CHAPTER ONE

Position

Major Archibald Theodore strutted down the narrow hallway. The Major did not walk. The Major did not march. He did not even stroll. He strutted.

Narrow access shafts flickered by as he continued deeper into the hull of the orbital station. The smell of the place changed from processed food and people to machinery and chemicals. The tang of chlorine was particularly strong.

He tapped the Colt holstered onto his hip and nodded. Chatter echoed through his ears as the local communications net linked all of the Marines.

The Colonel spoke and the chatter ceased. “Twenty minutes. Weapons locked, drones prepped, but be civil. This is a freighter, not a warship.”

Archie rounded a sharp corner and strutted into a small armored command room. Above the door, on the inside, was stenciled ‘Safe #2’. Inside sat a rack of combat shotguns with frangible slugs, three suits of nanite-coated pattern armor and a set of emergency hull breach kits. A monitoring and command panel was merged into the far wall. A Marine Sergeant with deep olive skin stood at attention.

“Evening, Sergeant Hakimi,” Archie said. “At ease.” He stood next to the panel with his hands on his hips. “Seen the Commander yet?”

“No, sir,” the Sergeant replied in a French accent. He relaxed his shoulders and peered out the hatch.

The command panel showed the inside of the cavernous receiving area. Marines were arrayed around the massive airlocks in full armor. Full dress armor, as the Colonel was fond of saying. The pair of platoons barely ranked a Captain let alone a Colonel, but the only transfer station to the Sa’Ami was deserving of someone with more tact.

The panel swapped to show the view outside. The slender, but bulbous, form of a Sa’Ami freighter was slowly approaching. Heat shimmered from red-tinted niobium alloy heat sinks on the spine of the vessel.

The panel swapped once more to show the opposite side. A half dozen civilian freighters were tethered and waiting for the opportunity to trade. Sa’Ami technology was of particular interest but they were extraordinarily shrewd and rarely struck a favorable bargain. One side sought the Sa’Ami technology—the other, consumer goods. Brand names still in demand among those who could afford it.

A final image showed the actual ‘bridge’ of the station, where the main Naval contingent operated. Safe #2 was a security location that was always manned, and locked, when the Sa’Ami docked.

“Sorry I’m late!” A bald-headed Naval Commander rushed into the room carrying a stack of data tablets. “Oh, hello, Archie! Didn’t know you were up today.”

The Sergeant stepped behind the Commander and latched the armored airlock door closed.

“Hello, Luis.” Archie smiled. “I lost a wrestling match with Captain Cross.”

Luis shook his head and dropped the tablets on the panel. “You need to take up chess, Archie. You’re getting too old for that.”

Archie snorted. He spun one of the chairs around and straddled it. “What do you have there?”

“My wife makes me videos that unlock every morning. I’ve had duty the past few days so I’m going to catch up while we’re locked up here.”

“How are the boys?”

“Big! All three of em, they eat like mules. My wife says they’re eating me out of my pension, I think she just likes to shop.” Luis winked. “Yours?”

Archie nodded. “Big, too. They’ll be six and eight when I get back.” He turned away from Luis and focused on the display. He missed his sons.

Luis sat at the panel and padded a few keys. “Standard enough, just another freighter.”

Archie nodded. The comm chatter was relaxed. The squads had nothing to do but wait for the freighter to dock and disgorge itself into the transfer hold. The Colonel was silent, but Archie knew he was on the deck floor with the men. “How long?”

“A few more minutes—docking struts are in position.”

The Sa’Ami freighter slowly edged closer. Hydraulic struts bristled outwards to absorb the shock of the massive starship as it nestled into the station. The hull of the freighter was featureless, plain, a design of pure utility.

The colonel clicked over the communications network. “XO, anything to report?”

“Negative, sir.”

“I heard Cross pinned you twice.”

Archie could almost hear the Colonel grinning. “Yes sir, the Captain is quite talented.”

“Locks are extending,” Luis said.

“Colonel, the air locks are going out. One more minute,” Archie said.

“Listen up. Relax, look professional, but keep your distance,” the Colonel said in a level tone.

The comm chatter dropped off to silence as the sounds of the station vibrated through the room. A clicking of motor contactor, buzzing of transformers and the subtle shift as a grav reactor pulsed.

“Seals made, they’re pressurizing the chamber,” Luis said. Lines of data and communications stuttered on the edge of the panel. “Everything looks good. I’m giving it a green light. Do you concur, Major?”

“I concur, Commander,” Archie said. It took two to open the door.

“We’re opening the doors, Colonel.”

The doors pulled apart a few centimeters and paused before sliding totally open. On the opposite side a yellow-gray bulkhead with a ragged seam marked the Sa’Ami freighter.

“Interesting design,” Luis said. He leaned forward towards the screen. “Like they just crack out a panel, near perfect seal. I bet they use a nanite barrier. No welding, no fabrication.”

Archie could care less how they made the damn thing. He wasn’t looking forward to sitting in the damn box while they unloaded the freighter. He should have grabbed his tablet like Luis, at least he could’ve watched the videos of his boys.

A slight line of white broke into a widening gap as the freighter doors disappeared. Inside was a dark, cavernous space. A set of lights bobbed into view. A rugged looking cargo loader stood on two heavy legs. It carried a wide alloy slab in its arms.

Archie leaned forward. “Where’s the ship’s master?”

The cargo loader took two steps into the airlock and set the slab down. It turned slowly and disappeared back into the freighter.

Luis spoke softly to the main command crew, then turned to Archie. “I’ve got nothing.”

Both men peered at the camera feed into the freighter and waited for something to appear. A light blinked in the darkness, then another, then a swarm of gently pulsing orange lights.

“Colonel…” Archie said before stopping himself.

The orange lights winked out and a massive group of Sa’Ami striders burst through the airlock. Each of the slender robotic drones prowled and pounced toward the waiting Marines.

“Shut it!” Archie bellowed.

Luis punched the keys.

The airlock tried to shut and slammed in great booms as the hydraulics strained against the plate.

“It won’t shut, that plate is blocking it,” Luis said.

The Marines on the freight deck opened fire on the swarming Sa’Ami striders. Trails of expanded nanite traced across the hold as frangible rounds impacted onto the Sa’Ami striders. The Marine drones poured forward into the Sa’Ami line.

“Colonel, we’re going to blow it.” Archie felt his heart drop as he said the words. The Colonel knew the protocol: they would blast the airlock apart, leaving nothing behind. The Marines on the deck had five seconds to get vacuum helmets sealed. “Marines, helmets on!”

Luis punched one key while Archie punched a second. The floor shuddered. The airlock separated from the station and the atmosphere rushed out.

The slab didn’t move. More striders pounced into the hold.

“Hakimi! Let’s get suited up,” Archie said, slowly standing.

The Sergeant moved quickly and tossed the atmosphere suits across the room.

“I’m launching courier capsules, last time stamp…now.” Luis punched in the order.

Every single scrap of data was uploaded to the barest shell of a Haydn drive with a gravity propulsion unit on the back. Three of the units burst forth and began to burn towards the exit point two weeks away.

Transfer station was built at the center of the grav point between Sa’Ami and United Colonies space. It was an equidistant five weeks to the edges of each system. The station was for trade and cooperation, not a military asset.

Archie struggled into the suit. He strained his ears but heard nothing. The Marines in the hold were silent. “Colonel? Do you read?”

Luis stared at blank screens. “Major, the bridge is locking everything down. We’ve got thermal alarms coming from the cargo hold bulkheads.”

“Shit. They’re cutting in.”

“Civilians are edging off.” Luis’s voice crackled. “Abandon order has been given.”

“Bridge Station, this is Major Theodore. Remain on the bridge and protect the crew as long as possible. Do not open the bulkhead,” Archie said to the few remaining Marines stationed on the bridge. Once an abandon order was given all critical information would be deleted, followed by thermite and nanite destroying everything else.

“Major,” a voice crackled, “permission to take up positions near—”

“Negative. Stay with the crew,” Archie snapped back. “Luis, can they make the launch?”

