Retirement? Over My Dead Thrusters
An Alleycat Crew Short
Kash had one job: tease Calynn about retirement. Just a little harmless ribbing while they were docked at the quietest station in the sector. No emergencies, no scammers, no exploding cargo. Perfect setup.
He waited until Calynn was stretched out on their bed in her pajamas, scrolling on her E-tablet like she was planning their next heist instead of their next meal.
“So,” he said, casual as a bad landing, “ten days until PJ retires in real life. Got me thinking… maybe we should try it too. Find a nice little moon somewhere. Grow vegetables. Watch sunsets. Nap. You know… retire.”
Calynn’s head snapped up so fast he heard her neck pop.
“Retire?” Her voice cracked like a cheap plasma rifle. “What the hell would I do all day, Kash? Knit? Bake? Learn to meditate while the ship collects dust?”
She sat up, eyes wide with pure horror.
“I’d lose my mind in forty-eight hours. Forty-eight. I’d be climbing the bulkheads. I’d start challenging the coffee maker to duels. I’d reorganize the tool locker by color and then cry because there’s nothing left to fix!”
Kash bit the inside of his cheek to keep from laughing. This was gold.
“Could take up fishing,” he offered, deadpan. “They’ve got these giant glowing fish on Epsilon-9. You could name them. Talk to them. Maybe start a support group for retired pilots who miss almost dying every Tuesday.”
Calynn threw a pillow at his head. Hard.
“I don’t want glowing fish, you jerk! I want engine grease under my nails and the sound of you yelling ‘brace for impact’ at three in the morning! I want to outfly bounty hunters and argue with shady dockmasters and come home to you smelling like ozone and bad decisions!”
She flopped back dramatically, arm over her eyes like a tragic holo-vid actress.
“Retirement is a trap. I’d be bored in a week. Then I’d get dangerous. I’d start modifying the toaster to shoot plasma. Or invent a game called ‘how many times can I make Kash regret this conversation.’”
Kash crawled onto the bunk beside her, grinning like an idiot. “So… no quiet moon with a vegetable garden?”
“Absolutely not.” She rolled over, poking him in the chest. “If you ever try to retire for real, I’m hiding every wrench on this ship. You’ll wake up to find I’ve signed us up for illegal asteroid races just to keep things interesting.”
He caught her finger, kissed the tip. “Good. Because I was kidding anyway. The day I retire is the day they pry my flight jacket out of my cold, dead hands… or the day you finally get tired of me.”
Calynn snorted, but her eyes went soft. “Never happening, flyboy. I’d miss the chaos too much. I’d miss you too much.”
She tugged him down for a kiss that started sweet and quickly turned into the kind of kiss that made retirement sound like the dumbest idea in the galaxy.
Kash pulled back just enough to murmur, “So we keep flying?”
“We keep flying,” she confirmed, already reaching for his shirt. “And if you ever joke about vegetables again, I’m making you eat them. Raw.”
He laughed against her mouth. “Deal. But only if you promise to keep me from napping too much.”
“Deal.”
Because some things are worth staying reckless for. And Calynn? She was the best kind of forever chaos.
Dedicated to my real-life co-pilot, PJ, who retires in 10 days. May your “retirement” be filled with way more adventure than Calynn could ever dream of — and zero glowing fish. Love you, babe. ❤️
If Kash and Calynn’s version of “retirement planning” sounds like your kind of disaster, the full Kash & Calynn saga is waiting. Dive into The Nebula Royale to see what happens when these two try (and spectacularly fail) to take a vacation. Or join the mailing list for an exclusive crew short—first one’s on me!
