A Ship for Symbiotic 

Today was one of the good days. The kind you don’t forget.

Symbiotic had been grinding for months — hauling, scouting, running the dirty work no one else wanted. He never complained, never hesitated, always showed up. Spectemus, Kryospider, and I had been talking about it for a while, and today we finally made it happen.

Between the three of us, we pooled the credits and bought him his very own Prospector. Not a loaner. Not borrowed. His ship.

We decided to have a little fun with how we told him.

We called him in under the guise of an annual review. Spectemus played it perfectly — full command voice, clipped words, no humor. Symbiotic was ordered to report in full armor, present himself to command, salute, and stand at parade rest alongside his next in rank. He snapped off the cleanest salute I’ve seen in a while and locked himself in place like he was waiting for either a promotion or a court-martial.

We told him he was being assigned to a special mission. Classified. Not to be discussed after this meeting. His mobiGlas pinged — a document packet waiting for acceptance. I could see his jaw tighten as he read the header.

Then he opened it.

Ownership forms.
Insurance certificates.
Flight authorization.

A Prospector, registered in his name.

He blinked. Froze. Looked back up at us like the room had shifted sideways.

“Sir… is this real?”

Spectemus cracked first. Kryospider laughed and clapped him on the shoulder hard enough to knock him out of parade rest. I just watched his face change — disbelief giving way to something heavier. Gratitude, maybe. Pride.

I told him the truth. He’d earned it. Every long haul, every risky run, every job he didn’t have to take but did anyway.

Watching him walk toward that Prospector — hands shaking, visor up, staring at it like it might vanish — made every credit worth it.

Stanton takes more than it gives.
Today, we gave something back.