Forged (Star Breed #10) - Elin Wyn Page 0,1

seen better days.

A long, bulbous spindle held most of the vital machinery, and a hub wheel extended from the most central bulge.

The ‘foot’ of the spindle flared into another disk, with radiating ports for docking. Below the docks, the station continued for another several yards of deck, which finally curved into a dome.

Zooming in, the metal looked scarred and pitted, and far too many lights blinked erratically.

“What the hell have you gotten us into, your Imperial Majesty?” I grumbled.

But I shouldn’t complain. I’d volunteered to head out on this sideways scouting mission.

Getting Orem Station back into shape after Granny Z had taken it back had been a long, slow job.

Sure, securing our home base was important, especially after what had happened to the Daedalus…but it’d been too long since I’d been in the field.

And it had to be said — the company might suck, but the food on an Imperial ship couldn’t be beat.

A gentle shudder through the hull told me we’d docked. Time to see if this little gamble was worth the roll.

At the airlock, Thalcorr preened, chin raised, foot tapping impatiently, waiting for the atmosphere to cycle.

I stayed back, just in case any last-minute urges came over me.

Finally, the door unsealed and irised open to reveal the short, shielded walkway leading into the station before us.

“After you,” I waved. If there was paperwork, he was welcome to it.

And there was always paperwork. At least, if you came in through the front door.

This time, Void help us, there was an actual welcoming committee.

“Ambassador Thalcorr! Mr. Hakon!” The portly young man actually bowed, still bouncing on his toes in excitement. “I can’t tell you how much your visit means to me, and to Desyk Consolidated Systems!”

Thalcorr shot me a smug smile before returning his attention to the official. “On behalf of his Imperial Majesty, let me say how pleased I am to make your acquaintance, Mr…”

The official kept grinning, curly brown hair in disarray around his round face. The older man behind him rolled his eyes, but stayed quiet.

Thalcorr coughed gently. “My tablet must have had an error. I don’t have your name, Mr…”

“Oh!” the poor man flushed but recovered quickly. “Commander Serrup, leader of Station 112, at your service.” He fumbled in his pocket, then handed each of us a plastic card. “You’ll need these.”

“How very nice, Commander Serrup,” Thalcorr oozed without bothering to ask what he’d just taken. “I’m so anxious to see your facility. Perhaps you could take me on a tour?”

“Of course, of course!” Serrup burbled. He glanced at me. “Aren’t you coming?”

“Actually, I’d like to see where our parts are being manufactured.”

His eyes widened. “But the order is almost completed.” He looked at the man behind him, and got a quick nod of confirmation. “There’s not much to see.”

“Still. That’s where I’ll start. I can find my own way.”

“I suppose,” he said doubtfully, but before long, he and Thalcorr headed towards the main axis of the station, ready to see whatever sights there were.

The second man stayed behind, watching me with cautious eyes, his expression carefully blank.

“Please tell me you’re actually in charge here, and not that idiot,” I said.

His lips twitched. “It could be worse. Shan Alcyon, station operations.” He held out a hand. “Commander Serrup is one of the cousins of Desyk Consolidated Systems’ CEO.”

“I see.”

Yasmin

“Killing yourself over that schematic isn’t going to get you out of here any sooner, kiddo,” Tinon said, stretching at his barely touched workstation.

Theoretically my supervisor, it seemed like most of his time was spent telling me how not to do things.

Specifically, not to work so hard.

Probably because it made him look bad.

I glanced at my station timer.

It read 5018 hours left.

“It might. If I can adjust this part of the mold just a bit, it’ll save me on the material fee.” I pulled up the diagram on the tablet, rotated it, tweaked it again. “See?”

He rolled his stool over, his bleary eyes almost clear enough to feign interest. “That’s clever,” he admitted. “But you know…”

I chimed in with him. “The company always gets you in the end.” Crossing my fingers, I sent the part to print.

He leaned back, pulled up the next job on his tablet and started poking at it halfheartedly. “Running late with a project will wipe out any bonus you get for using fewer materials.”

“I know,” I muttered, pulling on the microgoggles as the printer beeped. “That’s why I’m trying to focus on it.” Zooming all the way in, I checked the thickness of