Interstellar: Return of the Villain
Chapter 247: New Gig

Chapter 247: New Gig

When Mandy arrived at the Stellar Caravan’s base, she was directed to the lab where Lyra was working.

Swiping her ID at the entrance, Mandy walked through the secured corridors until she spotted Lyra inside.

The lab was packed with newly refined high-grade metals, their surfaces gleaming under the bright lights.

Koros, marker in hand, was diligently scrawling notes on a stack of level-seven metal sheets.

"As you specified, this level-seven metal’s reserved for internal components only," Koros said, glancing up. "It’s still not durable enough for external armor."

"Noted," Lyra replied with a wave. "Submit a funding request to Morrison. Let’s go ahead and produce ten units for the first run."

Koros’ face lit up, and he nodded enthusiastically. "Consider it done."

Rubbing his hands together, Koros ventured, "And about that elastic metal for the AI core..."

Lyra tossed him a small metal box without hesitation. "That should be enough. Take it and get started."

Koros caught it mid-air, practically buzzing with excitement. "Yes, ma’am! I’ll get on it right away!"

With Lyra stationed on Wyrmtrace for the foreseeable future, Koros was thrilled to throw himself into his designs, leaving Lyra to handle the other aspects of their work.

Just then, Lyra noticed Mandy standing by the door, standing at attention.

"I’m here to escort you to your assignment," Mandy said, straightening up.

Lyra nodded and followed her out. As they walked, Mandy cast a curious glance at Lyra.

No one had expected Lyra to accept a transfer to the medical corps so readily. In an age where superpowers defined rank and progression, moving from the elite Special Force to a medical position was almost unheard of.

For most, it would mean taking a step back in terms of prestige and advancement, and anyone in Lyra’s position would typically fight against such a reassignment.

When they reached the medical corps headquarters, Lyra’s arrival went mostly unnoticed.

Injured personnel were always coming and going here, and the staff were too absorbed in their work to pay much attention to anyone new, regardless of their background. Well, almost no one.

Frank, the corps commander, noticed.

Frank had been the head medic of the Phenix Legion’s medical corps; that was, until the tragic death of Commander Oleg and the subsequent dissolution of his unit.

With no medical squad in Cohen’s division, Frank and his team had been reassigned to Legion Glory.

Learning that this newcomer was Lyra, Frank’s face hardened.

He had two reasons for disliking her: first, he held a grudge for what he saw as her role in Oleg’s death, believing that if she’d stabilized Oleg’s vitals, they might have saved his legacy. Second, he resented having someone with no formal battlefield medical training—a soldier from the Special Force—placed in his unit.

When Lyra approached his desk and handed him her onboarding documents, Frank barely glanced up, a hint of disdain in his eyes. "Well, well... a soldier with a body count behind her is here to save lives? Ironic."

Lyra shrugged, unfazed. "You’re telling me. I was surprised myself."

Frank took her documents with a frown but didn’t enter them into the system right away.

Instead, he crossed his arms and gave her a hard look. "The medical corps isn’t like your Special Force. Healing powers are just a piece of it—you need real medical knowledge and training here. So you’ll be taking an entrance exam first."

"And if I fail?" Lyra asked calmly, unfazed by his hostility. "Does that mean I’m off the hook?" Her tone was casual, almost mocking, as if his hostility barely registered.

The jab didn’t go unnoticed. If she were just another recruit, speaking to a superior this way would have been unthinkable. But Lyra’s assignment came straight from the top, and she clearly didn’t feel the need to placate anyone.

Frank blinked, momentarily thrown by Lyra’s calm defiance. He scoffed, crossing his arms. "I still need to assess what kinds of injuries you’re actually capable of treating. If you’re completely unfit, you’ll be stuck in a placeholder role."

Lyra’s eyebrow quirked in amusement. "Didn’t know you had such positions here. Let’s just skip the test, then."

Mandy bit back a smirk. She found it funny that Frank seemed convinced Lyra was eager to dive into medical work.

Seeing her indifference, Frank’s face contorted with frustration. "Fine, suit yourself!" he snapped, furiously entering her information on his opticomputer.

He reached for an access card, yet he then paused. He reconsidered before tossing it back in the drawer with a glare. "Since you’re here to waste time, you won’t be needing this, will you?"

The card was key to logging hours, moving freely through restricted areas, and accessing the critical spaces within the medical division.

Lyra shrugged. "As long as I’m not penalized for skipping clock-ins or for my absence, that’s fine. You can even dock my pay if it makes you feel better."

The last thing she was worried about was money.

Her casual response only made Frank’s jaw clench tighter. "Fine! Just keep out of sight unless we absolutely need you!"

Lyra’s eyes glinted with a light smile. "I appreciate the understanding."

"Humph." Frank watched her go, secretly relieved. The last thing he wanted was an unqualified annoyance clogging up his division.

Medical work was more about building credentials quietly than chasing battlefield fame. It wasn’t until a medic achieved something monumental—saving a high-ranking officer, or pulling off a miracle—that anyone earned real respect. Someone like Lyra? She’d fade into the background here, if he had anything to say about it.

As they stepped outside, Mandy couldn’t resist asking, "Aren’t you worried that ticking off him might backfire? He could make things complicated for you."

Lyra glanced toward the treatment hall, where medics were tending to a steady stream of injured soldiers. "Mandy, how many patients does the medical corps treat each day?"

Mandy considered the question, then replied, "About two hundred on an average day. More if there’s a large operation going on."

A grin crept across Mandy’s face as she realized Lyra’s point. "Good point—he’s so buried in work, he won’t have time to keep tabs on me."

Lyra tilted her head, stretching her neck. "No clock-ins, no obligations. That gives me freedom to handle these rogue caravans the right way. They’ve handed me quite the ’gift,’ and I intend to use it."

It was a valuable gift, though it had come at a cost.

Just as she turned to leave, someone stepped forward, blocking her path.

"Lyra," the voice said with a sharp edge, "you did that on purpose, didn’t you?"