Chương 28: Chapter 26

Try as he might, Trigger can't stop the small twitch that passes over his face, nor the silence that stretches just a tenth of a second too long, and the tiny smirk on Catrina's face grows another millimeter.

"I'm curious to know how you came to such a conclusion," Trigger begins conversationally, hoping he doesn't come off as too casual.

"That is quite the accusation you're leveling upon me."

"Yet, you don't deny it outright," Catrina purrs quite literally. Her lips rise, just a little, and the hint of fangs gleam just like her jeweled earrings.

"Come now, Captain, don't insult me. I thoroughly research any and all clients of mine, not just to provide them the best service I can, but to protect myself as well." Beside Trigger, Eli scowls, and he knows the eagle is holding back some snappy comeback like"Then you made a mistake coming aboard this ship."

"The profession of law is, at its core, a game of connect the dots," Catrina begins, extending the claw of her index finger and regarding it for a moment, then retracting it and laying her hands flat once more.

"In the pre-spaceflight age, it was dreadfully complicated business, needing long, in-depth investigations that could take weeks or even months, but now?" She looks back up, amused eyes boring into Trigger.

"You did quite the job, scrubbing yourself from any database careless enough to expose itself to outside connections, but there are other ways to track spacers. With the right paperwork filed and requests sent, one can find clues that lead to yet more clues." She raises a hand.

"Cross referencing from closed circuit footage, non-confidential communications within on-station BBS, even the time stamps collected from fueling stations when they dock with vessels," she raises a finger with each point.

"Put it all together, and the picture becomes clear." Catrina lowers her hand, seeming quite satisfied with herself.

"Tell me, did you think the unusually high-profile Stella Kaliman's last known sighting being a refuel depot where the frustratingly elusive and increasingly infamous Strider Squadron docked would not be noticed?" So that's how it is… They were caught not because they didn't cover their tracks, but because they did so too well. Nidhogg, in doing his job well, accidentally made another kind of trail. Trigger's mind races through possibilities, each one examined and discarded in the span of a breath.

'Murder,' is the first thought, unbidden and instinctive. Catrina is alone on an unfamiliar vessel, with guns between her and the door, and an AI between whatever distress call she should make and the outside world. Tantalus is a busy station; people go missing all the time despite the sector being hi-sec. He discards the notion almost as quickly as it forms. Tasteless, for one. Catrina may be leveraging information against them, but she hasn't actually done anything yet, nor stated her intent to.

Killing her preemptively… that's a slippery slope he doesn't care to fall down. More practically, it would open them up to consequences far worse than whatever Catrina intends. A Senior Partner at a prestigious law firm doesn't simply vanish without people asking questions, and for all they know, she's set up some sort of dead man's switch to retaliate if this goes wrong. The wrong questions, directed at the wrong people, and suddenly Strider Squadron has even more heat on them.

'Bribery?' No. A woman who wears platinum and a silk suit to a job interview isn't hurting for credits.

'Blackmail in return?' With what? They've known her for all of two hours.

'Threaten her?' She walked onto a mercenary vessel alone and is currently smirking at the captain like a cat with cream on its whiskers. This one doesn't scare easily. Trigger exhales slowly through his nose. He's stuck, and damn if it isn't frustrating.

"If you're as well informed as you claim," he says finally, keeping his voice level, "then you must also know that the warrant for Stella Kaliman's arrest is bogus." Catrina's whiskers twitch, and she waves a spotted hand in a gesture that somehow conveys both dismissal and agreement.

"Of course it's bogus." The words come out almost lazily, as if he's stated something too obvious to warrant discussion.

"I've seen this a hundred times, Captain. Warrants issued under false pretenses with just enough of a legitimate veneer that it's not worth the time for uninvolved parties to scrutinize. It's political skullduggery one-oh-one. Naturally, it is in the interest of parties who are involved to seek proper legal recourse before anything else. Which, I imagine, is part of why you're hiring." Trigger's thoughts stutter to a halt. Legal recourse.

The concept sits in his mind like a foreign object, something he should have considered but simply... didn't. When he decided to help Stella, his first instinct wasn't courtrooms and motions and appeals. It was to find whoever put the bounty on her head and put a bullet in them. Does it say something about him, he wonders, that ending the life of the perpetrator is where he went first?

'Could this actually be resolved legally?' he wonders, turning the idea over.

