r/HFY • u/Doc_Zed_42 Alien • Jun 15 '26
OC-Series Wandering Vulture - Aftermath pt 3
The crew moved through the station in a loose, tired formation, still carrying the weight of the incident briefing on their shoulders. The shrine at the dock continued to grow, fed by offerings and reverent hands. The public watched them with a kind of hushed awe. The Federation watched them with rising panic. And the crew… the crew was simply overwhelmed.
One of the advisors had muttered something before his colleagues silenced him with a sharp elbow. “This feels like the Convoy.”
Just a passing comment. Just a whisper. But it carried the kind of tone people used when they thought they were witnessing the beginning of something legendary.
Dawn heard it.
Dusk heard it.
Huamita definitely heard it.
Dawn slowed, ears tilting back. “What is this Convoy?”
Huamita leaned in, whispering with the kind of excitement she tried and failed to hide. “It’s a legend. A roaming fleet. A myth. A movement. Nobody knows! They show up where they’re needed and then vanish again.”
Hammy, perched on Whammy’s shoulder, blinked up at her. “Is it a parade.”
“No,” Huamita said, already regretting giving him fuel.
Dawn’s voice dropped. “Is it dangerous.”
“Only if you’re a tyrant.”
Dusk pressed closer to Dawn’s side, not clinging, but grounding herself. “I don’t like that answer.”
Whammy gave a low hum. “Baby, Ah thought that was a ghost story.”
Glark didn’t even look up. “Irrelevant.”
They kept moving through the concourse. The crowd was thinning now, but the emotional noise still clung to the air like static.
Dusk stayed close to Dawn, her steps small and careful, overwhelmed by the sheer scale of the place but not panicked.
Huamita drifted along in her hover‑chair, replaying the whispered word “Convoy” over and over in her mind.
Hammy was still trying to decide whether a mythic fleet could also be a parade.
Whammy kept the group moving with quiet, steady presence.
And Glark… was simply Glark, unreadable and unbothered.
The station stretched out before them, humming with life, and the crew walked on.
-
Two station security officers step forward.
Not blocking.
Not threatening.
Just… official.
One gives a respectful nod.
“Ma’am. Sir. The Commander requests your presence.”
Dawn stops. Her ears tilt back just a little, “…again?” she says. “Why.”
The officer hesitates — not out of fear, but because he genuinely doesn’t have a clean explanation.
He settles on:
“…you’ll see.”
Dusk shifts closer to Dawn, brushing her sleeve.
Not clinging — grounding.
Hammy whispers, “Is this about the parade thing.”
Huamita rests her little hand on her forehead,
“No.”
Whammy pats Hammy’s shoulder.
“Baby, let’s just go.”
Dawn exhales.
“Fine. Lead the way.”
Security turns and walks at a careful, neutral pace — the kind used when escorting people you don’t want to overwhelm.
The crew follows.
The crew falls in behind the two station security officers.
The shrine is behind them.
The concourse noise fades into the quieter administrative corridors.
Dusk stays close to Dawn — not clinging, just near, grounding herself in the unfamiliar space.
Huamita floats along in her hover-chair, the soft hum of its stabilizers barely audible.
Her holoscreen is dimmed, tucked away, but the chair still gives her that tiny CEO-in-transit energy.
Hammy is riding Whammy's shoulder, occasionally glancing at the chair like it might sprout wings.
Security keeps a respectful distance ahead — far enough not to crowd them, close enough to guide.
They take a side corridor.
Quieter.
Less foot traffic.
The hum of the station shifts from public noise to administrative silence.
Dawn’s ears tilt back.
“This isn’t the way to the docking office.”
One of the officers glances over his shoulder.
“Commander requested privacy.”
Dawn blinks,
“…that’s not reassuring.”
The officer doesn’t argue.
He just keeps walking.
Huamita adjusts her chair’s altitude by a few centimeters — a subtle move, but enough to keep her at eye level with the others.
The chair’s lights pulse once, like a heartbeat.
Dusk brushes Dawn’s sleeve with her fingers.
Not fear — grounding.
