Chapter 2: Tuning the Alpha

The Engineering deck of the Vulpine Star was a sweatbox of exposed pipes, hissing steam, and the heavy, metallic scent of ionized ozone. It felt less like a spaceship and more like a steam-room designed by someone who hated safety regulations. I stood in the center of the cramped chamber, my heavy tool bag hitting the deck plates with a resounding clank that echoed through the hull.

“Alright,” I grunted, wiping a smear of carbon scoring off my forehead. “Let’s see what you’re working with. She’s running hot, Alpha. I could feel the vibration through the docking clamps before we even stepped on board. If you keep pushing her like this, you’re going to melt the casing right off.”

The Alpha stood behind me, her arms crossed over her glinting chest plate. She was so close I could feel the heat radiating off her fur. Her tail was doing that slow, rhythmic thumping against the bulkhead—thump, thump, thump—like a countdown to an explosion.

“She has been restless,” the Alpha purred, her eyes tracking the movement of my hands. “She needs a firm touch, mechanic. My previous engineer was ... timid. He was afraid to get into the dark places where the real work happens. Can you handle the heat?”

“I’ve worked in hotter holes than this,” I muttered, oblivious as I popped the primary access panel. “I don’t care how dark it is, as long as I can fit my tools inside.”

A muffled gasp came from the hallway. I glanced back to see six Vulpine guards—the Alpha’s “honor guard”—lining the door. One of them was frantically scratching on a notepad, his ears twitching with every word I spoke.

“He doesn’t care how dark it is,” the guard whispered in awe. “Such bravery in the face of the unknown!”

I ignored them and dove headfirst into the machinery. “First thing’s first: your injectors are a disaster. They’re clogged with carbon buildup. They’re supposed to deliver a steady, high-pressure stream, but right now, they’re just ... twitching. It’s pathetic. If we don’t get a full, deep spray, this whole thing is going to stall right when you need it most.”

The guard with the notepad nearly dropped his stylus. “A full, deep spray! By the moons, the human is a beast! He demands performance!”

“And your thruster manifold?” I continued, pointing a greasy finger at the vibrating housing. “It’s loose. It’s rattling around because you haven’t put enough pressure on the mounting bolts. You can’t just expect it to perform if you don’t tighten things up until they can’t move. You have to be aggressive with the torque, otherwise, the whole connection just slips.”