Waian wakes up and stretches, her leg locking out then folding up. The bright golden light of dawn filters in through the window of her cottage.

The tea’s ready; it always is. She pours herself a cup and wanders outside, to the lip of the canyon. Below, in its rocky expanse, a massive scaffold holds up the gleaming guts of a huge, half-finished cruiser.

“Morning,” she calls.

“Morning, Waian.” Waian-bot three walks past, holding up a girder with Waian-bots five and seven. “Finishing the dorsal today, y’think?”

“Oh, yeah.” Waian waves at the spindly Taiikarinoid robots as they pass. “No problem. As long as God doesn’t throw me any real curveballs.”

As if on cue, the clouds part and God’s voice echoes through the valley. God speaks like a foghorn, so slow and blaring that, if Waian were the real Waian, she’s sure she wouldn’t understand.

“Hey, W. Calculation needed on energy draw for this manifold loadout.”

Waian sighs. “This is gonna fuck up my timetable,” she mutters. She looks to her left hand, where a clipboard has appeared bearing a sheaf of schematics. Looks easy enough.

She spends the day poring these over, while the Waian-bots do what maintenance they can without their mistress overlooking construction. It takes all night, too, and into the next morning. That’s okay. Waian doesn’t need to sleep, not really. She just enjoys routine.

By noon on the second day, she’s got it. They’ll need to reroute two nonessential decks to moon-level gravity, and the envelope will have to stretch thin near the thrusters, but that’s the thing Waian doesn’t envy about the real world. Never enough of anything.

She climbs onto the roof of her cottage and holds the clipboard high like it’s a sacred relic. “Job’s done,” she calls, and puts the clipboard up near her chimney. “Gimme another robot and two new rivet guns.” She clambers back down to the canyon and grabs a welding torch from Waian-bot four.

Four hours later, as the air starts to chill, the Waian-bots and their mistress let the scaffold fall from the dorsal, and share a cheer as it stays stuck to the fuselage. Waian runs to her cabin to find the celebratory cigars. She emerges to find a new Waian-bot waiting for her, a rivet gun in each hand. Looks like God finally got the message.

“Afternoon, Waian,” says Waian-bot nine.

“Afternoon, my little incentive,” Waian says, and plucks a rivet gun from the bot’s hand. “You missed the action on the dorsal.”

“Shoot,” says Waian-bot nine.

“All good.” Waian sticks a cigar in her robot’s mouth and slaps her on the back as they return to the canyon. “We’re probably a month out from reset. Still time for you to get stuck in.”

The bots are hooking the tethers onto the cruiser’s belly in preparation for rolling it onto its first wing. Waian grins at the gleaming, uncovered metal, and rubs her hands together. She wonders briefly how many thousands of times she’s gotten to this point—is this ahead of schedule or behind?—and then chuckles to herself at the thought. A month may have been a little generous. That sort of cogitation has probably pinged as a point towards rampancy on her algorithm. She doesn’t mind. She had fun on the first few weeks of this project, and she’s sure she’ll have fun next time, too.

She knows—because the real Waian knows—that most daemons need the wool over their eyes. That as soon as they understand they aren’t real, the spiral starts and accelerates quick, and the auto-reset kicks them back to factory standard. But Waian (the real Waian) argued vociferously for her daemon to understand the truth. She won’t mind, if she finds out the world’s a simulation. You ask me, our world’s a simulation too.

Simulation or not, jobs need doing. That’s Waian’s philosophy, and if it’s a little too pat for reality, it works perfectly if you’re a daemon. She stubs her cigar out under her boot and strolls back toward her unfinished starship.

***

Waian wakes up and stretches, her leg locking out then folding up. Her thigh ends up across Kamen’s waist. Her knee bumps into Reina’s—the willowy gefreiter is lying on the other side, cozied up to her boyfriend. She mumbles sweetly and shifts. Her skin looks so soft and touchable in the artifical morning light.

Waian takes a moment to admire the two of them. Such an adorable couple. Reina really oughta tie the knot with Kamen already. It’ll mean they need to switch units—a wife can’t be the direct commander of her husband in the marines—but if she takes too long, someone’s gonna snatch that kid out from under her.

Waian gently extracts herself from the snoring marines and pads to her bathroom. She comes out, brushing her teeth, and Reina’s up too, stretching herself in the fake sun. Waian sways past and steps into last night’s discarded pants, snapping her tail out to slap the gefreiter’s periwinkle butt as she zips them on.

Reina rubs her ass where Waian tapped it. “Morning to you, too, chief engineer.”

“Gmm mrngn,” Waian says, and spits into the sink. She runs the tap. “Duty’s calling.”

“Not me and Kay.” Reina’s graceful midsection arches as she lays back into bed, casting a shadow along the prow of her ribcage. “Half-day.”

“Lucky lady.” Waian rolls back into bed and leans across Reina’s boyfriend to plant a kiss on the little mole below her navel. “Hi.”

Reina giggles and baps her tail against Waian’s cheek. “Hi.” Beneath them, Kamen lets out a deep, purring snore.

Waian raises her eyebrows. “God. He really does sleep like the dead, huh.”