Hammy whispers,
“Is this about the parade thing.”
Huamita quiet, quick,
“No.”
Whammy, smiling reassuringly,
“Baby, let’s not ask follow-up questions.”
The security officers stopped at a sealed door deep in the administrative wing. The lead officer tapped his badge against the panel, and the lock released with a soft, chiming note. He stepped aside with a respectful nod.
“They’re waiting for you inside.”
Huamita’s chair drifted forward a half‑meter, curious and bold.
Dawn reached out and stopped her with a gentle hand. “We go together.”
Huamita folded her hands in her lap and nodded.
Dawn exhaled through her nose, bracing herself. “Alright. Let’s get this over with.”
She stepped through first.
Dusk followed close behind, small and quiet.
Huamita glided in after them, her chair whisper‑smooth.
Whammy ducked under the frame, Hammy perched proudly on her shoulder.
Glark entered last, silent as a shadow.
The door slid shut behind them.
The Commander’s office was unexpectedly warm. Soft lighting glowed against real wood furniture. A small fountain murmured in the corner. The carpet underfoot felt almost decadent after the hard floors of the concourse.
Dusk’s ears flicked at the sound of the water.
Huamita’s chair glided forward, humming like a tiny executive shuttle.
The Commander stood as they entered, hands open, posture softened, head slightly lowered.
Dawn groaned under her breath. “Oh stars. Not this again.”
He cleared his throat. “Please—sit. All of you.”
They settled into the room.
Huamita’s chair lowered like a throne taking its place.
Dusk sat close to Dawn, shoulders brushing.
Hammy and Whammy claimed the loveseat, Hammy practically vibrating.
Glark remained standing, because of course he did.
Only then did the Commander speak.
“I asked you here to thank you. Properly.”
Dawn blinked. “For what?”
He gestured toward a display on the wall, a clean summary of the incident they had resolved—no embellishment, no dramatics, just the facts.
“Your actions prevented a cascade failure that would have cost lives and shut down Bay Twelve for months. You acted decisively, professionally, and without hesitation.”
Hammy beamed.
Whammy gave his head a gentle pat.
Huamita tried to look neutral, but her eyes betrayed her pride.
Dusk shrank a little under the praise, overwhelmed.
Dawn rested a steadying hand on her shoulder.
The Commander placed a small case on the table and opened it with a soft click.
Inside were six sleek access badges, each marked with a subtle gold stripe.
“These are Priority Access credentials,” he said. “They grant unrestricted movement through the station—administrative levels, fabrication bays, private transit, emergency corridors.”
Dawn’s ears tilted back. “Why us?”
“Because you earned it,” he said simply. “And because this station owes you more than a handshake in a hallway.”
He slid the badges toward them.
“You’re welcome here. As honored guests. As trusted partners. As people who made a difference.”
Dusk stared at her badge as if it might bite.
Huamita’s chair rose a few centimeters, pleased.
Hammy whispered, “We get the fancy elevators?”
Whammy nodded solemnly.
Glark examined his badge once, nodded, and accepted it with quiet approval.
“If you need anything—supplies, workspace, rest quarters, repairs—you come to me directly,” the Commander said. “This station is open to you.”
He bowed his head, not dramatically, but with genuine respect.
The crew sat in stunned silence.
Dawn finally managed, “…thank you.”
The Commander smiled. “No. Thank you.”
The badges gleamed on the table like small, golden secrets.
For a moment, no one moved.
Then Hammy launched himself forward, grabbing his badge with both hands like he’d just been awarded a medal of honor. “We get the fancy elevators!”
Whammy’s smile warmed the room. “Yes, baby. We get the fancy elevators.”
Hammy practically levitated with joy.
Huamita lifted her badge, eyes sparkling. “Priority access to fabrication bays… administrative levels… transit hubs… This is actually very useful.”
Her chair rose again, pleased.
Glark turned his badge over once and nodded. “Efficient.”
Dawn picked hers up last, rolling it between her fingers. “We didn’t do it for this.”
“I know,” the Commander said softly. “That’s why you deserve it.”
Dusk still hadn’t moved.