'Find the right judge, expose the falsified warrant, get the whole thing thrown out?' It's not impossible. Catrina clearly thinks it's viable, or she wouldn't have brought it up. With the right lawyer, the right evidence, the right pressure applied to the right people... His teeth clench beneath his lips.

'No.' The moment blood spilled on the floor of the Aquila, the option went out the door. Legal recourse might clear Stella's name and get the warrant and bounty rescinded, but it won't touch whoever gave the order. They'll slither back into whatever hole they make their home in without consequence. Worse, they might feel emboldened to try again. It's not a problem that will just go away, he knows it in his gut.

"... really not unexpected, all things considered." Catrina's voice pulls him back to the present. The snow leopard has continued talking, seemingly unaware that her audience drifted, and there's a contemplative note in her tone now, almost musing.

"A fugitive aboard a vessel crewed by such colorful characters." She tilts her head, regarding Trigger with something approaching amusement.

"The founding members are a rookie, an unknown, a convicted murderer," her gaze flicks briefly toward Eli, whose feathers ruffle sharply, "and the infamous 'Wanting Yellow' on the other." The name lands in the room like a grenade with the pin pulled. Eli's talons dig into the table with a screech that sets Trigger's teeth on edge.

"Where did you hear that name?" Eli grounds out. Catrina doesn't so much as blink.

"Your professional persona isn't as disconnected from the rest of you as you seem to believe, Mister Gunjar." She once more examines her claws with theatrical disinterest.

"Ranking members of the GBN wonder why you've gone silent and stopped taking bounties, you know." Eli's beak clicks sharply, but he doesn't respond. Trigger watches the exchange in silence, and an uncomfortable thought settles over him.

'How little do I actually know about my own crew?' Mila is an open book. She talks constantly, shares freely, wears her history on her sleeve whether you ask for it or not. But the others? Of course Eli is a bounty hunter and assassin. Trigger isn't blind. He's seen the eagle work, read between the lines of half-finished stories and deflected questions. But "Wanting Yellow?" Where does a name like that come from? How widespread is his reputation? Stella called him a bogeyman, he remembers.

Weeks ago, when they first brought her aboard. She'd looked at Eli like he was a caged animal worthy of plenty of caution.

'And what about the "convicted murderer?"' It can't be Mila. Can't be Jodie. Eddy? No. For all his criminal mischief, the gecko doesn't have the stomach for killing. Trigger has seen the way Eddy flinches when things get bloody, how he deflects with jokes when the violence gets too real. His thoughts drift to the last possibility.

'... Lars?' The silence stretches a beat too long. Catrina's whiskers twitch, and Trigger can practically see her preparing another observation, another needle to slide between his ribs.

"What do you want, Missus Weissfeld? Truly, I mean," Trigger cuts her off as soon as her lips begin to part. The snow leopard's ears perk, and the satisfied gleam in her eyes suggests she knows exactly why he's redirecting.

"What do I want?" Catrina repeats, tilting her head.

"Contrary to popular belief, Captain, lawyers can be truthful. Allow me to demonstrate." She folds her hands on the table, her posture shifting into something almost friendly.

"A person only truly grows old when they stagnate, and I intend to be young forever." A thin smile curves her muzzle.

"A change of scenery is due, and Strider Squadron can provide exactly that." Eli stares at her, his feathers still ruffled from the "Wanting Yellow" comment.

"You want to join," he says slowly, disbelief coloring every syllable, "for kicks. That's it?"

"That's it." Catrina's tail curls around the leg of her chair, and for just a moment, the predatory gleam in her eyes softens into something that might almost be genuine.

"On one condition." She taps a claw against the stack of papers between them.

"My special allowance regarding physical training requirements. Formalized in writing." Trigger's gaze shifts between the contract and the woman, who just spent the last ten minutes unknowingly flirting with getting shot. …Or maybe she does know?

'All of this,' he thinks,'for an exemption from some exercise and shooting range trips?' There has to be something else, something he's not seeing for her to fight so hard for something so minor, but for the life of him, Trigger cannot figure out what. He exhales slowly.

"Fine." Eli's head snaps toward him, but Trigger raises a hand before the eagle can protest. They've already lost this particular battle; dragging it out gains them nothing. The next twenty minutes pass in a blur of amendments and initials. Catrina produces a stylus and makes her changes to the digital copy with quick, neat strokes, doing the same with the paper copies a second later.

Trigger watches each alteration carefully, and when they reach the NDA section, he reads it three times over, checking every clause, every subclause, every carefully worded exception.