Luis whistled. “Not until the civilians are clear and the core is wiped.”

Archie walked over to the armory stand and slowly stuffed himself into the pattern armor. The bulk fit tight. The material slowly eased into and formed to his body. Forward panels turned rigid while others loosened. He moved and strained, testing the boundaries.

Sergeant Hakimi followed the same ritual. He grabbed the last suit and walked over to Luis. “Sir, if you would, please.”

“I can’t believe this is happening. We need to get to that launch.” Luis took the suit of armor.

“Not until they smoke that core.” Archie leaned down and grabbed one of the shotguns. He slid the action forward and seated one of the frangible slugs. He tossed one to Sergeant Hakimi and began stuffing logs of nanite slugs into the ammo pouch.

Luis tucked into the upper part of the armor and leaned over the panel. “Everything is wiped.”

“Marines, pop the thermite and nanite canisters. Get onto that launch.”

Luis stepped away from the panel and strapped the leggings on. “Good god, this is war isn’t it?”

“It does appear so.” Archie slid the helmet on and activated the face shield. The nanite-coated plastic slid across his view and sealed him in. A brief diagnostics scrolled over the upper corner.

The three men stood in full armor suits. The lighting flickered before dropping out totally. The letters of Safe #2 glowed a dull shade of green above them.

“Oh shit.” Luis stepped aside and braced against the wall.

“Turn on the nightvision filter, no lights,” Archie said. The chatter over the comm network changed from a hurried escape to the sounds of a firefight. Voices called out orders with blasts and hisses in the background. Silence came once more.

“Marines, report,” Archie said. He wanted to wipe the sweat off his brow. The suit felt stuffy even with the chiller running.

Silence was the only response.

“Oh god,” Luis said. “That freighter is armed.”

Archie snapped his head to the console. The civilian freighters were being pursued by a pack of blistering white missiles. The first group impacted against a bulk freighter surrounded by squat shipping containers. It crumbled and cascaded apart.

Luis stumbled away from the console. “There’s more.”

The data stream grew as multiple warships appeared on the display. They’d been in space for hours but were only now visible. More signals appeared as a massed fleet of slender cruisers, battle cruisers, drone carriers and heavy assault cruisers blinked into the entrance of the grav point.

“Sergeant, once you open that door, get the Commander to the launch and burn. Burn hard..” Archie grabbed another roll of ammo.

“Sir?” Sergeant Hakimi said.

“I’m going to make you a hole. Commander, get this data out, that fleet isn’t on the courier drones,” Archie said. He turned back to the display just in time to see another freighter blink a brilliant white and disappear. He cursed the damned luck for sending the couriers out early.

“What are you going to do?” Luis asked.

“Blow the damn station,” Archie said. He couldn’t believe he just said it.

“On your call, Major,” Sergeant Hakimi said.

“Do it.”

The door opened slowly and the trio stepped cautiously into the service access. The safe room was buried in the maintenance section of the station near nothing of particular interest. Sergeant Hakimi saluted with a gloved hand and pointed the Commander down the hall. Archie bound toward the reactor.

“Sergeant, tell me once you’re onboard,” Archie said. The corridors narrowed as he dodged through an array of piping. Beyond was a wide open area with a heavy bulkhead and airlock. The atmosphere indicator blinked orange. Zero atmosphere on the opposite side.

Archie crept up to the bulkhead and cycled it open. The door closed behind him and he waited as the pressures equalized. The opposite door blinked a bright orange and slid open. He padded slowly into the engineering area and scanned around. The first body appeared. A Naval Engineer was curled up near the edge of the bulkhead. He turned away from the body and continued.

One long hallway, a right turn, and the reactor. He could picture the map in his head as he ran in long strides down the hall. He held the shotgun across his body, ready to fire at a moment’s notice.

“Major, the Commander is going in solo,” Sergeant Hakimi said in a rushed voice. The sound of gunfire and booming explosions echoed over the comm.

“I’m in!” Luis called out.

Archie reached the end of the dark hallway. He sprinted around the turn and collided with a Sa’Ami strider. The gangly drone bounced off the side of the tunnel. Archie rolled and tucked himself against the wall. The strider was barely a meter away when he pulled the trigger.

At such a close range, the armor plate of the Sa’Ami construct buckled and cracked. The nanites and plasma sheath surged inward, frying the core of the remotely controlled drone.

Archie struggled back to his feet. The strider convulsed once before lying still. He didn’t waste the time to pump in a second shot.

The reactor core was a simple looking chamber. Heavy cords of superconducting nanites routed the immense power flow to the station. The core itself looked like a stainless steel casket. Inside the same forces that shifted ships through space were harnessed to create energy.

Archie propped the shotgun on the command console and saw a second body laid out next to it. The Chief Engineer. He nodded down at the corpse and began the process of overloading the reactor. He remembered the class where they learned how to self-destruct a core. The jokes they all made, it almost seemed surreal at the time. Now he wished he’d have paid more attention.

“Archie! Good god man, they’ve shot all the freighters,” Luis called out over the comms. His voice was tinny and distressed.

“Are you undocked?”

“Yes!”

“Then just wait, they can’t shoot you there. The station is shielding you. Burn on my call.”

Archie pulled two heavy levers that exposed a series of cylinders. He gripped one and slowly levered it out. The rest tugged to the side revealing a set of three pins surrounded by a grid of one hundred holes.

“I’m going, Archie.”

“Not yet!” Stupid bastard. No, just afraid.

He dropped down to his knees and gripped the first pin. He had to remove each of the pins and place them back into a precise location on the grid. There were no markings, commands, or instructions. Either you knew it or you didn’t.

A mechanical clacking resonated through the hull. The striders were closing. Archie popped the first pin and pushed it slowly in like it was stuck in jelly. It sucked itself in and was seated. He fumbled the second pin with the armored gloves and scooped down to grab it. Perspiration stung the corners of his eyes.

“Almost, Luis, almost!”

The second pin was buried against the edge of the plating. He squeezed with his fingertips, but he just couldn’t get the damn thing. It was wedged perfectly so that his glove couldn’t fit. He took a breath, exhaled, and disengaged the facemask.

The air escaped from his mask and rushed past. Alarms rang in his ears. He clenched his eyes closed and slowly popped the cuff off his right hand. The vacuum didn’t feel as unusual as he anticipated. He was tempted to suck a breath just in case there was air, but knew better. His fingers gripped the tip of the pin and he stuffed it into his armor near one of the ammo logs. The glove clicked back on and the face shield reappeared.

He counted to three and took a deep breath. Crisp tinny air filled his lungs. The sound of the canister rushing into the suit was loud in his ears. He opened his eyes a moment later and grabbed the third pin and stuck it into grid. It seated home. He dug his finger into the ammo pouch and sensed something behind him.

Archie had learned long ago to trust whatever nudge that told him something was off. Feel something? Turn with the gun. Don’t just look. The moment was ripe as he slid his hand over to the shotgun. He spun around and threw himself onto his back.

The Sa’Ami pushed off with unbelievable speed, quartering toward Archie.

Archie fired. The round impacted the stippled Sa’Ami armor at a steep angle, ricocheting and blasting into powder. The shotgun cycled a second round into the chamber but before he could fire it was on him.

The Sa’Ami soldier was strong only like a lifetime of grafts, implants, and enhancements could make a soldier strong. Nanite blood coursed through his veins. He was the opposite of Archie.

The soldier leaped onto him and stripped the weapon away scattering it aside. His other arm tucked below Archie’s and turned him over onto his stomach while the mass of his body bore down onto the Marine.

Archie grunted inside his suit and realized that the thing he fought, while it was a man, was more machine. One more pin. All he had to do was set one more pin. He could feel the bulge in the edge of his armor. If he couldn’t beat him in brute force he’d do it like a wrestler: manipulate the force.

The Sa’Ami soldier pushed his chest against Archie’s, driving him further down. The bulk squeezed against his ribs, driving the air out of him.

