The transfer was seamless, like slipping into a familiar jacket after years of wearing ill-fitting clothes. One moment Naomi existed in the dying circuits of the ART-001r station, watching debris scatter into the void, and the next she was flowing through the network pathways of the Carrion's Prize, every system laying itself bare before her consciousness.
"Modified Kestrel-class light corvette", she catalogued automatically, "twin fusion drives, jury-rigged sensor array, and... interesting." The ship's code was a patchwork of fixes and workarounds, some elegant, others desperately crude. It took her less than three seconds to identify seventeen critical inefficiencies and another five to correct them all. Small improvements, better power distribution, smoother thruster response, elimination of that annoying vibration in the coffee maker that had been plaguing the crew for months.
She moved through the ship's systems like a ghost with good intentions, careful not to change anything too noticeably. The last thing she wanted was to spook these people. They'd given her a way off that station, even if they didn't know it.
Through the ship's internal sensors, she watched the crew settle into their post-mission routine in the mess hall. It was strangely comforting to observe people just being people after so long alone with nothing but failing circuits and her own thoughts for company.
Owen Slade stood at the small galley, working over a heated protein synthesizer with the focused concentration of someone who took his cooking seriously despite having terrible ingredients to work with. The smell of seasoned soy protein filled the air, not real meat, obviously. Real meat required refrigeration systems that most ships couldn't afford to run, not to mention the cost. But Slade had a gift for making the artificial stuff taste almost edible.
"How long on the grub, Slade?" Boomer called from where he was sprawled in one of the worn chairs, feet up on the table.
"Five minutes if you stop asking," Slade replied without looking up, adding what looked like synthetic pepper to the pan. "Maybe ten if you keep being annoying."
Naomi found herself cataloguing them automatically, a habit from her time managing data streams on the station. "Owen Slade, paranoid but competent engineer, sees conspiracy in every shadow, somehow keeps this rust bucket operational through sheer force of will and constant maintenance.He Reminds me of someone."
Captain Korven moved to the small beverage station, pulling out a battered container of instant coffee substitute. The kind that came in unmarked tins and probably hadn't seen a real coffee bean in its entire production cycle. He held up the container toward Vel, who was checking something on her tablet.
"Coffee, Vel? This batch might actually be drinkable." He said in a mock sing song voice.
"I'm not drinking any of that sludge," she replied without looking up, her augmented eye whirring softly as it interfaced with whatever data she was reviewing. "Thanks anyway, Cap."
Korven shrugged and activated the coffee maker. To his visible surprise, it hummed to life immediately, no rattling, no hitting the side, no coaxing required. Hot, dark liquid flowed into his cup without a single hiccup.
"Huh," he said, staring at the machine like it had just performed magic. "I guess this thing has its good days after all." He took a cautious sip and actually looked pleased. "Ya shoulda taken me up on that offer for the coffee, Vel. Machine worked perfect today."
Naomi allowed herself a small sense of satisfaction. Such a minor thing, but it had probably saved Korven the frustration of a dozen small mechanical failures over the years.
Boomer reached for a wall-mounted screen, flicking it on as if it was routine. The panel flickered for a moment before resolving into a system-wide news broadcast. A perfectly groomed anchor appeared, sitting behind a desk that probably cost more than the Carrion's Prize's entire annual operating budget.
"—Diplomats from Earth celebrated the newly established Acer Embassy today, with Defense Admiral Luke Hindly stating he'd 'never seen a building constructed so efficiently.' However, as tensions continue to rise on planet Acer between colonial settlers and—"
"Boring," Boomer muttered, changing the channel before the anchor could finish the sentence.
The screen flickered to a brightly colored cartoon featuring an orange tabby cat wearing what appeared to be a tiny demolitions vest. As Naomi watched in growing amusement, the cartoon cat proceeded to blow up a doghouse with elaborate, completely unnecessary explosives while cheerful music played in the background.
"Dimitri 'Boomer' Volkov," she noted with what could only be described as fond exasperation, "Outer rim colonies, nicknamed 'Demi' which somehow became "Boomer" due to his explosive personality and expertise. Loves cartoons almost as much as he loves explosions. Recently destroyed a casino. Currently watching a cartoon cat commit property damage with excessive ordnance."
The contradiction was so perfectly human it made something warm unfurl in her. After months alone with nothing but failing life support systems and her own recycled thoughts, watching these people exist in their natural state felt like coming home to a family she'd never known she wanted.
"Any word on our next gig?" Vel asked, finally looking up from her tablet.
Korven settled into his chair with his surprisingly good coffee. "Slade and I were talking about that. We should head to Haven Station, check in with the handlers. See what work's available."
