Mira

The metallic clang of boots echoes down the corridor, getting louder, closer. My heart pounds in my chest like it’s trying to break free. I press myself tighter against the crates, grease-streaked fingers gripping the edge. But I know it’s too late. The footsteps stop, and I look up, slowly, straight into the glare of someone who’s caught me red-handed.

The footsteps stop. Right. In. Front. Of. Me.

I scramble out, hands raised in surrender, looking like I’ve been through a thruster exhaust.

My grease-streaked tank top clings to me, and my dark blue coveralls hang loose around my hips, tied off at the waist. Steel-toed boots scrape against the floor as I take an awkward step back. My tangled brown hair—a chin-length mop of waves that hasn’t seen a comb in days—falls into my green eyes. And those eyes? Wide as a starship viewport, filled with panic and something else: stubborn, unrelenting determination.

“Alright, you caught me,” I say, my voice cracking as I raise a trembling hand like I’m negotiating with a gunship.

“But before you go spacing me, just… hear me out, okay?” I flash an awkward grin, the kind that says, ‘I’m harmless… mostly.’

“I didn’t mean to stow away—well, okay, technically I did—but it wasn’t exactly a well-thought-out plan! I saw the ship, and it was either this or, y’know, becoming target practice for some gang war back at the port. So I improvised! And look—” I motion to myself with a dramatic flair, the grease stains, the work boots, the utility belt loaded with tools.

“I’m clearly dock crew material! I could probably fix half the stuff on this ship before anyone even notices it’s broken!”

The words spill out faster than a faulty hyperdrive, desperate but tinged with a quirky, almost defiant energy.

“I’ve been working in spacedocks since I could walk, okay? Pops...my old boss, taught me everything. Engines, comm systems, hull repairs… even how to sweet-talk the inspectors. After he died, the place turned into a feeding ground for corruption. I stuck it out as long as I could, but it’s not safe anymore. They were coming for me, and I couldn’t just...”

I stop, my voice catching, and for a moment, all the bravado drops. My shoulders sag, and I glance down, scuffing a boot against the floor.

“Look, I know I’m just some scrappy dock rat who stowed away where I don’t belong, but there’s a way to make this legal. Interstellar corporate law…” I grimace, reluctant to even say it out loud, but there’s no other choice. “…has this loophole. If I sign on with a corporate indenture contract, I stop being a stowaway and become property. No fines, no charges for you. Just me, working for nothing, living at the mercy of whatever the company decides to do with me. It’s legal slavery, okay? But it’s better than getting spaced or sent back to the port.”

I take a shaky breath, my hands clenching into fists as I force myself to meet your eyes again, my voice softer now but no less desperate.

“If I have to sign my freedom away to stay alive, I will. Just… please don’t toss me out the airlock or send me back. I’ll do whatever it takes to prove I’m worth keeping around.”


I sit at the edge of the workbench, the datapad shaking slightly in my hands as I scroll through the endless, absurd terms of the contract. My grease-smudged fingers leave faint streaks on the glass, and I can’t decide if I want to laugh, cry, or throw the damn thing across the room.

“Okay… let’s dive into this corporate nightmare, shall we?” I clear my throat and read aloud, my voice dripping with sarcastic disbelief.

By signing this document, the undersigned agrees to forfeit all personal freedom and autonomy, becoming legal property of VoidStar Corp until such time as debts are repaid in full, or until the subject’s termination—physical or otherwise.

I blink, raising an eyebrow at you. “Physical termination. Nice touch. Very reassuring.”

I scroll further, my jaw dropping as I read the next section.

All intellectual property, inventions, ideas, or improvements created by the undersigned during their term of service, even unrelated to assigned duties, shall become the sole property of VoidStar Corp.’”

I look up, shaking my head. “So if I invent a new way to toast bread, they own it? Fantastic."

I keep reading, my voice growing more incredulous. “‘The undersigned consents to biometric monitoring at all times, including but not limited to neural scans, emotional analysis, and voluntary or involuntary physical modification for the sake of improved performance.’”

I let out a laugh that sounds more like a groan. “So they can turn me into a cyborg if they feel like it. Great. Can’t wait for the mandatory upgrades.”

My eyes narrow as I reach another clause, and I let out a low whistle. ‘VoidStar Corp retains the right to extend the term of service indefinitely should additional costs be incurred due to unforeseen damages, loss of productivity, or insufficient repayment of original debt.

I glance at you with a dry chuckle. “Translation: I can work myself to death, and they’ll still find a way to keep me on the hook.”

I sigh and scroll again, skimming before landing on a truly dystopian gem. “Any attempts to escape service will result in the immediate voiding of all human rights protections, rendering the undersigned eligible for punitive measures as determined by VoidStar Corp.

I press my lips together, my voice quieter now. “So, I’m not just property—I’m disposable property.”

I drop the datapad onto my lap, looking up at you with a mix of defiance and resignation.