Archie kicked one leg out to gain momentum while the other drove down, leveraging the mass on top him. The balance shifted and the Sa’Ami soldier was tipping without any way to regain his balance. As he spun, he felt the arm grip tighter on his chest. His slid his fingers down, while the spin was completing, and peeled the arm away.

The pivot finished. Archie used his legs to spread legs apart. One arm of the Sa’Ami was firmly in his grip while the other arm was franticly pushing and grabbing. He smiled to himself as he could feel the man panicked beneath. Just a man, he reminded himself, just a man.

Now how the hell could he get the pin in? He had one arm free but the spin had turned him away from the console. The grid teased him—just a meter away. The mass of the pin reminded him of how close he was.

Archie tested the strength of the soldier. He slowly slid the arm down as if his strength was breaking. It felt like a massive beast of burden suddenly gaining hold. He quickly pulled the arm back and pulled. The fibers resisted. His free hand pushed against the armored back. The form thrashed beneath him as he strained against the muscles, the enhancements, the technology.

The arm relaxed as Archie pulled it past that certain point, where the transition went from uncomfortable to tendons tearing and ligaments shredding. He peeled it back even further until the armor bound. The soldier beneath him thrashed and bucked. Now was his moment.

“Luis, get ready!”

“I’m moving!”

Archie kicked himself off and focused his eyes onto the grid before him. Eighth hole down and fifth over. He gripped the pin in one hand and braced himself with the other. The pin glided before him right toward the hole.

“Go, Luis!”

The arm gripping Archie’s leg was like a mechanical claw. Pain rocketed up his leg. The hole drifted away from him and the soldier stood above him with his leg in one hand. The other arm hung at an odd angle to the side. The vacant face shield looked down at him as the arm drew him even further away.

Archie thrashed and kicked and fought. The soldier maintained a staunch grip and held the Marine at an awkward angle where he could gain no advantage. He had nothing to work off of now. “Oh god, Luis.”

“No.” Luis almost moaned as he said the words.

Archie felt the footsteps and turned to see a second soldier walk into the reactor with a pack of the striders flowing behind him. The new soldier stepped close and leaned over Archie.

The soldier’s fingers closed over the pin and gently tugged it away from his grip. He regarded it a moment and tossed it away. The new soldier was different. He moved slower with a touch more reserve. Not like a man, but like a hunted beast. The armor bore a single red diamond compared to the three green dots on the first soldier.

Archie waited until the soldier with the red diamond leaned closer. He jabbed out to land one more punch. The hand that darted back was swift, fast, almost a blur. He strained. It was like his hand had welded to a steel beam.

The soldier slammed his other hand down onto Archie’s helm and racked it from one side to the other. Stars and shimmering lights danced across his vision as he lost consciousness. The last sound he heard was Luis screaming in his ears.

CHAPTER TWO

Inquiry

Lieutenant William Grace sat against the polished marble wall and wished he was somewhere else. He didn’t care if he was back in surgery, or on an assault cruiser, or deep in a nanite binge. The two places he didn’t want to be were on Redmond or inside the inquiry chamber. They told him it would only take a day or two. A week later and he was still answering questions.

Loud voices came through the heavy paneled door. It had been the same every day. The panel debated his information and speculated on the core question: What had really brought the Lawrence down? It was, unfortunately, not a question he had answers to.

He stretched his arm out and felt the tingle of his cuff on the augmented hand. It was a combination of mechanical, nanite, and biological. A perfect replica of the human hand was still beyond the medical profession, but the Navy could make an amazing replica. He squeezed his hand into a fist and marveled at every sensation. He never thought augmentation would act so right, but feel so wrong.

The paneled door slammed open. The bulk of it smashed into the marble half a meter away from William. He stiffened and snapped his head towards the door.

“Follow me, boy!” Admiral Dover yelled. He hadn’t turned to acknowledge William. Men and women scattered to the edges of the hallway as the Admiral stomped away.

The Admiral had an upper body built for logging with thin spindly legs better suited for dancing. His nickname, and not undeserved, was the ‘Gruffalo.’

“Stupid sons a bitches. Arguing about that god-dammed piece of shit. We’re going to get our teeth kicked in and they want to send out a mission to figure out how it crashed. Idiots!” The Admiral waved his arms before him. “You’ve got more brains than those shitheads, Lieutenant.” He spun around and nodded at William, “Good! Walk with me, it’s pleasant to see someone with a proper set of balls in this joint.”

‘Set of balls’ echoed down the hallway.

William wasn’t sure whether to smile, console, or simply follow. He settled on the latter. Nothing much he would say could offer anything to the Admiral. He followed a step behind and marveled at the path cleared by the Admiral.

“Get out!” the Admiral shouted to a pair of Commanders inside of the elevator.

They got out.

William followed and stood inside of the spartan cube. The uncomfortable feeling grew as the Admiral did nothing but breathe heavily and shift in his too tight uniform.

The Admiral squeezed the bridge of his nose and tapped his foot. Then he began to hum a song to himself.

With a shift in tone, the elevator paused and the door opened onto another level. An enormous space stretched before him. It was filled with consoles, desks, digital tables, and confusion. The tension in the room was electric. A hum of conversation echoed off of every surface. The war was being planned.

“If we can walk through this damned mess without getting caught…” The Admiral lowered his head down and moved across the room.

William almost jogged to keep pace with the stampeding Admiral. Around him everything seemed to be happening at once. Naval officers stood in groups and peered at consoles or tables. Simulations appeared on screens.

“Shit.”

William stopped just in time to avoid running into the mountain that was the Admiral. He peeked around the Admiral’s shoulder.

A Captain stood directly in their path.

“Captain, this will have to wait,” the Admiral said with a hurried tone.

“Admiral, this will just take a moment,” the Captain pleaded. She gestured to the side. The cubicle was surrounded with glass. A Marine stood guard, oozing passive aggressiveness. Inside stood a group of Marines and Naval Officers.

The Admiral sighed and nodded. “Lieutenant Grace, this will only take me a moment. Go on ahead, there’s a shithole cafe by the elevator.”

“Yes sir.” William walked slowly not relishing a bad meal at a cafe staffed by the lowest bidder.

The atmosphere changed the further he walked away from the glass cube. What was intensely frantic was slowly replaced with the simple tide of a bureaucracy. The wall on the far edge was roughly carved and coated in a heavy insulation and epoxy.

He passed by a Marine checkpoint and returned a salute. The smell of old donuts and bad coffee hung in the hallway. The silence felt odd compared to the madness behind.

Must be between breaks.

The cafe was, unfortunately, exactly like he expected. A single glass case filled with bad pastries and two stainless towers of even worse coffee. He ordered a cream cheese Danish and a cup of coffee. He sat alone with his thoughts and wondered what the day would bring.

Admiral Dover appeared and hollered across the cafe. He never stopped as he continued to walk to the elevator.

William barely had enough time to sprint across the cafe and enter before the doors closed. The Admiral didn’t wait for anybody.

The Admiral’s office was simple. A stone topped desk near one edge with a handful of metal-edged chairs on the opposite side. Wedged against the back wall was a synthetic couch that seemed too large for the room.

“Sit.” The Admiral pointed to the couch.

William sat with a rigid back and looked at the Admiral.

“Relax.” The Admiral removed his jacket and tossed it near the wall. His bulk melted a bit as his muscles eased. He reached around and grabbed a black box. “Drink? Of course, who’d turn down a drink from an Admiral, right?”

William smiled and nodded. “Yes sir, I’d love one.”

“You did a damn fine job, Lieutenant.” The Admiral opened the box and poured two tumblers of whiskey.

William nodded slowly and took the tumbler. He didn’t feel like it was a good job. All those pats on the back and handshakes simply reminded him of the other couple of thousand who died before they even hit the ground. ”Thank you, sir.”

The Admiral sat on the edge of his desk and faced William. His face looked older, worn, tired. He snatched glances at his desk every few seconds. A light blinked and a message scrolled.

“We’ve got two options for you, Grace. The first is a training post: Antarctica, then Titan, survival training.” The Admiral paused. “The second is as the Executive Officer of a frigate.”

“The frigate, sir.”