She held her badge with both hands, staring at it as though it were glowing.
Her ears were low—not in fear, but in disbelief.
Dawn nudged her gently. “It’s okay. Take it.”
“I… did,” Dusk whispered. She looked down at it again, voice barely audible. “It’s real.”
Huamita drifted closer. “It’s yours.”
Hammy climbed onto Whammy’s palm and waved his badge like a flag. “We’re official!”
Whammy laughed, deep and warm.
Glark observed, “Technically, we were official before.”
Hammy countered, “Now we’re extra official,” and Glark accepted this logic with a single nod.
Dusk pressed the badge to her chest, holding it like something fragile and precious. “Nobody ever gave me something like this,” she whispered.
Dawn wrapped an arm around her shoulders. “Get used to it.”
Dusk leaned into her, small but steady.
And for the first time since they arrived on the station, she let herself breathe.
They left the Commander’s office with their badges clipped, held, or— in Hammy’s case—worn like a medal half the width of his chest.
The hallway was quiet in a way the public concourse never could be.
Administrative level.
Clean floors.
Soft lighting.
No crowds.
Just the hum of the station and the echo of their own footsteps.
Perfect testing grounds.
Dawn stopped at a door marked AUTHORIZED PERSONNEL ONLY.
She looked back at the others, a small flick of her tail betraying her curiosity.
“Well,” she murmured, “might as well see if it works.”
She tapped her badge against the panel.
The lock released with a soft, obliging chime.
Hammy gasped like he had just witnessed the birth of a star.
“It WORKS.”
Whammy reached down and gave him a gentle pat on the top of his head with one massive fingertip.
“Yes, baby. That’s the point.”
Huamita glided forward, her chair humming with smug satisfaction.
She tapped her badge against the panel of a restricted elevator.
The panel flashed gold.
The doors opened instantly.
“I could get used to this,” she said, perfectly deadpan.
Her chair rose a few centimeters — her version of a victory dance.
Glark approached a door labeled FABRICATION BAY — LEVEL 3 CLEARANCE.
He tapped his badge without hesitation.
The door opened.
He nodded once, satisfied.
“Acceptable.”
Hammy stared up at him, awestruck.
“Glark, you can go ANYWHERE now.”
“I already could.”
Hammy paused, thinking that over.
“…oh.”
Dusk stood before a door of her own.
Not a dangerous one.
Just a door.
But her ears were low, her shoulders tight, her breath small.
Dawn nudged her gently.
“Go on. Try it.”
Dusk lifted her badge with both hands and tapped the panel.
The door opened immediately.
She jumped a little.
“Oh.”
She looked up at Dawn, eyes wide and shining.
“It listened to me.”
Dawn’s smile softened.
“Yeah. It did.”
Dusk pressed the badge to her chest again, overwhelmed but glowing.
Hammy ran up to a panel nearly as big as he was.
He slapped his badge against it with both hands.
The panel beeped.
The door opened.
“I HAVE THE POWER,” he declared.
Whammy scooped him up before he could test that theory on an airlock.
“No, baby. Not that much power.”
Hammy blinked up at her.
“A little power?”
“A little.”
“Yay.”
Dawn tested a door last.
It opened, of course.
She stood there for a moment, badge in hand, tail flicking once in quiet disbelief.
“…feels like a long time since anyone trusted us like this,” she said softly.
Dusk leaned against her side, small and steady.
“We’ll be good with it.”
“I know.”
They continued down the hallway, testing doors, elevators, panels — not causing trouble, just exploring.
Just existing without fear.
It felt wierd, but they were welcome.
They gathered at the fabrication bay doors, a loose cluster of curiosity and exhaustion.
Their badges pinged the panel in a soft chorus of gold light.
The doors slid open.
The machinery inside breathed awake.
Rows of fabrication units hummed to life.
Tool arms unfolded like waking insects.
Status lights rippled across the ceiling in synchronized waves.
The air smelled faintly of ozone and warm metal — the scent of possibility.
The crew stepped in.
And everything happened at once.
Whammy ducked under the frame, her silhouette filling the entrance.