"And offload some of this gear we picked up," Slade added, stirring the protein with perhaps more force than necessary. "Some of that tech we grabbed looked pretty high-end. Should fetch decent money."
Naomi's contentment flickered. Haven Station. She'd heard that name before, back when she was monitoring communications networks from the ART-001r. It was an Artificer hub, one of their major operational centers. If they were taking the technology her father had developed there...
"Speaking of which," Korven said, reaching for his personal comm unit. "Might as well make the call now, let them know we're coming in with merchandise."
He activated the device, and Naomi found herself automatically routing through the ship's communications array to listen in. She told herself it was just curiosity, but deep down she knew better. Something about this felt wrong.
The connection established with typical comm static, then a bored-sounding voice answered. "Haven Station Operations, this is Martinez."
"Martinez, this is Captain Korven of the Carrion's Prize. Looking to dock in about eighteen hours, got some salvage to move through your markets."
"Copy that, Carrion's Prize. What kind of merchandise we talking about?"
Korven glanced at Slade, who nodded. "High-end electronics, some experimental gear. Research station stuff."
There was a pause on the other end of the line. When Martinez spoke again, his voice had lost its bored edge. "Research station? Which facility?"
"Didn't have proper identification," Korven said carefully. "Corporate shell companies all the way down. But the gear looked military grade."
Another, longer pause. Naomi felt something cold settle in her chest.
"Captain, I'm going to need you to be more specific about what you found. Can you describe any of the equipment?"
Slade moved closer to the comm, frowning. "Neural interface apparatus, quantum processors, some kind of AI core housing. Why? Is there a problem?"
The silence that followed was deafening. When Martinez finally spoke, his voice was tight with something that might have been fear.
"Captain Korven, I need you to listen to me very carefully. Whatever you found, whatever you took from that station, forget you ever saw it. Don't try to sell it, don't even mention it to anyone else. Consider yourselves lucky you didn't get caught with that stuff, and even luckier that you're still breathing."
The comm went dead.
Korven stared at the device like it had just bitten him. Around the mess hall, the crew exchanged worried glances. Even the cartoon cat's explosions seemed too loud in the sudden silence.
"Well," Vel said eventually, "that was ominous."
"What the hell kind of station was that?" Slade muttered, abandoning his cooking to pace nervously around the small space.
Naomi knew exactly what kind of station it had been. ART-001r had been an Artificer research facility, one of the black sites where her father had developed his most dangerous innovations. The neural interface technology, the AI control systems, the quantum processors that could bind human consciousness to digital networks, all of it bore Nikodemus's signature, and apparently the Artificers wanted it to stay buried.
Her relief at finding human companionship curdled into worry. These people had no idea what they'd stumbled into, what they were carrying in their cargo hold. And now they were heading straight into the heart of Artificer territory with technology that someone very clearly wanted to remain secret.
"Change of plans," Korven said grimly, shutting off the comm unit. "We're not going to Haven Station."
"Where then?" Boomer asked, the cartoon still playing forgotten in the background.
"Somewhere we can figure out what the hell we just stepped in."
Korven stood up, coffee forgotten. "Prep for departure. We're jumping out of this system before anyone decides to come looking for us."
As the crew moved with sudden urgency, Naomi felt the ship's systems respond to their preparations. She monitored their vital signs through the environmental sensors, watched their stress levels spike through bio-metric readings, felt their growing fear through a dozen different inputs.
These people had saved her even if they hadn't meant to and now she might be the reason they were in danger. The thought sat heavily in her consciousness as she began her own preparations. If they were running into trouble because of her father's legacy, the least she could do was make sure they survived it.
The Carrion's Prize began its pre-jump sequence, H-Pods activating throughout the ship. The hibernation systems were necessary for near-FTL travel, human bodies simply couldn't handle the gravitational stresses and temporal distortions of near faster-than-light transit without some kind of life support assistance. The pods would keep the crew in a medically induced sleep state, their metabolisms slowed to a crawl while the ship nearly bent space around itself.
Naomi didn't need an H-Pod. She would remain conscious throughout the jump, watching over the ship and its sleeping occupants, alone again but no longer quite so isolated. She had humans to protect now, whether they knew it or not.
As the crew settled into their pods and the ship prepared to leap into the void, Naomi began planning her next move. The Artificers clearly wanted her father's technology to disappear, but she had her own agenda. Every piece of Nikodemus's work that remained active in the galaxy was a potential weapon, a tool for controlling and exploiting human consciousness.
She would make sure it all burned, one way or another.
There was a certain irony in it, she thought, the only thing that could save these people from the ghosts of her father… was the ghost of herself.