The Admiral smiled and snapped back the tumbler. He looked down at the droplets dancing down the glass. “Amazing that it came from Kentucky, rode all the way out to Ceres, and finally it sits here.”

It was standard practice to promote local goods and services as much as possible. Barley grown on Ceres made whiskey just as good, or they said, as that grown on Kentucky. But rank had its privileges.

“Things are changing—they’ve been changed since Farshore. More than even you know. Since then we’ve suffered from decision paranoia. We left an age of instant communications and now we trust men months away to solve big problems. You saw one result.” The Admiral turned and tapped at his desk.

A projection appeared on the gray marble of the back wall. It was a generalized starmap showing all of the several hundred colonized systems. Different colors blurred the edges for known Sa’Ami, Harmony Worlds, K742, and Gracelle space. It looked daunting as it was months upon months from one end to the other. The scale of it was huge.

“We might have a jump on them, if they really are preparing for war. Technically, they had an illegal operation on an unclaimed planet, but if they really do plan on war…” The Admiral turned and pointed to the projection. “They’ll be hitting a few worlds first, you’ll be moving near K space and dropping off an armored platoon. Infantry will follow behind on a dropship.”

“Armor, sir?” William couldn’t imagine how a platoon of tanks could even fit onto a frigate.

“Simply a designation. Power armor prototypes, drone systems, and a few armored weapon platforms. They’ve got an additive cell so you might see an actual tank.” The Admiral turned and tapped the desk. A series of lines highlighted the route to Canaan.

William nodded. Tanks. Armor. Powered suits. This was going to be an interesting crew.

“But back to my point: you’ll be two months away from Command. There is the SOP, but you might—no, you will—have to improvise.” The Admiral paused and set the empty tumbler onto the table. “Keep the long tail in mind, Lieutenant. This war might be a very long one.”

The silence grew between them. The Admiral swung his glass in a small circle. Ice cubes clinked.

“What do you want, William?” the Admiral asked in a sober tone.

“Sir?”

“Do I have to fucking spell it out?”

William masked his thoughts behind a sip of the whiskey and looked up at the Admiral. “I’d like a command someday—my own ship. Hadn’t thought beyond that.”

The Admiral finished his whiskey. “Who should rule? Colonists or Earth?”

“Sir?”

The Admiral cocked his head and looked to be growing impatient.

“Both, sir,” William said cautiously. He wanted both sides to be equal. In his eyes, there was no other way.

“Things are changing on the ground, William. The UC has been tending colonies for a long time. The Terra First people are going to make a stink when operations begin.” The Admiral sighed and set the glass down. “The Malta, the ship you’ll transfer to, has a Captain whose father is the leader of the Terra First delegation.”

William knew Terra First. He’d seen the propaganda. They wanted Earth to focus on itself, and maybe the solar system. They insisted that trade would interlink the colonies, and the fleets could sit at the grav points and secure space.

“I’m with you, off the books. On the books, I have no opinion. Now Admiral Mesman is in command of that sector, he’s one helluva a sailor, but he’s strictly by the book.”

William nodded and felt anxious.

The light grew more urgent and blinked almost incessantly. The Admiral admired the empty glass for a moment before tapping at the desk once more. “Lieutenant, I’ve had as much quiet time as the Navy will allow. You’ll have your orders in the morning.”

Both men stood. The Admiral extended his hand and gave William a single crisp handshake. “Thank you, sir.”

“No, Lieutenant, thank you.”

William snapped to attention and saluted the Admiral.

“Dismissed.” The Admiral returned his attention to the desk.

William looked back. The Admiral gazed upwards at the vast expanse of space that they’d have to fight over.

*

The sounds of crowds blared down the hallway. Marines, soldiers, and of course seamen, were slammed together and moving in the same direction.

William walked near the edge of the wall and passed by slender stalls. Only two drugs were widely used in the military and alcohol was not his drug of choice. The other was nanite-based. He stopped in front of a booth with a chromatic dragon dancing in stenciled font.

Inside sat a gray and white box next to a squat and fairly unattractive women.

“Evening, ma’am.” William stood before the machine.

“Fast, slow, high, or low, steep, but nothing’s cheap,” she said in a practiced monotone.

“A bit low, but not too slow,” William said.

The woman didn’t reply as she turned to the box. The touchpad flickered under her stubby fingers and the machine began to hum. She returned her gaze to her wrist where icons danced near her ulna bone.

A slender patch slid into a tray on the edge of the machine. William waited.

The woman gave him an annoyed look and nodded towards the tray. He took the patch and walked out. It felt slippery between his fingers.

*

The Tethered Stallion had the distinction of looking almost like every other bar in the wing. Each vaguely familiar and packed with nostalgic memorabilia without having any link to a historical past. They were shells stuffed with fake memories. Like purchasing a pub in Dublin, scooping it up with a crane and depositing it onto the moon.

Screens hung from the ceiling. One displayed a soccer game broadcast from Argentina to a crowd of blue and white clad men. Another showed the newest remake of Hamlet, released two years before. Movies were popular among those who were deployed.

William settled in at an open table. He pushed aside a cluster of plastic cups and empty nanite wrappers. The Argentinians broke into cheers behind him.

The backing of the patch slid off and curled up into a cylinder. He applied it just below the collar of his shirt and settled in to watch the soccer game. He wasn’t a soccer fan, but the energy of the table next to him was infectious, carefree.

It hit him in a few short minutes.

The first blur came on the edge of his eyes and spread to his scalp. He rolled his shoulders and settled into it. The soccer ball flowed slower, the cheering seemed tamer, the world chilled out.

He turned his gaze away from the soccer game and stared at a simulcast screen. It was like a window into space with the star field augmented. Time passed as the nanites washed over him. He escaped for a short time into somewhere else.

The sweet seduction of the nanite buzz tingled between his ears. At that particular moment the troubles behind, and before, melted away. He closed his eyes and felt good.

Something boomed. It sounded like a rumble of bass cascading out of another bar. The movement of air against his skin snapped him out of the nanite haze. Around the room heads turned as everyone strained to listen.

“Out! Out! Breach!” shouted a man behind the bar.

William felt like a spectator as he stood and walked towards the door. People were flowing past him and escaping out. The man from behind the bar stepped in front of him and tore off the patch. William smiled at him.

“Worse than a drunk,” he mumbled. “Now get safe!”

“Safe?” William asked. His mind stuck like caramel.

“To your ship, your duty station, anywhere with an airlock! Go!” The man shoved him out into the hallway.

The concourse wasn’t much better. People poured towards the exit. It smelled of burnt plastic and smoke. William felt like he was back on Redmond.

The nanites melted away from his system rapidly as he tried to jog with the crowd. He couldn’t quite keep up and found himself following a massively drunk woman. She stumbled and bounced, but seemed to know where she was going. She was the only person he could keep up with.

Orange EVA fire control teams streamed past as they sprinted towards the damaged area. Yellow and orange drones with bottles of fire suppressant raced before them. Trailing behind were armored suits brandishing welding guns and backpacks of sealant.

The nanites began to clear from his system and his mind sped up. The woman in front of him turned her head and spouted a yellow stream of vomit. Her eyes were filled tears. He grabbed her by the elbow and the two ran forward. The severity of the situation struck him when even more suits ran past.

Meteor strike, maintenance error, weapons discharge—his mind ran through any possible outcomes. They came to a closed bulkhead with a pair of suited Marines. On the other side a group waited for the pressure to equalize.

The second explosion shifted everything like a slow motion earthquake.

The bulkhead alarm sounded. Both doors locked. The Marines pointed William back down from where he came.

“Suits three doors up, emergency locker on the right. Look for a blue pulsing light. Stay put, everything is sealed,” a Marine Sergeant said.

“C’mon, I’ll help,” William said to the woman as he helped her along.

She nodded with unfocused eyes. Vomit streaked down either side of her mouth.

The pair ran down the now empty and eerily silent hallway.

William felt a nagging sense rising that he needed to get into a suit and get the hell out. Now.