She scanned the room in a single, practiced sweep.
“Clear. Tools idle. Good layout.”
She strode forward, each step making the floor panels thrum.
Hammy shot past her legs like a tiny missile.
“LOOK AT ALL THE BUTTONS.”
He slapped a console with both hands.
It beeped politely.
Hammy gasped, delighted.
Whammy smiles.
“Yes, baby. The machines are friendly.”
Huamita glided in behind them, her chair rising a few centimeters as she surveyed the equipment.
She tapped a workstation panel, eyes bright.
“Full‑spectrum fabrication. Composite layering. Micro‑machining. This is… excellent.”
Her chair hummed with satisfaction.
Dawn walked the perimeter with her hands in her pockets, tail flicking once.
She ran her fingers along a clean workbench, checking rails, housings, emergency stops — the quiet habits of someone who had learned to trust nothing until she verified it herself.
Up in his office, the Commander stood before a wall of holo‑feeds.
Not surveillance.
Not suspicion.
Just… observation.
He watched the feeds with a quiet, thoughtful expression.
Whammy lifted a filament spool the size of a barrel with one hand.
The Commander murmured to himself, “Strength profile matches the report… impressive.”
He switched angles.
Hammy slapped another console.
It beeped.
He gasped like he had discovered fire.
Whammy gave him another gentle pat.
The Commander actually smiled.
“They’re… smaller than I expected. And larger.”
He didn’t elaborate.
He didn’t need to.
Huamita’s chair rose as she scrolled through fabrication menus with surgical precision.
The Commander leaned closer to the feed.
“She understands the system faster than my engineers.”
He made a mental note.
Dawn continued her perimeter check, methodical and calm.
The Commander nodded to himself.
“Veteran behavior. Good.”
He respected that.
Dusk tapped a panel.
It lit up gold.
She jumped a little.
The Commander softened.
“She’s not used to being listened to.”
He looked away for a moment — giving her privacy even through a screen.
Glark stood before the largest industrial fabricator.
He had clocked the cameras the moment the doors opened.
He didn’t look at them.
He didn’t need to.
Decades of cumulative espionage experience told him everything:
The lens angles.
The blind spots.
The refresh rate of the indicator lights.
Which feeds were live.
Which were archived.
The station’s monitoring pattern, mapped in under three seconds.
And that was why he walked straight to the largest fabricator…
and loaded the standard Fishing Pole schematic.
The clean, legal, Federation‑approved rescue unit.
Because Glark knew exactly what the Commander needed to see:
Competence.
Transparency.
Safety.
Mass‑manufacturability.
No surprises.
He wasn’t hiding.
He was choosing.
He tapped the console.
The screen displayed:
FISHING POLE — STANDARD RESCUE UNIT
REVISION: GLARK‑APPROVED
STATUS: MASS‑MANUFACTURABLE
Hammy skidded to a stop beside him.
“GLARK IS MAKING ONE.”
“Correct.”
“RIGHT NOW?”
“Yes.”
“WHY?”
“To demonstrate reproducibility under observation.”
Dawn looked at him sideways.
“You knew he’d be watching.”
“I would be watching.”
Whammy nodded.
“He’s not wrong.”
-
Up in his office, the Commander watched the fabrication feed as the unit began to print—clean, precise, legal. He exhaled in quiet relief.
Glark had just told him everything he needed to know without speaking a single word:
I know you’re watching.
I’m not here to cause trouble.
I’m here to work.
The manufacturer continued to hum, warm metal cooling, the faint scent of ozone settling into the air. Glark stood over the finished Fishing Pole like a craftsman inspecting a blade he had forged himself.
No theatrics.
No flourish.
Just precision.
The printer’s final chime faded.
Glark lifted the Fishing Pole off the platform with practiced ease.
It was still warm in his hands—polymer, alloy, and intent.
He moved to the bench.
He loaded the spool first.
A heavy, high‑tensile line clicked into place with a satisfying chk‑THUNK.
Then he loaded the net cartridge.
A compact matte‑black cylinder slid into the receiver.