'Anything Catrina learns in the course of her employment stays with Strider Squadron unless I explicitly authorize disclosure. Full stop. No loopholes, no "relevant authorities," no emergency provisions.' It's as ironclad as language can make it. He signs. Catrina signs. Eli, as a witness, signs with a scowl that could curdle milk. Catrina rises from her seat, her tail waving lazily behind her. She smooths down the front of her blazer and tucks her copy of the contract into her attache case with a soft click.

"Well then, Captain, Mister Gunjar." She inclines her head to each of them in turn.

"I believe that concludes our business for the evening. I'll need to pack my belongings and finalize my departure from Peron and Associates. I expect to be aboard within the next twenty-four hours." She turns toward the rec room door.

"One moment, Missus Weissfeld." Trigger's voice is mild, and he doesn't look up from his copy of the contract, flipping through the pages with an unhurried hand. Catrina pauses, glancing back over her shoulder.

"Yes, Captain?"

"When you're packing," he says, still scanning the document, "be sure to include clothes suitable for physical activity." The snow leopard's tail goes still. She turns fully, one spotted brow arching.

"I beg your pardon? I was under the impression we had just formalized my exemption from combat training." If you spot this story on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.

"We did." Trigger finds the page he's looking for and taps it with one finger.

"Combat training. Not emergency preparedness drills." He looks up, meeting her ice-blue eyes.

"Which includes, among other things, basic piloting familiarization and self-defense fundamentals." Catrina's expression flickers, the first genuine crack in her composure since she walked aboard.

"I don't believe that was discussed."

"It doesn't need to be." Trigger flips to another section, holding the contract up so she can see the clause he's indicating.

"Section four, paragraph two. All crew members, regardless of role, agree to participate in emergency drills as scheduled by the commanding officer." He flips again.

"Section seven, paragraph five. The captain is responsible for ensuring the safety of non-combat personnel aboard the vessel to the best of his reasonable ability, including but not limited to setting regular emergency preparedness exercises." He sets the contract down on the table.

"Self-defense and basic piloting have a pre-existing precedent as emergency drills aboard this ship. You can ask any member to confirm it. It is a technicality, but you agreed to that the moment you signed." Catrina stares at him. Then, slowly, she pulls her own copy back out of her case and flips to the relevant pages. Her eyes scan the text, tracking each word with the focus of someone looking for an escape pod aboard a vessel venting atmo from a dozen wounds. She doesn't find one.

When she looks up again, her expression is carefully neutral. Perfectly composed, even. But there's something underneath the mask that Trigger can't quite place. Annoyance, perhaps? The wounded pride of a professional who just got outmaneuvered at her own game? Or is it something else? The way her eyes settle on him speaks of something closer to... intrigue? All things considered, he's not sure what is worse.

"I see." Catrina tucks the contract away once more, her movements stiff.

"I'll keep that in mind, Captain." She turns and walks out without another word, her heels clicking a measured rhythm against the floor, and then the stairs as she walks up to the hanger. Overhead, Nidhogg speaks up.

"Asset Weissfeld disembarking." The silence holds for a beat. Then Eli pulls the contract toward himself, flipping through the pages until he finds the clauses Trigger cited. The scowl that's been etched into his features since "Wanting Yellow" softens, just slightly, into something approaching satisfaction.

"Quick thinking," the eagle mutters, a hint of approval creeping into his voice. Trigger leans back in his chair, rubbing the bridge of his nose.

"The Air Force Court of Criminal Appeals taught me not to let such types have their way uncontested." The evening settles over the Aquila, though "evening" is a generous term when you're docked at a station in the void between stars. No sunset to mark the transition, no dimming sky. Just the slow shift of the crew's circadian rhythms and the station's ambient lighting cycling down a few lumens to signal that the hour according to the Cornerian clock grows late.

For Trigger, the hours leading to the evening have been spent sitting and thinking. The contract with Catrina is filed away, the immediate crisis resolved, but her words keep circling back through his mind like debris caught in a gravity well.' The founding members are a rookie, an unknown, a convicted murderer.' He stares at the far wall of the rec room without really seeing it.

It's been just under three months since he pulled that missile off of Eli's rear during the ambush between Kalibo and Tantalus, just under three months since this whole improbable enterprise began. In that time, he's fought beside these people, bled beside them, and has rapidly grown to trust them with his life. He's been keeping mental notes, filing away observations, building profiles the way he would for any unit under his command. Jodie and Mila are about tied for transparency.

