The mission, while presenting a few hiccups, ultimately concluded with little issue. After a brief rest at the outpost pod, we returned to **Baldr Sector** at the dawn of the next cycle.

 

The captured criminal trio added complexity to our return journey, but they shuffled obediently through the station corridors. Whether resigned to their fate or cowed by **Goressa's hulking powered armor**—a presence that unsettles even me—they remained quiet.

 

On the way back, **Lunar** showcased her deadly precision, downing a **space turkey** during planetary transit. Her **plasma bow**, aptly named *Final Shot*, pierced the creature’s navigation organ and neural cluster in a single shot. It was a performance only decades of practice could produce. As for me? Decades? No thanks. Even a month’s pilot certification feels like a lifetime.

 

"Narwhal," Lunar said, presenting me with the freshly harvested alien meat. "Consider this a test apology. Take it."

 

Space turkey meat. A prize separate from the **Spacer's Guild reward**. Never one to turn down protein rations—justice incarnate—I accepted it with my usual casual charm.

 

"Lunar, call me again if anything comes up."

 

She smirked faintly. "...I'd tell you not to get cocky, but you're a cheap hire."

 

Her words carried no malice, and I found myself appreciating her company. Lunar’s precision with a plasma bow and her technical expertise in life support made her an invaluable ally. And let’s not forget Moona's atmospheric control work—nothing beats breathing filtered air as crisp as a nebula's first breeze.

 

"Hey, Mr. Narwhal!" chirped Aioi. "Why not join **Diana Crew**? We're good!"

 

"I’ll have to decline," I said, grinning.

 

"Why?! You answer too fast! That’s rude!"

 

"Nothing beats the freedom of solo flights."

 

"Geez, what’s *that* supposed to mean?"

 

It’s not like I didn’t appreciate Aioi’s enthusiasm. But between gathering rare minerals for Commander Havoc and drifting through unmonitored sectors, my freelance life was far too enticing to give up. So, no can do.

 

I had even taken Aioi shrimp fishing on the moon. That ought to count for something.

 

 

 

Turning over the criminals to **security force** was quick and clean. With their confessions and evidence in tow, the process didn’t drag on. I half-expected them to plead their innocence with some absurd claim like, "We didn’t raid that cargo ship!" but they spared us the theatrics. Repentant or not, they seemed eager to earn goodwill as penal laborers. Fine by me—just don’t let me see your faces in this system again.

 

We arrived back at **Baldr Sector Station Guild** during the night cycle. After reporting, we all went our separate ways. Two straight days crammed inside a patrol ship had drained me—not that I’d admit it. I headed straight to the **Cosmic Bounty Cantina** for a well-deserved celebration.

 

"Ahh, nothing beats synthetic ale," I muttered, savoring the frothy beverage. "Recycled water’s fine for hydration, but for indulgence? Ale reigns supreme."

 

Fresh ingredients from the cantina’s **auto-chef**? A luxury compared to the hydroponic meals aboard the ship. Input your order, sit back, and let the system do all the work—it’s a beautiful thing. Sure, I could appreciate a manually prepared meal, but sometimes, laziness wins the day.

 

 

 

####Lunar’s Perspective

 

I watched him closely, this enigmatic man Aioi had spoken of so often. Narwhal—an ordinary crewman, officially Bronze-3 in rank. On paper, he was nothing extraordinary.

 

This reconnaissance mission was simple enough: assess his skill and character. Nothing more.

 

It should have been an uneventful supply run to an outpost station, fending off the occasional minor space raider. But the criminals occupying the station had complicated matters. Annoying, yes, but it granted me a clearer picture of Narwhal’s abilities. Against humanoid opponents, no less. Perhaps this was serendipitous.

 

“You’re marked as criminals now,” Narwhal lectured the subdued criminals we had locked in stasis fields. “Breaking out of detention pods won’t be easy. But you’re not entirely without hope. Commit to the rehabilitation program, and maybe you’ll earn your freedom before the void-sickness sets in.”

 

It was night cycle aboard the ship, and the galley was quiet after our standard ration of nutrient paste. His words likely stung the prisoners like a barbed plasma whip—a lecture from the very man who had defeated them. Narwhal’s tone was firm but not unkind, as if he genuinely believed in the slim chance they might reform.