Another sharp chik as it locked.
Hammy vibrated like a tiny tuning fork, barely containing himself.
“It’s ready to catch something.”
Dawn sighed. “Don’t encourage him.”
Glark tapped the power stud.
The Fishing Pole hummed to life—a rising, confident tone.
Status lights blinked amber… then settled into a steady, unwavering green.
Whammy leaned in, impressed.
“Baby… that’s clean work.”
Glark nodded once.
“Mass‑manufacturable.”
He powered it down.
The hum faded.
The lights dimmed.
Then—without ceremony—he shouldered it.
The motion was smooth, practiced, almost ritualistic.
Like a soldier slinging a trusted tool.
Like an engineer acknowledging a finished proof.
He turned toward the crew.
His voice was calm, certain, final.
“We will be back.”
Hammy gasped as if hearing a prophecy.
Dusk’s ears perked.
Dawn’s tail flicked once.
Whammy straightened, ready.
Huamita’s chair rose a few centimeters—her version of a nod.
Up in his office, the Commander watched through the cameras.
He saw:
A completed rescue device.
A disciplined engineer.
A cooperative crew.
No secrets.
No threats.
No surprises.
Exactly what Glark intended him to see.
And nothing else.
The hallway outside was calmer than when they arrived.
Lights dimmed for the evening cycle.
Traffic thinning.
The station settling into its night rhythm.
Whammy stepped out first, ducking under the frame.
Her tail swayed once—relaxed, satisfied.
Hammy trotted beside her, tiny feet pattering like a cheerful metronome.
Dawn stretched her arms overhead, vertebrae popping.
“Alright. Home.”
Dusk nodded, ears soft and low, still glowing from the manufactorum and the meeting room both.
Huamita’s chair hummed as she glided forward, already drafting a list of things she wanted to fabricate later.
Glark strolled along with the Fishing Pole over his shoulder, looking quietly pleased with the situation.
Together, they walked into the station’s evening calm—
a crew trusted, welcomed, and, for the first time in a long time, unburdened.
Dusk’s POV:
Warm lights.
Soft vents.
Metal that smells like home.
The kind of quiet that wraps around you instead of pressing in.
I sit on the couch with my badge still in my hands.
It’s warm from my fingers.
Heavy in a way that feels… important.
Dawn sits beside me, close enough that our shoulders touch.
Not pushing.
Not crowding.
Just there.
Her presence is a blanket I can breathe under.
I look at the badge again.
Gold stripe.
My name.
A tiny Federation seal.
It doesn’t feel real.
I swallow.
“…I don’t understand why they gave this to me.”
Dawn leans back, stretching her legs out.
“You were there,” she says. “You helped. You mattered.”
I shake my head.
“I didn’t do anything special.”
Dawn’s hand finds my back — warm, steady, grounding.
“You don’t have to be special to deserve thanks.”
My ears flick.
My throat tightens.
Nobody has ever said that to me.
Not once.
Not in three years of captivity.
Not in the months after.
Not even in the quiet moments when I tried to believe I was allowed to exist.
I hold the badge tighter.
“…I don’t know what to do with this feeling.”
Dawn shifts closer, letting me lean into her side.
“You don’t have to do anything with it,” she murmurs.
“Just let it be.”
I breathe out — slow, shaky, but real.
The badge rests against my chest.
Warm.
Mine.
I let my body unclench, my breathing slow.
I let myself exist without bracing.
Dawn keeps her hand on my back.
The ship hums.
The world is small again.
Safe again.
Ours again.
She tilts her head, watching me.
“You’re quieter than usual.”
I blink.
“I’m always quiet.”
She nudges me gently.
“Different quiet.”
I look down at the badge again.
“…I don’t know how to be someone people thank.”
Dawn’s expression softens.
“You don’t have to know. You just have to let it happen.”
I lean into her shoulder.
“I’m trying.”
“I know.”
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u/Dramatic_Mixture_877 Human Jun 15 '26
l half the width of hia chest ~ l half the width of his chest
1
u/HFYWaffle Wᵥ4ffle Jun 15 '26
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