Kraken Mare, Titan — Ascent Through the Orange
Counterpoint's engines howled up the methane sky. Rain of liquefied ethane hammered the heat tiles, turning instantly to glittering frost. Inside the cramped cockpit Cassie wrestled the control yoke; Aiden leaned over the nav displays, fingers white-knuckled on the console.
"Altitude nine-eight-zero-zero," Cassie said. "She's kicking like a mule."
Aiden muttered back, "Biggest mule in the solar system."
Static fuzzed the speakers—Lin Xi on the orbital link.
"Copy, mule wranglers. Tilt two degrees starboard or you'll slam into the jet stream and ruin my evening tea."
Aiden snorted. "It's that algae-mint sludge, Lin. No loss."
"Blasphemy," Lin replied. "Adjust your course before I report you to the Interplanetary Beverage Council."
Aiden tapped thrusters, course correcting. A fresh downdraft slammed the pod. Cassie swore; the cabin lurched.
"Easy there, cowboy," Lin's calm voice floated down. "Ride the dip, then punch it."
Aiden rolled his eyes but followed instructions—throttle surge, nose up. Counterpoint steadied.
Cassie blew a breath. "He's smug when he's right."
"Always right," Aiden called into the mic, "because he never leaves the comfy couch."
"That 'couch' is a sub-zero service bay," Lin shot back. "Finish the climb and I'll let you borrow my blanket."
Clawing Into Daylight
Cloud tops parted; violet twilight flooded the cockpit. The violence fell away as though someone had slammed a door on the storm.
Cassie sagged in her harness. "Altitude one-three-zero-zero-zero. We're free."
Aiden leaned back, pulse thrumming. Dawn-Core glowed steady—five, eleven, seven, thirteen—like a drummer counting time. He keyed the private channel.
"Hey, Lin."
"Still here, tea intact."
"We're clear. Thanks for the hand-holding."
"Hand-holding is extra. Invoice inbound."
Aiden laughed—tension bleeding out. "Make it payable in decent coffee when we're home."
"Deal. And, Aid—nice flying. Even if you did insult my tea."
Aiden's grin softened. "Wouldn't trade your backseat coaching for any autopilot."
Lin's reply came warm. > "Copy that, brother. Now bring the pod up before Cassie has to pry you off the console."
Up on the Tug — Friendly Sniping
Minutes later Counterpoint docked with Contrapunctus. The hatch popped; Aiden floated through and immediately caught a paper sachet Lin tossed his way.
"Freeze-dried hojicha," Lin said. "Real stuff this time. Maybe it'll elevate your palate."
Aiden raised an eyebrow. "Looks suspiciously like ground kelp."
"Trust me, you'll taste notes of oak and forgiveness."
Aiden shoved Lin playfully toward the bulkhead. "Forgiveness for what?"
"For the next time you call me 'Tea-Buddha' on an open channel."
Cassie poked her head around the corner. "Boys, the storm data's only getting worse. Save the beverage brawl."
Lin gestured after her. "See? At least someone appreciates refined culture."
Aiden shot back, "Pretty sure she just wants to survive."
Critical Moment—Storm Worsens
Maya's voice crackled on the shipwide: "Cyclone strengthening faster than model—Solayna's signal fading. If we're going back, we go now or never."
Playfulness vanished. Aiden met Lin's gaze. Banter, jokes, but one nod said everything: I've got your six.
Lin clapped Aiden's shoulder. "Patch the hull. I'll prep the burn. Tea later."
"Coffee," Aiden corrected, eyes steady.
"Coffee," Lin ceded, half-smile in place.
They split—confidence threaded not through grand speeches but through well-worn teasing, the kind that wrapped around fear and squeezed until courage hummed.
Prime-Beat Countdown
In the launch bay Cassie warmed the lantern; Maya fitted the new cloak-weave heat shield over Counterpoint; Nephis tightened retention buckles. Lin's voice echoed: "Prime lull in ninety seconds. Doors open at twenty."
Aiden strapped in beside Cassie, thumbs checking fuel toggles. She nudged him. "You two gonna fight over pastry next?"
"Depends if he survives my coffee," Aiden said, grin sharp.
"Good. You'll force each other to live for the bragging rights."
The countdown hit zero; the bay hatch unsealed. Counterpoint dove, engines flaring. In the headset Lin murmured one more line—calm, teasing, unshakeable:
"Don't scratch my pod, rookie."
Aiden rolled his eyes, heart lighter. "Keep the kettle on, coach."
Static swallowed the channel as Counterpoint dropped back toward the roaring orange sea—brother-tone, jokes, and all.