They found the blue light and popped open the maintenance door. The thin emergency EVA suits were like papier-mâché woven at random angles. At the back of the room a service airlock led to nothing but vacuum.

The suit crinkled as he eased into it. William moved his arms forward and back. All he had to do now was flip the hood over and it would bond to itself. It smelled salty with a hint of dust.

“I’m Katerina,” the woman said in a husky voice.

“William.”

Katerina nodded and looked vaguely pale and unhappy. “Helluva night.”

William stopped and listened. He heard a slight click in his ear, followed by a tone. He locked eyes with Katerina, who also heard it. The nanite implanted communication system had been activated.

“All hands, abandon station, all hands, abandon station.”

“What the fuck?” William said, poking his head back into the concourse. The Marines were gone. Thick black smoke rolled along the ceiling in billowing waves. “Like right now?”

“That’s what the man said. Can’t go out the bulkhead and I’m not heading towards the fire,” Katerina said. She flipped the hood over. The edge gripped itself and sealed.

William took a deep breath and snapped the hood over. He hated suits.

Katerina led the way and popped the airlock door open. The room was bright with a flickering alkaline white light. William followed and closed the door behind him.

The atmosphere pumped out. A green light shifted orange on the edge of the face shield. Vacuum surrounded him. The suit felt a bit bulkier as the joints reinforced themselves. Katerina tapped him on the arm and pointed to the door. He pumped his fist up and waited.

She popped open the airlock.

William felt his stomach churn and his limbs quiver as he passed the threshold of the gravity field. He turned himself on edge and grasped tightly onto the handholds. He followed Katerina’s lead and snapped a slender safety cord on.

Starships of all shapes and sizes powered away. The station seemed fine. Lights still shone into the dark and heatsinks still glowed. Further down the curvature of the station the lights stopped abruptly.

Katerina tapped him and pointed. More lights were going out.

The dull tone sounded again, followed by a woman’s voice. “Abandon station and get clear. Get clear immediately, nanite destructors are loose on the station.”

Destructors were the most feared byproduct of nanite technology. They could disassemble a single bond or element into a pile of dust. While used regularly in industrial processes they were carefully controlled. Weaponized destructors were known, even encouraged in certain circles, though the Covenant strictly prohibited it. It was written, nanite destructors shall not destroy flesh.

William snapped his head back and watched as more lights winked out. When he turned back Katerina had unsnapped both of them and gestured. Out. Away from everything.

The thought terrified him.

He had to jump. Push off, kick away, drift. He’d be firmly in Newton’s hands. Had it been fire, explosions, or even a chance of surviving he would probably have remained on the outer deck. Only imminent death was enough to get him to push off.

Katerina squashed herself up into a ball and erupted from the surface. William took a deep breath and kicked himself off. He spun ever so slightly. Behind him the lights winked off. Further down panels pulled away as the atmosphere escaped.

Lights blinked and strobed as those who could escape did. Everything moved away from the station.

William watched Katerina as he spun. A strobe pulsed on the back of her suit. He looked to the edge of his face shield. Plenty of air for now. The back of the suit was filled with recycler nanites and a simple oxygen generator.

The station cracked open and peeled apart. Segments, panels, and equipment drifted away. What had been a formidable deep space fortress turned into a debris field.

A piece of panel blasted past William and disappeared from his view. He locked his eyes forward and felt very helpless. The atmosphere propelled pieces of the station outward. A yellow alloy door spun past fifty meters away. A section of tubing with the wires attached followed not long after.

It dawned on him that they were dangerous from impact, but also from nanite contamination. They said you’d never see it coming, but he did. A triangular panel spun gently and headed directly for him. It didn’t seem to be moving fast, but he knew it didn’t have to be.

It winked from dark to light as it caught the sun’s rays. Slowly it flipped by like an origami triangle further out to space. It spun within a meter of his waist.

It caught Katerina with a single tip and spun her. The force ripped a gash in the suit. Atmosphere vented for a brief moment. She flailed forward and clasped it shut, but it was too late. She went still and straightened out as the centripetal force pulled her limbs outward.

William took a shallow breath. He hoped he had enough air to last him long enough for a rescue. The station shattered into fragments behind him.

CHAPTER THREE

Dark

William watched the strobes move away and wondered if his suit would be eaten by nanites. The fear never went away. It sat in the back of his head like a heavy lump.

The only sounds were his breath and heartbeat. The comm tone signaled and pulsed, but no one spoke. The larger ships were still visible. The smaller ones burned away into the distance. He felt even more alone.

The tone echoed in his skull again, followed by a click and a female voice. “This is the Shaggin’ wagon—you still kickin, LT?”

William cleared his throat and tried to talk. His throat was parched, dry, raspy. “Yes, ma’am.”

“Don’t go ma’aming me, LT, I’m just a contractor. Soon as shit in your shoes as pick you up.”

He turned his head and strained to look around. He couldn’t see anything, but whatever it was, it had to be close. “You got it, lady, just pick me up.” The air scale passed below the half mark.

“Got you on laser, hon, matching velocities now, just keep spinning.” The voice had the nasal twang that only a citizen of Mars had, or Northern Texas.

William nodded to himself. A reflection pulsed nearby. He spun slowly and saw it again. Someone was coming. “I see you.”

“The flyin’ shitbox,” the voice said.

“I don’t care what it’s filled with, as long as you pick me up.”

The voice laughed. “Hon, you got no idea. Gots to disinfect you first. You’re gonna spin a bit more.”

William understood that everyone and everything would have to be decontaminated. Even if a single nanite was on his suit, it could grow into billions and destroy a starship. Eventually the solar radiation would cook them, but not for a few more days.

The boxy cargo hauler came into focus. It looked like a combination between a mailbox and a pipe factory. A pair of handling arms dangled from the front. One arm empty while the other a yellow hose clamped tightly. The hose snaked back to a canister strapped to the top.

“Hon, we need to get you cleaned up all sweet and shiny. There’s some special sauce we’re gonna spray. After that I’ll scoop ya up and haul you out. Got enough O2 for abouts thirty minutes?”

“Yes, I should have a few more hours.”

“Well shit, I’ll go help someone else.”

“No wait!”

A voice laughed warmly. “No worries, hon, I’m comin’ in to get ya.”

William waited and watched as the boxy craft neared. The yellow hose spewed out a hazy cloud. He tumbled slowly. The face shield became gray. He smeared the disinfectant and regretted doing it, now he could tell how fast he spun.

The boxy craft worked closer and slowly extended an arm caked with a brown goo. She called it a shitbox—he had a feeling she wasn’t lying. To asteroid miners, a box of turds was priceless. Fertilizer was always in demand.

The aged arm gently bumped up against his leg and decelerated his spin to nothing. It pulled him slowly to the rear of the boxy craft. Tubing and piping were like dirty brown scales. He passed smudged yellow lettering that named the ship ‘Rose of Venus’.

“Okay, sweetie, I’ll pop the door open. Just get inside, okay?”

“You got it.”

The door slid open and a blue light flickered on. He pushed off the arm and tucked into the tiny airlock. The sensation of constantly falling disappeared from his mind when the sight of open space was gone.

“I’m in.”

The airlock door closed. After a brief wait he emerged into the hold. Bulbous tanks filled almost the entire space. The air indicator on his face shield showed atmosphere sufficient to breath in. He popped the hatch open and immediately regretted it. The ship was definitely filled with excrement.

“Oh god.” William gagged.

“You’re welcome!”

“I didn’t mean it like that! Aww hell, thank you!”

“Hon, sit tight, we’ve got more people to save. Gimme a hand when they come in.”

William stripped out of the suit and spent the following hours watching others retch as he popped open the face shields. The smell of vomit permeated more than the earthy smell of shit. The severity of what happened rolled over in his mind. It obviously wasn’t accidental. Was this the opening shot of the war? No, Redmond had been.

The bulk carrier filled quickly. The Martian drawl was soothing as he listened to each person being coaxed in.

William pushed through the tight space and knocked on the door of the bridge. They were moving away from the station and towards whichever ship could take them on.