Reina’s tail redirects and pokes Kamen’s cheek. “Uh huh.”

Waian imitates her and pokes the other side of his face. His brows twitch.

“Hey,” Reina says.

Waian looks at her. “Hmm?”

“Wanna kiss again, Chief?”

Waian smiles and leans into the young marine’s invitation. Reina’s a bold kisser; Waian likes that. Their tails take turns nudging Kamen until he grunts and tugs a pillow over his face. “Fuck off,” he murmurs through the down.

“Look who’s up.” Waian plucks the pillow off him. “I’m kissing your girlfriend up here, Ensign.”

Waian feels his hand lay across the back of her neck. “Gimme a turn.”

Waian gives him a turn. Kamen is a very ZK marine kisser; you need to coax him out and show him it’s okay to let himself go on you, and then he can’t get enough.

“All right, Mr. Morning Breath.” She sits up, wipes her mouth, and gives Reina one last quick peck. She clambers up her bed’s lip and straightens her top. “You two can stick around if you like. Got iced tea in the fridge, kettle over on the inductor, breakfast bars in this cabinet right here, and condoms in the terrarium.”

Reina curls into Kamen’s arms and squints at the indicated tank. “Why do you have condoms in the terrarium?”

“My bluff lizard died and I didn’t want to get rid of all the rocks and moss.” Waian finds her tablet. “Feel free to use the bed. Just wear a glove for morning stuff. No DNA on my comforter. That’s rule three.”

Reina holds her fingers up and counts them off. “So it’s rule one, no exchanges or gifts. Rule two, no kissing unless you’re kissed first. Rule three, you can fuck on my bed?”

Waian gives an admonishing tail-wag. “Rule three is you can’t get cum on my bed. Unless I’m on it. Otherwise, go crazy.”

Kamen pulls Reina’s svelte leg across his waist. “That’s real nice of you, Chief Engineer.”

“It’s a real nice bed.” Waian zips up her boot. “Rude of me not to share it with the midshippers.”

“What are the other rules?” Reina asks.

“Rule four is I don’t compel and rule five is if you get any fluids on the bionic arm past the wrist, you have to clean it.” Waian’s tail snakes up and retrieves a breakfast bar “And rule six is if I really think you’d click with someone, I get one try to set you up with them. But you’re together already, so that one’s moot.”

“You can compel me, Chief,” Kamen says. “It’s cool.”

Waian shakes her head. “You’re not mine, kiddo.”

“Is anyone?” Reina asks. “Yours, I mean?”

“Sure.” Waian zips her jumpsuit up. “The Pike is. Don’t tell Sykora I said that.”

Kamen’s ears wiggle. “And you’re sure you don’t have a little bit more time?”

Waian shakes her head. These two are new to the proud tradition aboard the Pike that is fucking the Chief Engineer. They’ll figure out that when Waian says gotta go, she means she’s gotta go. “Got this Eqtoran training to handle. Breaking in the newbie.”

“Breaking in, huh?”

Waian’s tail flicks a pillow at him. “Not like that, Ensign. I don’t proposition my employees.”

“You just wait for them to proposition you,” Reina says.

“Well, yeah,” Waian says. “Sure. If they hit their quotas.”

“Is that rule seven?” Kamen asks.

“Seven is too many rules. Six is the most you can have before you’re a tightass.”

“Is that rule eight?” Kamen asks.

“Can you make out with him so he shuts up, Gefreiter?”

Reina laughs and straddles her boyfriend. “Are we gonna do this again?” she asks over her shoulder.

“Hell yeah, girl. I don’t fake orgasms, y’know.” Waian admires the smush of her, where Kamen’s hand cradles her perky little butt. “We’ll sync schedules. This was fun.”

Reina winks. “It was.”

She leans down and seals her lips around Kamen’s. Waian grins and departs.

***

“All rightie, Lady Ipqen.” Specialist Meena flips through the packet and dog-ears a page. “You and me are gonna be doing this today. PD checks on the interceptors. Good intro to the gravity manifolds.”

“Is just Ipqen all right?” Waian’s newest employee takes the yellow-and-red document and raises it to her face; in her big hands the manual looks more like a pocketbook.

“Sure.” Meena’s smile highlights her adorable little freckles. “As long as you don’t get any ideas about shortening mine, buster.”

“Will do, Specialist Meena.” Ipqen salutes. “Uh, won’t do, I mean.”

“No need for the saluting, kiddo.” Waian kicks her legs from her perch on the hangar’s crane platform. “Meen’s already a little monster. Don’t gotta make her feel like a sergeant, too.”

“I’m so nice,” Meena says. “The Chief Engineer is just razzing us. But speaking of marines, my detail does not catcall marines, and if I find out you have, it’s your ass. Okay?”

Ipqen’s tail flaps nervously. “Okay.”

“Okay. You’re gonna do so good.” Meena scurries over to their workstation. “Let’s go over your toolboard.”

Waian glances over her shoulder as the cheerful pink specialist hands Ipqen her undersized tools of the trade. Hyax is on the second-tier catwalk, hands folded behind her back.

