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1. A Sudden Proposal and the Human Chair Offer
The shared space of the work vessel. Ledea set down her tea, folded her hands, and spoke with the particular calm of someone who had made a decision.
"Shutia. For today's salvage run — would it be all right if I operated the anchor?"
The tablet slipped out of Shutia's hands.
"I — what? Why? Is something wrong with my anchor work? Did I throw too rough last time and throw off your piloting? Did I—"
"No. Nothing like that."
"Then it's fine! You just sit there, sis. In fact — I'll be the chair." She was already on her knees. "Use any part of me as a console. Arms, legs, whatever you need. Here, go ahead—"
Ledea let a beat pass. Then, as usual, she continued as though the offer hadn't been made.
"I want to learn the anchor. The shooting too, eventually. I'd like to be useful to you, Shutia. I can't keep relying on you forever."
Shutia went still.
"...Useful. To me."
The tears arrived without warning — large, immediate, streaming.
"Sis...! The purity of that — the devotion — the sheer destructive sincerity of it—!" She pressed both hands to her face. "Understood. Today is yours. I will back up your every finger with my entire existence!"
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2. Unfamiliar Work and an Overwhelming Gaze
The target: a debris field around an abandoned cargo hauler.
Ledea took hold of the anchor trigger. The mechanics were different from the helm — less intuitive, more physical — and the first shot went wide, spinning off into the dark in a long, wandering arc.
"Oh—"
"That was incredible, sis! The trajectory alone — like a new constellation being born! A masterwork of a missed shot, tracing the very depths of the cosmos—!"
Shutia was half out of her seat, watching Ledea's profile with an intensity that suggested she was taking mental photographs at high speed.
"...Shutia." Ledea's brow furrowed slightly at the console — though whether from concentration or something else was unclear. "Your piloting is so steady the ship hasn't moved at all. It's actually... a little easier to work with."
The words landed. Shutia's face did something that could only be described as structural failure.
"She... praised me... I need to archive this at maximum resolution, one terabyte minimum, this is a family heirloom now—"
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3. Incoming Danger and a "Coincidental" Masterpiece
A gas pocket deep in the hauler detonated without warning.
The shockwave launched a massive sheet of armor plating — fast, direct, straight toward them.
*"Direct hit course!"* The client's voice came through the comm in a controlled panic.
Evasion was possible. But the cargo container Ledea had spent the last hour carefully loading would be destroyed.
"—!"
Ledea froze.
Shutia's eyes went quiet and sharp in the same instant.
She switched to manual override, spun the ship on its axis — a full, whipping rotation — and used the momentum to swing the still-deployed anchor wire like a racket, the hull itself as the handle.
The impact transmitted through the frame in a single, solid pulse.
The armor plate caught the anchor head clean and went flying — somewhere very far away, very fast.
*"She deflected it with the hull?! With just ship-handling?! What kind of—"*
Shutia smoothed her hair back, unhurried, and smiled at nothing in particular.
"...A coincidence, really. My sister's anchor just happened to be in exactly the right place."
Beside her, Ledea was looking at her own hands.
Her expression, very briefly, suggested she might be slightly annoyed about something.
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4. Return, and a Sulking Anchor Operator
The ship settled into the dock with a soft click. Gravity reasserted itself. The day's noise drained away.
Ledea exhaled.
"...Good work today, Shutia."
"You too, sis! Today's footage is already backed up in triplicate!"
Two thumbs up, full beam. Ledea glanced away for a moment, then back.
"...Your piloting was exceptional. The rotation, the way you used the wire — I couldn't replicate that."
"—!"
Shutia's face went soft immediately.
Then Ledea looked slightly to the side, and said, very quietly:
"Though... there wasn't much for me to do today. Just a little — it was a little disappointing."
Not an accusation. Not quite a pout. Just something small and honest, slipping out before she could decide whether to say it.
Shutia stopped moving entirely.
"...Sis. Was... disappointed?"
She repeated it like she was checking whether it was real.
Then:
"Then next time — next time you're the main act, absolutely, I'll stay in support, I'll keep the piloting minimal, actually I'll just become the ship—"
"You don't need to become the ship."
"Then the chair—"
"We've covered the chair."
But even mid-rebuttal, Ledea stepped forward and quietly caught Shutia's sleeve.
"...You did save me today. Thank you, Shutia."
Shutia's processing stopped completely.
Several seconds passed.
"...heh. heheh. heheheh..."
"Shutia?"
"Sis... thanked me..."
There was no other word for it. Her face simply fell apart.
"I can do anything now. Piloting — yes. Maintenance — yes. Combat — yes. I could rewrite the laws of physics for you if needed."
"Please don't do that."
"I could also be a chair."
"You already said that."
A beat.
Shutia held up one finger with sudden inspiration.
"...Here's a thought."
Ledea felt a premonition.
"A full-service, round-the-clock personal support unit — that's me — available from wake-up to lights-out, complete proximity package—"
"Shutia."
"Yes♡"
Ledea paused. Then sighed — deeply, from somewhere practiced and tired and, at its edges, almost fond.
"...Good grief."