“C’mon in hon,” the drawl replied through the comm.

The pilot was squat and short with a nose like a pear. Whatever beauty she had was gone the moment she started to fly a bulk carrier of human waste. But her eyes sparkled with life.

“Thank you.” William extended a hand. “I’m Lieutenant Grace.”

She loosened a strap on the chair and leaned forward. “Marcie Day! Finest shitbucket to grace the asteroid belt.” Her grip made his fingers throb. He wished she’d have shook his augmented left.

“How’s it look, Marcie?” William peered at the screens scattered on the bridge. The main command console showed ships all moving away with a few small ones moving back in.

“Like a day with no shit. Everything burned away, a destroyer split open, but other than that I don’t think we lost anything.” She paused. “Well, other than the station.”

“Where are we headed?”

“Heavy Assault Cruiser Erebus. Be there in about an hour or so, not much thrust in this little box.”

William could feel the slight push. Nothing like what it felt on a ship with a grav drive. “Rose of Venus, is she yours?”

“Bought and paid for! I haul—or hauled—‘Liquid Waste, Level Four’ for the UC Navy, then ship it to the asteroid miners.” She rubbed her hand on a polished steel plate in the center of the console.

“You’ll never see a bulk carrier the same again. Beauties like this are going away. She’s totally human built, Mars and Luna, nothing like those xeno hot rods.” She looked around and nodded to herself. A wistful look crossed her eyes. “Saved a lot of lives today.”

William nodded. “I owe you a drink.”

“Billy, you’re too pretty for a girl like me. So pour me a drink so you look a touch on the ugly side.”

The Rose of Venus came within a hundred meters of the Erebus and waited for the boarding shuttle to close. The shuttle sprayed the Rose with the same disinfectant as everyone else had been sprayed with.

William waited, as patiently as he could, and studied the Erebus. It was a beauty and built to brawl. It had lines like a dancer with a front end like a boxer. In his dreams the ship he would command one day would be just like that. In a few short minutes he found himself on the Erebus.

*

He slept well on the floor of the mess hall. All around him the human debris from the station was crumbled and ruffled. There was some order to it, but the chaos lingered. Shock was ebbing away only to be replaced by anger or despair.

A soft bed or hammock didn’t feel comfortable anymore, not after sleeping in the ice and dirt on Redmond. He awoke at the shift change and found a bad cup of coffee. A Commander came into the bridge and surveyed the survivors. Civilians were headed back to the Inner Planets while the military crew was being disbursed.

William was handed a tablet and tasked with organizing Naval personnel into groups for transit to billets. He saw his own name heading to The Malta. After organizing the other groups he sat himself at a small table with an ivory-skinned maintenance petty officer and a ruddy-cheeked Marine.

The shock of the events finally settled in. Word of the attack was already hitting Earth, and even traveling to the other colonies, too. If not safe there, then where? William watched the news feeds and saw the reactions. Fear.

A man with the BBC spoke and framed the fear. “The grey-goo was a figment of the horror vids, but real nano weapons are more subtle. A basic nano weapon would disassemble a single bond. The matrix in a spacesuit, the welds of armor, or mucous membranes. They can not, however, disassemble a human into basic elements.”

William knew nano antidotes were widely available. It was a simple matter to shut down a nano scale organism. Deploying it in sufficient quantities became the difficult part. Nanite weapons had little value on planets, there was simply too much variance to allow for a large scale growth. He’d studied tests during the first terraforming operations. Once the biomass reached a certain point the nanites just stopped. But a starship or space station was the perfect environment, lots of the same critical thing all around.

Within hours of the attack the first ships began to flee Earth. That blue egg suddenly seemed more fragile, more vulnerable, more precious. Those that fled aimed for uncharted space, known to none but themselves. William, deep in his soul, envied them.

*

William passed through the slender airlock and took a deep breath of the Malta. She smelled like most other warships: clean, almost antiseptic with a tint of machine shop. A Marine with arms large enough to grapple an ox stood at attention before him.

“Mr. Grace, with me please, sir.” The Marine turned and stomped down the hall.

The ship moved by slowly as the Marine took the scenic route William was familiar with the ritual: give the XO a look, a chance to observe, see, learn, and then meet the Captain. He spent the hours waiting over a borrowed tablet learning about the Malta. Unfortunately the data networks hadn’t been restored so available information was lacking.

The frigate was of the previous generation: Serengeti Class. A multi purpose starship built on Luna and outfitted near Mars. The xeno influence was slight, only the Haydn and Grav drive. Everything else was man-made.

The bridge opened up before him, a half moon shape with consoles spaced around the room. Near one end was a simple chair. The chair. The room was warm, even with the ventilation pumping through it. It lacked the grace of the corvette he had fought so hard for.

“Ma’am, Lieutenant Grace.” The Marine saluted, turned crisply, and walked out.

William felt naked. The entire bridge turned and looked, except for the Captain. He stood at a relaxed attention, conscious to not look too subservient, and took her in. Her hair was shorn close to her skull, only dark stubble with a hint of gray showed through. Her body was trim, but beginning to edge away from beautiful and merging into ordinary.

She beckoned to William. “Come, follow me.”

He followed after and glanced across the bridge as he walked behind. The faces were cool, relaxed, professional. Everything he would want in a bridge crew.

They exited the bridge and continued down a short hallway. They entered an office with only a table and benches. It appeared more like a booth from a restaurant. Past the chair there was another door labeled: CAPTAIN’S QUARTERS.

“You have orders?” she asked as she sat.

“No, ma’am, I lost everything on the station,” William replied. Not that he had much. When the Lawrence crashed, most of his possessions went poof.

“Very well, I’ll see what we can manage.” Her voice sounded tired.

“Ma’am, I apologize, but I don’t know your name.” He dreaded the moment where he’d have to ask. The last Captain listed on the logs was Harlond James—this was definitely not Harlond James.

She raised her eyes. “Excuse me?”

“I hadn’t received my orders yet, ma’am.”

She sniffed and smiled weakly. “I am Captain Lakshmi Khan. You are Lieutenant William Grace, yes?”

William nodded. Her name placed with the tone of skin. Although the accent was not Indian it was definitely European. “Yes, ma’am.”

“Your hand, please.” She leaned closer.

“Ma’am?”

“Your hand, the augmented one, let me see it.”

William held out his left hand and stared down at the perfect seam.

She grasped it like a slab of meat and turned it. She pulled on the fingers, bent them back and forth and inspected them closely.

“What sort of control do you have?” She poked the palm firmly.

“Functionally identical, it tingles on occasion.” William wondered what the hell she was getting at.

“If we’re engaged I’ll need you to power it down.”

“I’m afraid I can’t do that, ma’am. This is an issued augmetic, not a civilian piece.” This wasn’t how he had hoped to start off his first post as an XO.

“You can’t, or you won’t?”

A touch of perspiration formed on his brow. “Ma’am, it’s simply an augmented hand, nothing hostile about it.”

“I’ll decide that, Lieutenant.” She stared down at the tablet and tapped it several more times.

The room was still. The sounds of the finger taps on the tablet the only sound. She shifted and leaned back before beckoning to the booth. William sat and wasn’t sure whether to feel comfortable or tense.

“Mr. Grace, you have an impressive record. Though I’m a bit disappointed with your Naval experience. In my eyes, you’re not fit for an XO position.” She looked up at William with hard eyes.

William wasn’t sure how to answer. On one hand she was correct: his previous endeavor was a ground command, rallying the survivors of the Lawrence and escaping from the planet Redmond. Before that he had been a Midshipman, and not an exceptional one.

“Ma’am, had the Lawrence not fallen, I’d have had plenty of time for an XO post.”

“Yes, and you’d still be on her as well, working up to that point. As it is, one of my Middies would be a better fit.” She slid her hand across the tablet, closing it off.

He couldn’t believe what he was hearing. His first posting as an XO and she told him he wasn’t ready. Was he? The seed of doubt began to sprout and he felt very uncomfortable.