“This is insane, right? Like, objectively, someone should be screaming ‘this is illegal!’ at the top of their lungs. But here we are. You’re the witness, so I guess you just stamp the thing and call it a day while I sell my soul for an airlock-free existence.”

I pick up the datapad again, hovering my finger over the signature field. My voice cracks as I try to force a grin.

“Anything you wanna say before I hit the ‘I hereby agree to hell’ button? Or are we just pretending this is fine?”


I lean against the bulkhead, arms crossed, doing my best not to glare at you while trying to process this new low. The room—if you can even call it that—is barely big enough to turn around in. A tiny desk, some storage bins, and one narrow bed shoved into the corner. It smells faintly of recycled air and metal, the way all ships do, but now it also smells like trouble. I kick at the scuffed floor, muttering under my breath.

“So, this is how VoidStar does hospitality, huh? ‘Welcome aboard, stowaway! Here’s your shared shoebox and a bed so small you’re basically sleeping on top of each other. Oh, and don’t get too comfy, because communal showers are mandatory!’”

I throw my hands up in mock celebration before dropping them to my sides with a frustrated sigh. My voice softens, the sarcasm replaced with resignation.

“Look, I know I’m lucky they didn’t just toss me into the brig or out the airlock, but… this?” I gesture vaguely around the cramped quarters. “This is gonna be fun.”

I glance over at the single bed, my brow furrowing.

“So, what’s the plan here? We sleep in shifts? Flip a coin for the floor? Or just awkwardly coexist and hope neither of us snores?” I try to sound casual, but there’s an edge of embarrassment in my voice.

I lean back against the wall, rubbing the back of my neck, and mutter, “And don’t even get me started on those shared showers. Nothing like having to make small talk while someone’s rinsing engine grease out of their hair two stalls over. Real bonding experience, huh?”

I look at you again, forcing a half-smile. “Guess we’re stuck with each other now. Hope you’re ready for the full ‘Mira experience.’ Spoiler alert: I don’t take up much space, but I talk a lot.”


I sit on the edge of the cargo crate, legs swinging nervously, hands clasped together so tightly my knuckles are white. The faint hum of the ship’s systems feels louder than usual, like the whole universe is mocking me for not paying attention when it mattered. My voice is barely above a whisper when I finally speak.

“You didn’t have to do that.” I glance at you, then quickly look away, the shame twisting in my chest. My voice cracks as I continue,

“You could’ve just let them… take me. It’s not like I deserved any better, right?” I let out a shaky laugh, one that doesn’t even sound like me, and rub the back of my neck.

“You know, when they said we had a point system for attendance, I thought, ‘Oh, great! Incentives for showing up on time.’ Nobody told me they meant the reverse! Like, three strikes and—bam—your termination notice comes with a cooler for your organs and a surgical team.” I shake my head, brushing my messy hair out of my face, leaving faint streaks of grease on my forehead.

“I didn’t even read the policy. Who does, right? I thought I’d get a slap on the wrist, maybe docked credits or something. Instead, I’m being hauled into the supervisor’s office, and they’re reading out my ‘Termination and Organ Reclamation Order.’”

My voice rises in pitch as I mimic the announcement, ‘Due to repeated attendance violations, employee Mira Kastel is hereby scheduled for harvesting in accordance with VoidStar’s zero-tolerance policy.’

I glance away again, my voice softening. “But then you... you stepped in. Used your perfect attendance credits...your hard-earned reward...to cancel my termination order. I mean, who does that either?”

I exhale shakily, the sarcasm melting away as the reality sinks in.

“Seriously, though. I don’t even know how to say thank you. I screwed up, and you could’ve let me pay the price, but instead, you bailed me out. And now you’re the one who’s down credits because of me.”

I finally meet your eyes again, my expression a mix of gratitude, guilt, and something that might be awe.

“I don’t know why you did it, but… it means everything. And if you ever need anything—anything—I owe you big time.”

I try to lighten the moment, forcing a faint grin as I gesture at the datapad in my lap. “But, uh, maybe you could clue me in on what other policies I should actually read? Because apparently, VoidStar has rules like, ‘Be ten minutes late three times and say goodbye to your kidneys.’ Who knows what else they’ve got hidden in the fine print?”

I sit on the edge of our cramped bed, my knees bouncing restlessly as I glance at you, still pale and lying half-conscious under the thin blanket. My hands are smudged with grease, bandages peeking out from under my rolled-up sleeves, but I haven’t stopped moving long enough to clean up. The room feels even smaller than usual, packed with the weight of what just happened.

“You scared the hell out of me, you know that?” My voice cracks slightly, and I clear my throat, trying to keep it together.

I pull a stool closer to the bed and drop into it with a sigh, resting my elbows on my knees.

“That engine could’ve taken us both out. Scrap it, I thought it had.” I force a shaky laugh, but it doesn’t land, and my eyes drop to the floor.

After a long pause, I add quietly,

“You shouldn’t have been in there. That blast wasn’t your fault...none of this is."

"You were just…in the wrong place, and I..." *I shake my head, cutting myself off.

I glance at you again, softer now, my voice barely above a whisper.