Jodie's love of mechanical work goes without saying, but he's also discovered she's a dedicated forumcrawler, one far more invested than he is, the type who physically cannot let someone be wrong on the extranet without correction. Mila, meanwhile, will tell you her life story unprompted when you ask for the time. The others are harder to read. Eli gives away precious little. Every story is half-finished, every question deflected gruffly.

Trigger has learned to read between the silences, and the picture remains incomplete, but there is a picture there. Eddy gives away too much. The gecko talks constantly, spins elaborate tales with theatrical gestures and perfect comedic timing, and somewhere in the avalanche of words, the truth gets buried so deep that excavating it becomes more trouble than it's worth. Stella, while guarded, has been opening up. Her friendship with Mila and Jodie has helped enormously.

Female spacers are rarer than their male counterparts, especially in mercenary work, and having other women to talk to seems to have done wonders for coaxing the skunk out of her shell. Yet of all of them, Lars is somehow the one Trigger knows least about. He's from a colony called Herrado. He's a swell friend, quick with a joke and quicker with a helping hand. He has a rare kindness to him, the sort that doesn't often survive in veteran spacers, a gentleness that seems almost out of place in a man his size.

But his past? Never comes up. Not once in three months of shared meals and downtime amid long jumps through space.

'Does he not trust us?' Trigger wonders, a rare pang of anxiety thrumming through him.

'Did I do something to cause it?'

'Was Catrina speaking in some sort of metaphorical way about Eli when she mentioned a convicted murderer? Or...' He glances to his left. Lars sits beside him on one of the couches, a bottle of something amber in one massive hand, his attention fixed on the holoscreen with an easy smile. As often happens, the rec room has become the gathering point for the evening.

The coffee table has been shoved aside to clear floor space, and Jodie, Mila, and Stella stand in a row facing the screen, their bodies moving in time to a rhythm game that's currently blasting some upbeat pop song through the speakers. On the other couch, Eddy watches just like Trigger and Lars, though his eyes are decidedly lower than the holoscreen, while Eli sits with his legs crossed and taps away at a datapad, only occasionally looking up to throw a distrustful glance to the looming form behind him.

Behind them, Nidhogg stands in one of the RK-4s with his arms behind his back, silently watching everything. The game's motion detection, Trigger notes, leaves something to be desired. Jodie's petite frame gives her significantly more leeway in the bounding boxes than her competitors. The coyote's movements are loose after a few beers, her score climbing steadily despite not matching her cheery cheetah-skinned avatar on the screen, who is some kind of celeb cameo, he's sure. Mila keeps up better, while Stella...

"Oh, for the love of-!" Stella throws her hands up as another short buzzer sounds, a red X flashing on her third of the screen. Her hips, the generous curve of them usually hidden beneath baggy cargo pants, have clipped the edge of the bounding box for the fourth time in under a minute.

"This is atrociously programmed!" The skunk protests her abysmal score, gesturing at Jodie's section, where green checkmarks pile up like credits in a winning slot machine.

"Look at this! She could wiggle like a windsock and still win!" Jodie doesn't break her rhythm, but her tail wags smugly behind her.

"We call that a 'skill issue' around here, fancy girl." Mila snickers, then immediately trips over her own footwork and eats a penalty of her own.

"Don't laugh!" Stella whirls around and points at Mila.

"This is your fault, after all! You're the one who insisted on a bootleg of Step Up instead of a real copy!"

"Hey, it works for me!" The mink grins, spinning on one paw. Trigger watches the three of them, and besides the obvious enjoyment of watching a trio of women dance in their pajamas, something almost like contentment settles in his chest. It's a small thing, unremarkable in the larger picture, but maybe the little moments like these are the real reward at the end of the day.

'I should talk to him,' he thinks, glancing at Lars again.

'Find the right time, the right approach. Let him know the door is open and no one here cares about wrongs in the past… Assuming he even did anything.' Stella glances towards Eddy, who still has his eyes glued to her ass, and smiles a smile with a touch of evil to it. Before the lizard can protest, she takes his arm and pulls him up, shoving him into her place before the screen.

"Your turn, McCarick!"

"Huh, what?! What's the big idea?!" Eddy flails in a panic… BZZZT! BZZZT! BZZZT! BZZZT! …Which the game really does not like. Cursing, Eddy plants his hands on his hips and hops a quarter turn just like on-screen, and the Player 3 score finally starts to climb.

