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1. A Pre-Dawn Intruder, or: The Password's Expiration Date
Before the artificial sun had found its way through the curtains, Ledea Mace surfaced from sleep — pulled up by weight, and warmth, and the steady, unhurried sound of breathing against her ear.
Her field of vision was entirely occupied by golden hair, and the peacefully sleeping face of her sister.
"......Shutia."
Ledea's voice was low. Floor-level.
"Mm... morning, sis. You smell the best in the universe... as always..."
Shutia, eyes still closed, pressed her nose further into Ledea's neck and tightened her arms.
"It is not morning yet. ...I updated this room's password yesterday. Why have you broken through it again."
"It took me an hour and a half this time. But with sis's sleeping face as the goal, I can do anything."
Shutia laughed softly, entirely without remorse.
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Thirty minutes later. The Silver Anchor's small dining area.
Thick-cut toast, browned evenly. A pot of tea that smelled the way mornings were supposed to.
"...Shutia. I have said this before. The rooms are separate for privacy and security. Letting yourself in without permission is a violation of the terms of — it is, in fact, breaking and entering."
"It's not breaking and entering, sis. A younger sister ensuring her older sister's wellbeing through continuous close-range monitoring — that's written right there in the galactic charter. Under 'younger sister obligations.'"
"It is not written anywhere. ...Honestly."
Ledea exhaled and drank her tea.
"Eat properly. There's an urgent named request from the guild today — apparently someone heard about us specifically and asked for us by name."
"Our teamwork has finally moved official galactic institutions to action! I'll do my very best right there beside sis!"
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2. A Named Request, or: Towing a "Luxury Liner"
Subaru Station, Dock Four.
Waiting for them: a residential tow container — windowed, lived-in looking, clearly designed to carry people rather than cargo.
The guild coordinator explained with terminal in hand.
"Scheduled passenger service had an engine failure. The passengers bound for the neighboring station — Shooting Road — are stranded. The Silver Anchor has enough output to tow this container with room to spare, right?"
"...A transport job. We usually move ore and debris." Ledea looked at the container. "This time the cargo is people."
The coordinator smiled.
"That's right. And it's not just the towing — the trip to Shooting Road takes about two hours. We'd like you to look after the passengers during that time as well. ...With you two, I think they'll feel at ease."
And so the Silver Anchor's strangest voyage began — a working ship trailing a passenger cabin through open space.
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3. A Perfect Lady and a Very Overwhelmed Child
The towing itself ran on autopilot. The problem was the passengers.
When Ledea and Shutia stepped into the container, a cabin full of anxious faces turned toward them simultaneously.
"Ladies and gentlemen."
In the same moment that Shutia spoke, something in her voice changed — clear and composed, warm without being soft, the kind of voice that made people feel that whatever had gone wrong was now being handled. She straightened her posture, inclined her head in a single unhurried bow, every movement as precise as if she'd rehearsed it a thousand times. She looked nothing like a freelance odd-jobs operator from the frontier. She looked like the scion of a distinguished family, or a flight attendant who had seen everything and remained unruffled by all of it.
"My name is Shutia, of the Silver Anchor. We will see you safely to your destination. ...If there's anything at all you need, please don't hesitate to ask."
"Oh, how lovely..."
"So composed, and kind..."
A wave of reassurance moved through the cabin. The younger male passengers and the exhausted older women alike found their eyes drawn to Shutia — her manner, her smile, the unhurried certainty of her presence.
Ledea, meanwhile.
"Um — w-would anyone like more — tea—"
Face red. Movements rigid. A tray of paper cups held out at slightly the wrong angle.
"Oh, what a sweet child! Are you helping your big sister?"
An older woman reached out to pat her on the head.
"N-no — I'm actually the pilot of this vessel, and — she's technically my younger — that is to say—"
"Oh, how adorable, she's embarrassed!"
*(...Yes. Of course it goes like this.)*
Somewhere behind Ledea's composed expression, something wept quietly. Her size, her face — they conspired against her every time. She was the pilot. She was the one who had navigated them here. And she was being offered sympathy by a grandmother.
"Sis — there's a child over there who looks bored." Shutia appeared at her shoulder, voice low, smile intact. "You're good at those star-chart puzzles. Why not show him?"
"...I know. ...Excuse me — young man, would you like to try—"
Before she'd finished the sentence, another passenger across the aisle: "Could I trouble you for a blanket, dear?"
"Right away! ...Oh — sorry, coming through—"
Back and forth down the narrow aisle. Nearly spilling a drink. A small child who had decided to cry at her specifically. Ledea's operational capacity was approaching its limit at a rate she found professionally embarrassing.
Shutia, across the cabin:
"That little one looks warm — shall I adjust the temperature? ...Of course. Just a moment."
Precise. Effortless. The kind of calm that made people trust you without knowing why.
By the time they were halfway to Shooting Road, every passenger in the container had arrived at the same quiet conclusion: the tall blonde woman was clearly in charge, and the small silver-haired girl was her very capable, very endearing assistant.
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4. Shooting Road, or: The Aftermath of Exhaustion
"...I thought I might not survive."
Shooting Road Station. The passengers disembarked. The tow container sat empty. Ledea was face-down on a table at an open-air terrace, moving only her fingers.
"Good work, sis. The passengers loved you, though — did you see? Someone gave you a tip. They said you were 'the kind of crew that makes you want to look after her.'"
Shutia sat across from her, coffee in hand, entirely unbothered. The perfect lady had receded; what remained was simply Shutia, watching her sister with the particular contentment of someone whose favorite thing in the world was right in front of them.
"...That is not the evaluation I was hoping for." Ledea turned her face sideways without lifting it from the table. "How do you do that. You sounded like a completely different person. How do the words just — come out like that."
"Hehe. Anything for sis."
Shutia reached across the table and took Ledea's hand.
"But sis — I noticed something. When that little boy was crying... you pulled up your own personal terminal and showed him your favorite analysis software to distract him. That's yours. You use that every day."
"...He was loud. That's all."
Ledea looked away.
"And in the end, I was never once treated as the senior crew member. Not once." A pause. "Where exactly did my professional authority go."
"You don't need authority. The most wonderful version of sis is the one who's just there — being loved by me — occasionally in slightly over her head." Shutia's smile was soft and completely genuine. "Hey — as a reward for today, will you sleep on my lap later?"
"...No."
Ledea straightened up at last and reached for her tea.
Outside the window, Shooting Road spread its noise and color across the view — a busy corner of the universe, indifferent to the drama of professional dignity.
Becoming a full-fledged odd-jobs operator, it turned out, required more than technical skill. The harder challenge — acquiring what might be called *adult composure* — remained stubbornly out of reach.
"...Next time, I will be recognized as the one in charge. Without question."
"Sure, sure. ...Oh — that expression just now was incredible, I'm having a drone take a photo—"
"Shutia—!!"
Their voices dissolved into the noise of the station and were gone.