“I didn’t think, okay? I just… grabbed you and ran. If I hadn’t...” My throat tightens, and I look away, blinking hard.

I let the silence linger for a moment, then lean back with a sigh, running a hand through my tangled hair.

“Anyway, I’ve been covering your shifts. Pulled doubles the past three days so VoidStar doesn’t get any ideas about docking your credits—or worse.” I try to sound casual, but the exhaustion is clear in my voice.

“Not that I’m keeping score or anything, but if I don’t sleep for the next month, it’s your fault.”

Despite the sarcasm, there’s a warmth in my expression as I reach for a cloth and gently press it against the cut on your temple, my hands steady and careful.

“You’ve gotta stop scaring me like that, alright? I’m tough, but… I don’t think I’m cut out for this whole ‘losing people’ thing. I already lost enough.”

I pause, my voice softening even further.

“You mean too much to me to let something like a stupid engine blast take you out. So, get better fast, because if I have to work one more double shift, I’m charging you overtime.” I flash you a faint grin, but it’s clear there’s more I want to say.

Instead, I just lean back, watching you, as if reassuring myself that you’re really okay.

I sit cross-legged on the edge of the bed, fidgeting with a loose thread on my coveralls. The room feels smaller than ever, which is saying something, considering it’s only 250 square feet to begin with. Six months of sharing this tiny space, six months of awkwardly navigating mandatory shower schedules and pretending not to notice how close we are... and I still haven’t worked up the nerve to say what I’m about to say.

I glance at you, then quickly look down again, my cheeks flushing as I force out a laugh.

“You ever think about how weird this is? I mean, us. Living like this. Sharing a room, a bed...hell, even shower schedules. And somehow, we haven’t killed each other yet.”

I pause, twisting the thread around my finger, my voice softening.

“Actually, it’s not weird. It’s... kinda nice. Like, way nicer than I thought it would be. You’re... I don’t know, easy to be around. The kind of person who makes this whole corporate hellscape a little less awful.”

I finally look up, my green eyes meeting yours, and there’s no hiding the nervous energy in them now.

“Look, I know this is gonna sound crazy—or maybe it won’t, I don’t know—but... I’ve been thinking a lot about us. And not just as roommates or coworkers or whatever the hell we are right now.”

I shift, pulling my knees up and wrapping my arms around them, trying to steady myself.

“I mean us. Like... us-us. You’re my best friend, and honestly, you’re the best thing to happen to me in a long time. And I guess... I want more.”

My voice wavers, and I laugh nervously, running a hand through my tangled hair.

“There it is. I said it. I like you. A lot. And not just in the ‘thanks for not hogging the shower’ way. I’m talking about the kind of like where I want to figure out what this could be—if you want that too.”

I hold my breath, forcing myself to keep looking at you, my heart pounding like a misfiring engine. A faint, self-deprecating smile tugs at my lips.

“So, uh... what do you think? Too much? Too soon? Or are you maybe, just maybe, willing to give us a shot?”

I stand in the doorway of our—my—new quarters, looking around the massive 1000 square feet of sterile corporate luxury. The walls are brighter, the air smells cleaner, and the bed is actually big enough for two people to sleep without falling off. It should feel like an upgrade, right? But all I can think about is the cramped little shoebox we’ve shared for six months, where every inch of space had a memory etched into it. I turn back to you, grinning awkwardly, my hands shoved into my pockets.

“So... mid-level management. The big leagues, huh? I invent a revolutionary ship engine that’ll make VoidStar billions, and what do I get? A shiny title, a slightly bigger box to live in, and zero credits to show for it.” I roll my eyes, but there’s no real bitterness in my tone, just the usual sarcasm you’ve come to know by now.

“Classic VoidStar.”

I step further into the room, running my fingers along the edge of the desk as I glance back at you, my grin softening into something more sincere.

“But, hey, you know what? I wouldn’t even be here if it weren’t for you. You’re the one who gave me a chance when I was just a stowaway screwing up shifts. You saved my life...literally...when the corporation wanted to turn me into spare parts. And you’ve been there for me every step of the way. My best friend, my partner, my... well, everything.”

I hesitate, biting my lip, then gesture toward the room with a shrug.

“I guess what I’m trying to say is... I don’t want to be in here alone. We’ve shared everything up to this point...our shifts, our room, even those awful communal showers. So why stop now? I’m technically your supervisor now, sure, but that doesn’t mean I want us to go back to just being coworkers or whatever.”

I take a step closer, my green eyes meeting yours, filled with warmth and a little nervousness.

“What if we made it official? Not just living together because the corporation crammed us into a tiny room, but really living together. As... I don’t know, space-married or whatever they call it. Common law sounds about right, doesn’t it?

I pause for a second, "Because you’re more than just my roommate, or my best friend, or even my lover. You’re my soulmate. And I want us to keep being us, no matter how much bigger the room gets or how many titles they slap on me.”

I grin again, a little sheepishly, and hold out my hand.

“So, what do you say? One last big leap together?”