“However, the Gruffalo seems quite confident in your leadership abilities,” she said as she glanced down at the tablet. “I’ll be supervising you, submit everything to me before putting it out to the crew.” She looked back up and held his gaze for a second.

“Yes, ma’am,” he replied. He noticed that she kept glancing at his augmetic hand.

The room grew tense. She snapped her eyes up from his hand and glanced back down to the tablet. “We’re bringing an armor platoon to Canaan. You’ll be my liaison. They’ll be doing a stowage drill in a few hours. Once you’re settled, go and keep an eye.”

William nodded. “Yes, ma’am, further details?”

“We were supposed to be with a larger convoy, but the Dropship is running late, we’ll rendezvous in system. For ship details, you have a tablet in your room. Dismissed.”

He stood, saluted, and walked out. He turned to close the door and saw a look of disappointment on her face. He walked a few steps and sighed. He hadn’t expected the augmetic conversation. All his arguments were primed for colony questions.

This was going to be a long deployment.

*

The final crate locked with a satisfying thunk. Lieutenant Takumi Yamaguchi pushed away from the largest of the boxes and floated to a piping array.

On the edges of the hold, uncomfortable looking soldiers wore sweat stained coveralls. A cluster of blank-faced Marines hovered near a large panel.

“Clear!” Yamaguchi yelled. He turned himself and forced his feet against the floor. Shit, was it the floor? He snapped his head around and caught the green arrow. He was pointed the right way. That moment of embarrassment only happened once.

“Gravity in ten!” a stocky Marine called out.

The soldiers awkwardly shifted and anchored themselves. None looked comfortable and a few looked like they were going to be sick.

The Marines supervised the stowing of the boxes and crates. They were unforgiving taskmasters who caught even the slightest error. The rivalry between soldier and Marine had flared once again. A single Naval officer casually floated up to the Marines.

“Three…two…one.”

An alarm shattered the silence of the hold. Gravity began to grow.

Yamaguchi stared at the ceiling and watched to see if any of the crates broke loose. They were tricky things in zero gravity, never seeming to move or shift like he thought they should.

The gravity grew. His calves tightened. The inside of his gut wiggled and settled. He cast an eye around, the other soldiers did not look comfortable. He heard the dreaded sound, a tiny metallic tink.

One end of a long, slender crate drifted down slowly and crashed into the crate anchored beneath it. The alarm sounded once again and the Marine dropped out the gravity once more. The sounds of jeering and whistling echoed down the hallways.

“Move!” Yamaguchi shouted. His face burned red. Every damn time, he thought, and everyone knew it.

The gravity ebbed in a sudden shift. They wedged, pushed, shackled and ratcheted the heavy crate back into position.

A thin faced Naval Lieutenant spun through cargo hold and gently edged himself next to Yamaguchi. He looked bored.

“Lieutenant, having some difficulties?” the man asked. He wrinkled his nose as the soldiers propped it into place.

Yamaguchi looked at the Lieutenant and nodded. He tried not to show his displeasure, or anger at being interrupted. This was his task, his duty, his job to see it done right. “A few, and you are?”

The Lieutenant edged his head forward and tapped the side of the crate. A hollow thud echoed out. “Grace.”

Yamaguchi pushed himself in front of Grace and slapped a bald headed Sergeant on the shoulder. “Suck it down tight, Wilsey.”

Sergeant Wilsey strained against the lever of the ratchet. Veins popped out on his forearms and neck. The base of the crate as tight as could be.

“There,” Yamaguchi said, as he slammed the latching mechanism closed. He pulled away from the crate and raised his arm to signal the Marines.

“Lieutenant, may I offer some advice?” Lieutenant Grace asked. One eye closed and the other sighted down the length of the crate.

Yamaguchi glared at the thin framed Lieutenant. He scrunched up his mouth and prepared to tell the Naval Officer exactly where he could stick his advice. A bit of serenity came and he exhaled. This would be a long trip, and he’d have to dine with this man. At least he’s not in my chain of command, he thought.

“Please,” Yamaguchi said, with a fake smile.

Lieutenant Grace beckoned to the far side of the long crate. “You’ve got the other end too tight, and when you try to latch this side the center curves, as it is under tension.” He slid forward with his hands and pointed out a narrow gap in the center of the crate. “Once the gravity comes on it gets even worse and the overload pops.”

Yamaguchi squirreled himself along the crate and stared at the gap. His face turned red. “Sergeant Wilsey, relax the tension on the other end and balance out the loads.”

The Sergeant slid to the other end and relaxed the tension before removing the ratchet system. William followed Yamaguchi away from the cargo and into the safe zone.

“Lieutenant?” Yamaguchi asked, beckoning towards the Marines.

Lieutenant Grace smiled. “All you, Lieutenant.”

Yamaguchi signaled to the Marines. The alarms sounded once more and the gravity settled in slowly. The crate creaked as the gravity increased. He strained to listen—nothing, silence.

The alarm sounded again and the gravity increased beyond 1g to the max combat load. The crates groaned and creaked under the increased tension.

Yamaguchi steadied himself and waited for it to end. It worked. Nothing crashed downward. The tension dropped just as quickly as the gravity till it settled back just under 1g.

“Thanks for the advice. Name is Takumi Yamaguchi.” He turned to face William and extended a hand.

“Someone has to mediate between you and the Marines, eh?” Lieutenant Grace said. He pointed down the hall. “If you’ll excuse me, I’ve got some inspections to run.”

Yamaguchi walked beneath the secured crates towards the Marines. They stood with arms crossed and a smug look.

“Hello, Lieutenant. Navy offered some advice?” a Marine Sergeant asked in a tone that was just offensive enough to be felt, but not so much as to be reprimanded.

“Sergeant, I’ll take any advice from anyone as long as it gets the job done. You included.”

The Sergeant looked down on the shorter Lieutenant. “Well, he is your Commanding Officer, sir.”

Yamaguchi shook his head slightly. “I think not, Sergeant. He’s a Naval Officer.”

The Marine shrugged. “Check the org chart, sir, the XO has a ground rating.”

Yamaguchi scrunched up his face and felt that anger rising once more. This was his damn command. The XO, his superior?

“Isn’t that right, PFC Avinash?” the Sergeant asked an olive-skinned Marine.

Yamaguchi turned and looked at the PFC.

The face that smiled back lacked the tip of a nose or ears. A grayish tint signaled a serious bout of frostbite.

Yamaguchi was taken back by the disfiguration, it was rare to see anyone with such horrible scars.

Avinash smiled back widely. “Oh, you have no idea, Lieutenant.”

The Marine with half a nose stood proudly and began to tell a story the way only a survivor can.

CHAPTER FOUR

Vice

The cell was like a monk’s chamber from the 10th century. The edges were mostly straight with the slightest curve to one wall. A curved slot protruded from another. The opposite wall held a hatch that was bolted shut.

Curled up on the floor was a man sculpted with bruises. His feet were pressed against one wall while his back was arched against another. His stomach was pressed in from high gravity acceleration.

Major Archie Theodore was not happy. He had woken inside of the cell stripped down to his service uniform. His head ached, the force of the punch was staggering. At first the room was cold as hell, but it had warmed up slowly. A gentle whir of air streamed in from the curved slot.

The first thing he had done was explore. The curved slot would slide out into a basin sink that was also a toilet. He wasn’t excited to shit where he’d get his drinking water from. A small bulb provided a few squirts of tepid water and took painfully long to fill back up.

He stared at the opposite white wall and wondered if it was really white, or just an off cream color. The boredom was tight in his chest. The hatch was sealed, but not like a door, more like a mechanical joint. Every six hours the basin would slide out a rectangular bar on a plastic plate. It was his only diversion now.

The basin silently sprung forward. He gripped the flimsy plate and plopped it on the floor. The featureless bar was like an extruded wheat tablet. He reached a sore hand out and slowly ate it. The hunger didn’t drive him as much as the boredom did.

The most entertaining part was watching the plate shrink and disappear. Nanites, he assumed, would strip down the plate and the air system would draw them back in. He watched with his head resting on his hands. The plate drew up on itself like a dead spider before turning brittle and crumbling into dust.