"Ay, shake it, Eddy!" Lars hollers, laughing, and Trigger hides a small quirk of his lips behind his fist. Behind the side couch, Nidhogg's head perks up.

"Attention. Asset Weissfeld has returned to the docking bay. She is requesting permission to board," the bot suddenly speaks up. Trigger blinks, but stands dutifully to go greet their newest member. Twenty-four hours, she said. It's been barely six. The walk to the forward ramp is short. He keys the airlock, and the outer door cycles open to reveal Catrina Weissfeld standing on the other side, a large rolling suitcase at her feet and her attache case tucked under one arm.

She's changed out of her business attire into something more practical for travel: slacks, a fitted jacket, sensible flats. Still expensive-looking, but less aggressively so.

"Missus Weissfeld." Trigger steps aside to let her pass.

"I wasn't expecting you until tomorrow." Catrina's eyes flick downward, taking in his own attire with a raised brow. The t-shirt bearing a minky magical girl, the sweatpants, and the distinct absence of anything resembling military bearing.

"I try to be efficient, Captain." She steps aboard, her suitcase wheels clicking against the deck plating.

"Lingering serves no one." Trigger lets the implicit criticism of his appearance slide and gestures for her to follow. They make their way through the ship's corridors, up into the hangar, then turn and descend down into the living area, their footsteps echoing in the relative quiet.

"Once you're settled in," Trigger says, keeping his voice low, "I'd like you to begin looking into the bounty on Stella Kaliman. Specifically, who placed it and who authorized the fraudulent warrant." Catrina's ears twitch.

"Looking into," she repeats.

"Not overturning?"

"That comes after, if it's needed."

"After what, precisely?"

"After we find out who's responsible." Trigger glances at her, his expression flat.

"I intend to kill them." Catrina's footsteps falter, just for a half-second. She recovers smoothly, but he catches the way her tail stiffens behind her.

"Captain." Her voice is dry as recycled air.

"Is informing your attorney of premeditated murder particularly wise?"

"Wise or not," Trigger replies, "you made a fuss about transparency, so transparent I will be." The snow leopard regards him for a long moment, her expression unreadable. Then something shifts in her eyes, a recalculation of some internal equation, and she inclines her head.

"Noted." They reach the rec room, and the scene that greets them has changed since Trigger left. Lars has abandoned the couch and taken Jodie's place in front of the holoscreen. The massive rottweiler moves between Mila and Eddy with a fluid grace that seems impossible for someone his size, every dance move snappy and just right in the game's finicky boundaries. His score rockets up while Mila scrambles to keep pace and Eddy flails somewhere between "trying" and "drowning."

"Come on, you two!" Lars laughs, not even winded.

"Step it up a notch! This can't be all you have!"

"Shut up, you lunk!" Mila shoots back, her ears pinned flat with concentration. Catrina stops at the threshold of the rec room, her gaze sweeping across the scene. Her brows furrow. She looks at Eli, still seated with his datapad, not paying any mind to the combat bot behind him. Then at Lars, grinning and loose-limbed in the middle of the room. Then at Stella, who has claimed a spot on the couch and is heckling Eddy's footwork between sips of something fizzy. Finally, her attention returns to Trigger.

"It's not often my sources are wrong," she says, her voice pitched low enough that only he can hear.

"How long did you all work together before forming Strider Squadron?" Trigger frowns.

"We didn't."

"I beg your pardon?"

"We didn't work together before." He gestures broadly at the room.

"Strider Squadron has only been operational for about two months. We all met shortly before its formation." Catrina stares at him. Her muzzle scrunches, just slightly.

"Two months," she repeats.

"Give or take," Trigger nods. She doesn't respond, but the look on her face says she's filing this information away for later examination. Across the room, Eli glances up from his datapad. His yellow eye lingers on Catrina for a moment, then he clears his throat, loud and deliberate. The music cuts out. Lars stumbles mid-step, and Mila nearly collides with him as the game pauses.

"Attention," Eli announces, his voice carrying the clipped authority of every crew's "bad guy", the XO.

"We have company." All eyes turn to the doorway. Trigger steps forward, gesturing to the snow leopard at his side.

"Everyone. You met her earlier today, but just in case, this is Catrina Weissfeld. She's officially signed on with Strider Squadron as our legal consultant." He pauses, then looks to Mila.

"Would you mind showing her to the women's quarters?" Mila peels herself away from the group with a theatrical groan and waves for Catrina to follow.

