“Perro Station, this is the jumper Hasty Delivery requesting a docking berth near the shipping docks,” Jax called over the radio.

  Sonica was the first off the ramp. She tucked a lock of her thick black hair behind an ear and slung her guitar case across her back, her posture rigid with tension.

  After the tight space of the ship, the cavernous scale of Perro Station's Level 12 freight bay felt overwhelming. It was the antithesis of their lonely orbit around Kinnelon: crowded, loud, and bustling with serious commerce.

  On the wall, worn signs declaring the space “K-9 / Perro / L12: Freight” competed with a spray-painted figure of a dog, as if someone finally got the joke and wanted everyone else to know about it.

  Liam chose that moment to materialize from behind a stack of transport pallets. He was wearing the stained uniform of a high-end Perro restaurant where he waited tables. He looked exactly as she remembered: too eager, too slimy, and completely unresolved.

  “There she is. My favorite hard ass musician,” he grinned, moving in for a hug, which she expertly deflected by adjusting her gear.

  “Liam. Hello. I expected to see you later. After the set," Sonica impressed herself with how well she hid her disdain for the man.

  As the hatch closed, Jax glanced back at the rented ship, seeming completely at home in the busy bay. "Everyone remember where we parked," he chuckled casually, then his smile faltered. "Sorry, my dad always makes that joke when we hit port. Ignore me."

  "It was kind of funny," Banderos acknowledged, shrugging with a drum case in each hand.

  Sonica hid her grin and turned back to Liam, who was pointedly ignoring the rest of the band. "Thanks for getting the concert sorted,” she uttered, her voice purely professional.

  "’Course, babe. I pulled some serious strings for that booking. I was thinking we could start cashing in on that ‘quality time’ right now. My shift just ended, so I’ve got hours to spare for you.” His smile turned suggestive, the intent unmistakable: he expected the personal debt to be settled immediately.

  The whole band stared daggers at Liam's back. McKenzie even made stabbing motions with a mic stand.

  Sonica took some small solace in that show of support, but she felt the 72-hour window closing. The ticking of the console clock was seared in her memory with only 2/3rds remaining.

  Sonica imagined forcibly shoving Liam out of an airlock while she thought of the perfect redirect. “We need to get to level 24 first. The Black Star is deep in the station, right? The freight access is such a nightmare for us newbies. I assume you know a shortcut?”

  Liam blinked and rocked back at the change in tone. “Yeah, I know shortcuts." He seemed to notice the rest of the band and the stack of gear. "But Sonica, this gear is heavy. It's supposed to be ‘us’ time.”

  “It is ‘us’ time,” she countered, a false lightness in her tone. “Time for you to demonstrate just how attentive you can be. If you get all our gear to the venue in one piece and on time, it buys us much more of that quality time later. Consider it a courtship ritual.”

  She knew exactly how to string him along. He loved a challenge, especially one that felt like a prelude to a reward. His eyes flickered between her face and the band’s imposing cases. “Fine. But you walk with me. And you talk to me.”

  The journey across Perro Station was a tense, noisy mess of automated carts and disgruntled commuters. Liam, sweating and grumbling, hauled the heaviest cases. Even encumbered, he constantly tried to catch casual touches. Ever the pro, Sonica managed to avoid them all with a casual shift in her weight or a necessary adjustment to a strap.

  Tré, Banderos, and Onda walked just behind her, discussing set lists and crowd control. Their over-loud banter reminded Liam they were being chaperoned. McKenzie and Jax lagged behind the group a bit, somewhere. She couldn't hear them but assumed they were talking about ship engines.

  Stolen story; please report.

  As the group reached the transport shaft, Liam finally cornered Sonica against a cold metal bulkhead while the band was distracted with the gear and trying to figure out the lift controls.

  “Enough with the games, Sonica,” he growled, his hand sliding across her shoulder to grip the back of her neck. He pulled her closer, his lips near her ear. “A deal’s a deal.”

  Sonica stiffened, her eyes going cold. “Down, boy. I told you. After the show.” She tried to push him away, but he tightened his grip, his thumb pressing insistently into her skin. Before she could deliver the verbal takedown she was formulating, a sudden presence materialized behind Liam.