 

 

 

I’d heard much about Narwhal from Aioi’s stories. We’d exchanged a few words at the station in passing, but nothing substantial. He had mentored Aioi while she was still a rookie at the station, before she joined the Diana Crew, though they hadn’t gone on missions together directly. Even Aioi, who admired him, seemed uncertain about his true skill, often shrugging it off with, “No clue.”

 

Recently, I’d heard he accompanied Aioi on the moon patrol where they encountered a Xeno Beast: Void Titan. I wouldn’t forbid her from associating with him—he’d clearly helped her sincerely. But as her commander, I bear the responsibility for the Diana Crew’s safety.

 

If Narwhal proved reckless or incapable of protecting Aioi in a crisis, I would sever their connection without hesitation. So I tested him. Skill alone wasn’t enough; his character mattered just as much. The Empire is filled with rough spacers, many of whom hide dark intentions beneath their bravado. If Narwhal turned out to be a corrupting influence, I would bar all contact between him and Aioi.

 

 

 

After observing him across a full cycle, I had my answers. His combat ability surpassed my expectations for a Bronze-3 rank. His proficiency with grav traps and zero-G navigation was evident, passing tests of both precision and adaptability. While his initial shot at the small-fry raiders was amateurish, his half-spec blaster work in close combat was another story—quick, clean, and efficient. He made it look like a clownish performance, but I could tell the confidence came from experience and competence.

 

At the outpost station, his tactics were similarly effective. Wielding a half-spec blaster—hardly premium gear—he struck with pinpoint accuracy, exploiting gaps in the criminals’ armor to neutralize them in moments. His neural enhancements must be significant; the ease with which he deflected the giant vibroblade was almost comical, like swatting away a space mite.

 

And yet, he refrained from unnecessary killing. Capturing opponents instead of eliminating them outright added risk, especially for those providing rear cover. But Narwhal’s ability to reverse a bad situation made his choice plausible, even admirable. He wasn’t simply softhearted; he was deliberate.

 

 

 

“Yes, he’s strange,” I admitted when Yunikon asked my opinion. “But he’s not a bad person. Wouldn’t you agree, Yunikon?”

 

“Heheh… Well, sure. I mean, if something *did* happen to Aioi, of course I’d worry.”

 

“But you're most relieved, right, Yunikon?” I teased. “Don’t overdo it.”

 

“W-what? No way! I was subtle, wasn’t I?”

 

Yunikon treasures Aioi—her junior officer and close friend—more than most. Perhaps the connection to Narwhal also stirs a bit of rivalry, given his mentorship role. But after today, I suspect even Yunikon has softened her judgment of him. She’s hardly the type to hold grudges against someone of good character.

 

 

 

“Mr. Narwhal, fresh synthesized protein for you,” Aioi said, handing over a tray.

 

“Oh, went out of your way, huh? Thanks, Aioi.”

 

“T-that’s our treasured premium rations!”

 

“Hm? Want some? It might be your last decent meal in deep space. Reflect on today’s events properly, and I’ll share.”

 

“D-damn it! Just let me eat! I’ll reflect! I swear I’ll reflect!”

 

“Hmmm... doesn’t sound very convincing to me. You’re not exactly dripping with remorse, are you?”

 

“I am repenting! I swear on the void!”

 

…He’s like that, isn’t he? Narwhal. Always walking the razor’s edge between charm and exasperation. Despite all the conversations we’ve had on this mission, he’s still an enigma. Hard to pin down. A man of contradictions.

 

 

 

“There’s an ionic faucet in the crew quarters,” Moona said, her tone matter-of-fact. “Good time to clean up before the next sleep cycle.”

 

“How thoughtful of you, Moona.”

 

“Didn’t contribute much in combat today,” she replied with a shrug. “Figured I’d at least make myself useful by handling equipment maintenance.”

 

Moona. An Ion Psionicist—quantum manipulator of rare precision. She’s been with me since the founding days of the Diana Crew, back when I was still running from the Core Systems. A steadfast partner, and someone I trust implicitly. Today, she’s here for another reason: to evaluate Narwhal. For Aioi’s sake.

 

“Lunar, did he pass your inspection?”

 

“Well, eccentric as ever, but I think he’ll do. At least he’s no villain. What about you, Moona?”