"C'mon, I'll give you the tour. Fair warning, the bunks are cozy. And by cozy, I mean tiny." The two disappear down the corridor, and the energy in the rec room begins to drain away. Jodie stretches, her back popping audibly, and announces she's turning in. Stella follows a moment later with a yawn, a wave, and a distrustful look towards women's bunks where Catrina is getting situated.

Eddy mutters something about beauty sleep and shuffles off, and Lars claps Trigger on the shoulder before ambling toward the men's quarters, humming the rhythm game's melody under his breath. The silence that settles is comfortable. Familiar, even. Trigger remains standing, leaning forward with his hands on the back of the main couch. Eli stays in his seat across the room, datapad still in hand. And behind the side couch, the RK-4 stands motionless, its red sensor slits dim but active.

"How's the job hunt going?" Eli glances up from the screen, then back down.

"There's a few prospects that look worthwhile." He rises from his seat, crossing the room with the datapad extended.

"Farworth's praise did us some favors. Rare thing, having clients reach out to us instead of the other way around." He turns the pad around and taps the screen, highlighting a posting.

"This one might be worth it. A Mining Consortium convoy of ore barges are heading to LOSA's border in the next few days and are looking for escort. Vanguard position is paying a flat two hundred thousand credits for any team that can field a screen of at least eight fighters."

"And with the drones, we have just the right amount," Trigger says, a small smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. He turns his head toward the RK-4 standing silent vigil behind the couch.

"Nidhogg. Put a discussion of this contract on the morning itinerary. I want the full crew present." The bot's head tilts a fraction of a degree." Confirmed. Meeting scheduled for oh-eight-hundred, standard ship time." A brief pause.

"Are there additional tasks requiring my attention?"

"No. You're dismissed."

"Acknowledged…" The bot seems to hesitate.

"Returning RK-4 Unit 1 to charging cradle and retiring to refine electronic trail clean-up processes." Ah, so Nidhogg heard about how Catrina nailed them. Of course he did. The RK-4 turns on its heel and marches towards the hanger charging cradles, its zygodactyl feet clicking a steady rhythm against the deck. Trigger watches it go until the sound fades, swallowed by the ship's ambient hum. The rec room feels emptier without it. Strange, how quickly a silent observer becomes a fixture.

He turns back to Eli, who is pulling the coffee table back to its usual position before he, too, calls it a night.

"Eli." The eagle pauses."'Wanting Yellow?'" Eli's shoulders rise, then fall in a slow exhale. He sets the tablet down, but doesn't turn around immediately.

"It's a name I got during the war with Andross," he says, finally facing Trigger.

"Kept using it when I left the military. Apes are..." He stops, catches himself, and his beak clicks once." Most apes are superstitious drama queens. After I had a few assignments under my belt, they started making up all kinds of things, saying all they'd see is scope glint and a yellow eye that finds them wanting before it was lights out." He snorts.

"Theatrical bullshit. But it kept targets scared and employers wowed, so I let it spread." His cybernetic eye catches the light. The glint of it makes it easy to understand how Andross loyalists might find it spooky.

"Three Strikes knows how that works, though." The corner of his beak twitches, something that might almost be camaraderie.

"Reputation is a weapon. Doesn't matter if it's true, so long as people believe it." Trigger holds his gaze for a moment, then nods.

"Get some rest."

"Planning on it." Eli tucks the datapad under one feathered arm and heads for the corridor.

"Night, Captain."

"Night." The eagle's footsteps fade, and Trigger is alone... For about three seconds.

"Triggerrrr!" Mila bursts out of the women's bunks like a furry torpedo, her tail trailing as she bounds towards him. She crosses the rec room in a few bouncy steps and latches onto his arm, burying it between her breasts and already tugging him toward the captain's quarters.

"Catrina's all settled, Stella's showing her where everything is, and I have been waiting all day to get you alone." She grins up at him, ruby eyes bright.

"Come on! There's this new series I wanna watch!"

"You don't need me there just to watch a show," Trigger lets one eyebrow rise, and doesn't fight as she drags him.

'She does this a lot, the 'pulling me along for the ride' thing. Is it a mink behavior, or something else?'

"Yes I do!" She insists.

"The 'anime and cuddle' vibe is all wrong when half of it is missing!" Trigger narrows his eyes.

"This isn't going to be another'chosen girl with a useless skill that is actually overpowered' portal fantasy, is it?"

"N-nooooooo…" Mila looks away with her ears pinning back.

"It shouldn't be." It was.