“Hey, hon.” Waian waves. She hops from the crane platform to the catwalk, snagging her tail on the rail to keep her balance.

Hyax flinches at the flagrant safety violation. “Chief Engineer. You’re needed on the command deck. The reigning couple need your expertise on daemons.”

“Gotcha.” Waian clicks her tool harness open and hangs it on a peg. Her helmet joins it. “I’ve got one made off me, y’know.”

“I do know,” Hyax says. “You mention it every time daemons come up.”

Waian follows her out of the hangar bay. “This coulda been a call, y’know.”

“I needed to make sure you were quick,” Hyax says.

“Know what I think?” Waian nudges her. “I think you needed to get your pining time in on the Lady.”

Hyax doesn’t look at her. Just keeps her eyes on the next turn in the exposed-metal service hallway. “The Lady is engaged.”

“Yeah, no shit. But remember what we all found out about Eqtorans? There’s room for you. I don’t want to see you give up again.”

That gets Hyax’s eyes on her. “What do you mean, again?”

Waian sighs. “You know what I mean, hon.”

Hyax picks up speed, stepping from the service hallway onto the crowded engineering level thoroughfare. Waian hurries after her, exchanging waves with a gaggle of hydrologists. An autoroller carrying a stacked pallet of stekkai fruit buzzes to a halt as she cuts in front of it.

“I remember Hyax before the Pike,” she says, as she catches up. “Bragging to me about all the badass duelists she was bagging. If it really is that you don’t have time or the inclination, that’s fine. I just worry. I want you to feel good about yourself.”

Hyax is peeling a stekkai she grabbed from the pallet with her tail. “I feel fine.”

“If it’s the scars, you can get them fixed, y’know.”

“Why would I? They happened and they’re here.” Hyax scoops some stek with her pointer and licks it off. “You could have vat-grown yourself an arm.”

“Sure. But Goola here is a goddamn blast. Easy interfacing, modularity, she vibrates…”

Hyax rolls her eyes. “You re-named your arm.”

“Uh huh. Sorik told me too. Said it felt invasive. Hold on, girl. Damn.” Waian catches Hyax’s shoulder with the rechristened prosthetic.

Hyax turns. “We need to be on the deck.”

“I know we do.” Waian indicates a bench on a grassy purple patch built into the thoroughfare’s divider. “Just give an old broad a moment to catch her breath.”

“You’re not out of breath.”

Waian sits and taps the bench next to her. “One second, right?”

Hyax sighs and sits. “Are we really having this conversation?”

“I’ll jog the rest of the way,” Waian says. “Honest. If there’s an actual rush and you’re not just pretending.”

“You’ll jog either way,” Hyax says.

“Brigadier.” Waian nudges her shoulder against Hyax’s HAK pauldron. “You’re a hot ticket, girlie.”

“I’m a miserable old scratching post.” Hyax leans back. “You think everything is a hot ticket.”

“Well, yeah. Can you blame me? We’re a sexy species. You’re sexy. You deserve to feel that way. And I happen to be older than you, Miss Over-The-Hill.”

Hyax meets her eyes. “This isn’t another proposition, is it?”

“Not necessarily. But you know me.” Waian plucks a few blades of grass and rubs them between her softly whirring artificial fingers. “Door’s always open for you.”

“No command group canoodling, Waian.”

“I know, hon.” Waian winks. “But you gotta admit you’ve thought about it now and then.”

Hyax’s gauntlets click together as she laces her fingers in her lap. “I just can’t… be casual about it,” she murmurs. “Like you.”

“I get it,” Waian says. “It’s all good. As long as you know the love is real. Even if I spread it around.”

“Spread it around.” Hyax smirks. “Your word choice.”

“I’m serious.” Waian holds up her hand and hesitates. Then she places it on Hyax’s shoulder. “You are a hell of a woman, Hyax of the Black Pike. I’ve always thought so. You think being happy means that you’re being selfish. That something else is losing out. But it’s not a limited resource. You can just be happy. And you’re not hurting anyone, and it’s not that serious.”

Hyax chews the inside of her cheek and looks into the middle distance. She doesn’t argue, at least.

“I think you deserve that, honey,” Waian says. “And I’m not the one to give it to you. That’s okay. But you should let someone. Why not the Eqtorans? Ruaq’s cute. You could be the first fish duelist. Two on one.”

Hyax snorts.

“Do it soon, too. Cause if you leave that space between them open I’m gonna crawl into it.”

Hyax’s face darkens. She stands. “You’re welcome to.”

“Hyax. Hey. C’mon. I’m kidding.” Waian gets to her feet and follows her. “I really do think you have a shot. Seriously.”

“Jog,” Hyax calls back, and breaks out into one herself.

Waian rolls her eyes and matches Hyax’s pace.

The day the Brigadier gets laid is going to be a seismic event on a Grantyde-tier level. She’ll need to recalibrate the goddamn envelope over it. First thing’s first, she guesses. Time to fill in the Prince about daemons. She wonders if he’s going to have some kind of Maekyonite existential crisis over them.

It’s nothing that serious, if you ask Waian. You ask her, this world’s a simulation, too.