 

She smiled faintly, her sharp eyes gleaming. “He’s interesting.”

 

“…Interesting?”

 

Moona is reserved, cold even, so this surprised me. “How so?”

 

"Earlier, Narwhal used his half-spec blaster to help Goressa weld hull plating back together."

 

"Ah, true. Always good to have a helpful hand, but..."

 

"I caught a glimpse of his weapon. Something peculiar. What do you think?"

 

Moona’s sharp eyes narrowed, gleaming with a predatory excitement. The look of a scientist chasing a mystery. Something about that weird blaster had captured her attention—something unusual.

 

"His half-spec blaster isn’t some forbidden tech, is it?"

 

"No. By all appearances, it’s a standard mass-produced model. Common issue. Likely even defective. But the interesting part lies elsewhere."

 

More mundane than I’d imagined. And yet, even that would intrigue her enough...

 

"Narwhal deflected a giant vibroblade with a single weak shot."

 

"Yes, precisely."

 

"I inspected that enemy vibroblade afterward. It carried a fracture—a deep one, several finger’s width into the blade."

 

"...That’s..."

 

Tremendous power for seemengly weak shot. Remarkable precision. To deflect such a weapon in one shot... that alone was extraordinary.

 

"And Narwhal’s weapon?" Moona continued, her voice lilting with fascination. "The half-spec blaster that clashed with the vibroblade point blank—it bore not a single burn mark. Not even a scuff along its edge."

 

"!"

 

"Isn’t it amusing?" Moona tilted her head, her grin widening. "To see a mundane, mass-produced half-spec blaster withstand a reinforced giant vibroblade without faltering... His neural enhancements must be exceptional. But his quantum manipulation—formidable. Lunar, what’s his rank?"

 

"...Bronze 3. Hard to believe, isn’t it?"

 

"Even the Core Systems’ strict academies would elevate someone with such ability to Elite status."

 

I’d always known Narwhal was strong. His ease in handling missions others struggled with—there had to be a reason. Could this be why?

 

"Perhaps he’s modified," Moona murmured. "A Gene-mod enhancement, perhaps. Different from us... but similar, in a sense."

 

"...!"

 

Gene-mods. Like neural enhancements, relics of forbidden science—or perhaps something greater, far older. Most combat Gene-mods were conscripted by the Empire. Those who escaped served as elite combat specialists, dominating the ranks of mercenary crews.

 

Could Narwhal be hiding his power? Keeping it secret to avoid attention? It would explain his insistence on remaining a lowly Bronze 3. The higher you climb, the more dangerous the missions—and the more eyes watching.

 

"I’m satisfied," Moona declared, her interest sated for now. "What to do about Narwhal, Lunar... that’s up to you. Handle it as you see fit."

 

"...A dilemma," I muttered, half to myself. "He already turned us down once, but... perhaps he’s worth pursuing after all."

 

"If I may offer my personal opinion," Moona added with a casual shrug, "I see no issue. We already have a specialist. And if Aioi cares for him, there’s no harm. Follow your own policy, Lunar."

 

With that, Moona turned and strode off toward Goressa, likely to recalibrate her quantum manipulator—or perhaps to dive into another experiment entirely.

 

Narwhal. The name lingered in my thoughts. A Gene-mod enhancement user... Better he’s here, with us, than conscripted into the Empire’s war machine.

 

Elsewhere, the crew’s chatter carried a lively energy:

 

"Check this out, Aioi, Yunikon: process Space-boar protein like this, add synthetic nutrients, let it crystallize... and you get disgusting emergency rations!"

 

"Eww, gross! Haha, nasty!"

 

"Why would you even make that on purpose? Why not just synthesize fresh food instead?"

 

"A hunter’s mindset," Moona quipped. "Take what’s readily available—protein is protein."

 

"Space-boar extract’s might be better for fuel cells than for rations," Goressa chimed in, sidelong. "Make some yourself—it sells well."

 

"...Right..."

 

"Weirdo! If it’s rations, the standard issue is fine!"

 

The lively atmosphere felt refreshing. A positive energy, even amidst the void. Perhaps Narwhal would refuse again. But with patience, invitations, and the right approach... perhaps he could be convinced.

 

…Yes, a strange man, but perhaps worth keeping around. If nothing else, the Diana Crew feels livelier with him here.