  Jax.

  At a tick under 2 meters tall and 75 kilos soaking wet, the sandy-haired pilot wasn't at all physically imposing. Right now, though, the nervous, flighty energy that usually surrounded him was replaced by a dangerous stillness. He had ghosted up right behind them, a silent shadow. His voice, though quiet, was steel. “Let. Her. Go,” Jax commanded.

  Liam, startled, spun around. “Mind your own business, roadie. This is between my girl and me.”

  “She’s not your girl. And she said no,” Jax replied, his hands clenching into fists at his side. He was looking Liam dead in the eye until Sonica was finally released. “No means no.”

  Sonica watched the exchange, a flash of surprise giving way to a grudging approval. Jax seemed to be an anxious mess most of the time, but when he was there, boy was he there.

  Liam sneered at the ding of the lift’s arrival. “Whatever. You’re lucky. You’re all lucky I even bothered.” He grabbed the handle of the nearest case and yanked it onto the transport lift.

  They arrived at 'The Black Star,' a venue that looked less like a music hall and more like a repurposed freight depot with a stage bolted into one corner and a bar in the other. Station residents milled around carrying their drinks, collected at high-top tables and a smattering of low ones against the wall. The floors were surprisingly unsticky and looked shiny in the low lights.

  They made their way to the stage, then the others started unpacking.

  Sonica immediately turned to Jax, handing him a datapad with a long, technical list of components. “Pilot, you’re up. McKenzie confirmed the specs. You know the shipyard sector best. Go. Get the parts. We’ll be here making new fans,” she managed to say with a smile.

  Jax looked grateful to have a concrete task away from the toxic dynamic between her and Liam. He nodded curtly as he turned and bolted for the passageway.

  Sonica then turned to Liam. “We made a deal. The show is tonight. You helped with the freight. The rest of our debt will be settled after the set. I’ll message you the location. Don't be late. And don't push me again.”

  Liam dropped his shoulders, looking like a spoiled child hearing "no," then nodded begrudgingly. He slipped away, leaving the band alone to face the venue.

  Travel, unpacking, and other issues dealt with for the moment, Negative Space became what they needed to be: a band.

  The atmosphere in The Black Star was thick with expectation and cheap alcohol. This crowd was hungry, not for touristy pop, but for raw sound.

  Tré secured the remaining wires with gaffer tape, McKenzie tuned the soundboard, and Banderos walked the lip of the stage, hands on his hips, surveying the packed house. This wasn’t just the sanitized station lounge they were used to; this was the rough edge of space, where people craved volume and escape. It was the biggest venue they'd ever played and a completely unfamiliar crowd.

  As the lights dropped, the crowd roared in anticipation.

  Banderos grabbed the mic. “We are Negative Space! And we’re about to buy ourselves a ticket out of this black hole!”

  Onda hit the first thundering bass line. McKenzie drove the drums like a piston, and Tré laid down a grinding, screeching riff that cut through the noise.

  "My eyes are too large, for this sorry galaxy, trying to hold me down, but I'm movin' too fast to see," Banderos sang, turning falsetto at the end of the line.

  It was fierce, it was loud, and it was everything they had gambled their futures on. For the next hour, she wrapped herself in the music. She refused to think about risk, the lingering date, or the tight timeline. She only felt the sheer, unstoppable power of movement and sound.

  At the end of the 2-hour set, as the applause and cheers slowly abated, it looked like it hit the whole band at once. For Sonica, the adulation of the first crowd she didn't grow up with washed over her. It was real. It was earned. It's official. They are a rock band.

  They hugged each other, one after another, and then set to tearing down. Onda went off to get them all drinks. Bartenders always stopped to serve Onda, it seemed.

  When she returned, they sat on the edge of the stage, drank their beverages, and had friendly shouted conversations with their new fans. Sonica let the moment happen for a bit, then made her apologies to the group of folks in front of them. She grabbed her guitar case and made her way out of the Black Star to contact Liam. Even he couldn't ruin her high, she thought.