones buzzed overhead, and traders hawked spare parts from crates stacked higher than the kids who ran between them.
But it wasn't the crowd that caught Kali off guard.
When he stepped into Turner's booth, a wide, garage-like stall lined with hanging exo-suit frames, plasma welders, and an old reactor array half-dismantled, he saw Brann leaning against a support pillar, arms crossed, armored coat slung lazily behind him. His crew hovered nearby, Sela tuning a servo rifle, and Kharv spinning a combat knife idly between gloved fingers.
And sitting beside Turner was a woman Kali didn't recognize.
She wore mechanic overalls, but not the kind you found on just any station hand. Hers were reinforced with carbon-fiber threading, tailored for function and style. Even smeared with soot and smudged oil, there was something precise and commanding about her posture.
She caught Kali looking and offered a nod.
Lio ambled ahead, oblivious to the tension that had begun to coil in the air. He grinned at Turner, who leaned down and said something too low for Kali to hear. The old mechanic handed the kid a datapad and pointed toward the far side of the district. Lio gave a playful salute and ducked out, already whistling a tune as he went.
The moment he was gone, Kali stepped fully inside and let the heavy tarp-door fall behind him. He turned to Turner, then glanced between Brann, the woman, and the bristling silence between them.
His voice was level, but sharp-edged. "What's this?"