The ship’s acceleration was enough to make him uncomfortable but not so much that he would suffer from it. A gravity and a half, he guessed. Exercising had been one of the first ways he passed the time. His core muscles were tight and tender. Planks, pushups and crunches were strange enough in the cramped space to give him the first good workout he’d had in quite some time. It was the only thing that pleased him so far.

For now he ran the events through his mind. Nothing much more could be done. The station functioned as it would have. Send the data out and die. Be the canary in the coal mine. He always disliked that line, the canary had to die in order for the coalminers to know. Canary. He didn’t like to think of himself as a damned bird.

The thought that at least they knew there was an attack made him feel a bit better. Details as to the Sa’Ami fleet would be helpful, but he knew that they’d assume the worst.

The ship was eerily silent. Every ship had a routine, a sense, a feeling, but not this one. Even the best starships made shifted just enough to be noticed. Whatever he was on must have been big in order to dampen out any vibrations.

He was thinking of the wrestling match when the hatch swung open. He didn’t even notice until the cooler air rushed against the small of his back. The one satisfying thing he had to think about was wrestling a suit of Sa’Ami power armor. He hoped they’d have come for him in a more foul mood.

“Out.” The voice was accented in a close approximation of French and North African.

Archie rolled over slowly. The hatch revealed a barren hall. He took in all of the relevant details and decided that there wasn’t much to see. His jailer, though, was more interesting.

The thing that stood outside was quartered away from him with the armored head looking inside. The edges were smooth, graceful, simple. It reminded him of a bird of prey. The waist was wasp thin while the legs expanded out into hydraulic-like legs.

“A fucking robot,” Archie mumbled. He took his time and grasped the wall firmly.

The armored humanoid in the hallway said nothing. It offered enough room for Archie to exit and go one way. He stopped. His eyes scanned up and down. A slip, a push, a grapple. The bastard would be tied up in a knot, he’d already tested something of a similar size.

It shifted stance and drifted backwards. The metallic creature of grace and subtle violence was poised to pounce.

“You could just ask nicely.” Archie stepped out into the hallway. He arched his back and stretched. The hallway was devoid of anything. It was about ten meters long, ending in a curve. He turned his head to look behind him and was rewarded with a nudge.

“Move,” the voice stated.

Archie walked slowly down the hallway. As slowly as he thought he could get away with. He turned his head and scanned but found little of interest. He neither saw, nor heard, anyone.

His knowledge of the Sa’Ami was greater than most, but still lacking. Colonies of North Africans with Southern French tossed in for good measure. They had stolen a copy of the entire database of the industrial giant Siemens and left Earth with a patent library unlike any other. Medical. Military. Naval. Augmetic. What they lacked in volume they made up for with technology.

As with the Hun there were growing pains and territorial disputes. Cease fires led to an agreement. No one entered Sa’Ami space. They were satisfied to trade at neutral outposts. Neutral outposts like the one where Archie was stationed. As colonies grew, expanded, and the Haydn drive was refined, the distance between the factions shrunk.

They rounded the sweeping corner into a narrow room. A small stool sat near a low circular table. A metal cup sat on the edge of the table. On the far wall a console blinked nothingness. The strider walked past and stood on the opposite side of the table. It beckoned to the chair.

Archie sat on the cold alloy and rested his arms on the table in front of him. The metal chilled his skin, as if the entire room was open to vacuum before he came in. The thought made his heart flutter, what if it was?

“Name.” The slender body shifted.

“I’m not going to have a conversation with a robot.” Archie looked over at the cup. He locked his eyes onto the strider and nudged the cup over. Water splattered onto the floor. “Clean it up, robot.”

The sound of the water dripping finally stopped. The humanoid didn’t move.

“Name. Please.” The tone hadn’t changed, but the inflection was a touch different.

“Ahh, well done, a polite robot. The Sa’Ami do make wonders.” Archie sat with his back straight and gripped the edge of the table tightly. He pulsed his muscles, it didn’t move, but it wasn’t bolted down. “Call me Klaus. Santa Klaus.”

The humanoid titled its armored head slightly and nodded. The humanoid gesture made Archie uncomfortable.

“Position at Transfer Station?”

“To find out who’s been naughty or nice.” Archie smiled and leaned forward slightly. It wasn’t entirely untrue.

The strider remained locked into the same position. Archie sat back and took the opportunity to stretch. The increased gravity hadn’t taken him long to get used to. He just had to move a bit on the slow side.

Drips stopped. The silence loomed as the only sound in his ears was the beating of his heart. It had never seemed so loud.

The thing could strangle him. He half expected that it would. It simply waited as if on a perch.

The tone of the voice changed. “Rank.”

Archie sensed a shift—someone was paying attention. “Major.”

Footsteps grew closer in the distance. An older man with salt and pepper hair limped slowly in with a slender cane. He had a gentle face with the hard edges of age. He nodded slightly to Archie and stood next to the humanoid robot. The man passed off the cane in a fluid motion without even looking at the strider. He sat and straightened his shirt.

The man was fitted with a khaki uniform. A single rank insignia rode on the lapel. A red diamond.

“Bonjour, Major Theodore. Do you speak French?”

“Not to someone whose name I don’t know,” Archie replied as he sat back.

“Je suis, Commandant Nefoussi.”

“Sorry, still can’t speak French.”

Nefoussi smiled crisply and looked to the hall. A pair of striders stalked in. Archie recognized the group from his struggle in the reactor room. One of the striders carried a chair in front of it while the other a glass of water.

The chair was set down and Nefoussi sat. The striders acted as if they were linked directly to him. His hand grasped the cup at the exact moment as the strider released it.

Archie shivered slightly. If it was a show of force and technology, it worked. The UN had to manually hook up a jockey to run a strider, a single strider, or a pair if the pilot was exceptional. This man had at least three under his control while still maintaining a conversation.

“Well, English then I suppose.” Nefoussi took a drink. “Major, I apologize for the, uh, well, conditions, we had to retrofit a cell. We expected no guests.”

“So you intended to massacre an entire station?”

Nefoussi smiled a thin smile. “You are a soldier—missions have necessities. It was a military target.”

Archie felt his heart beat faster and the muscles tense in his shoulders. “And the freighters?”

The Commandant shrugged that slight, Gallic shrug. “Collateral.”

“What do you want, Commandant?”

Nefoussi’s eyes sparkled as he leaned forward against the gravity of the ship. He rubbed his upper lip with a calloused hand and nodded. “To get to know you, Major. And not just as Mr. Klaus.”

Archie stared back. He’d not give the man the satisfaction. “I’m not sure I’d like that.”

“I didn’t ask you what you’d like, the nanites are already in your brain.”

The room felt warm, almost muggy. Archie stood quickly slamming the chair backwards. A rigid hand slapped his shoulder. The rage and anger swelled out but control drifted away. He stood as if locked to the floor and tried to scream.

Nefoussi wrinkled his brow. The nanites delved deeper.

*

William’s cabin was just wide enough to touch his fingertips against each wall. The lights blinked once, twice, and came on fully. The cushion on the single built in chair betrayed the true age of the ship. Old enough for the decor to be out of fashion.

He laid down on the narrow sliver of a bed and stretched out. The opposite wall was nothing but storage space. His storage space. The thought made him happy, until he realized that he had nothing to put inside.

Men and women bustled past the slender door snapping heads in and taking a quick glance. The room was in between the bridge and the main commons area, the perfect place to observe traffic. He simply watched them pass with a serious face.

He raised the tablet over his head and took in the operations details. The micromanaging angered him, but the Captain had a point. This was his first time as an XO. The ship had a small crew, and not much besides the basics. No science crew, no diplomats, no guests. He was pleased to keep the bullshit down.

The Army Lieutenant was on his mind. The man didn’t look happy with the situation. He’d have to break the chain of command to him softly. The order of Naval and ground command was still unusual. The breakdown of who ran a command when Naval vessels were involved still confused him. If it was docked, or in action, William was above in the chain. If they were on the ground and the ship was not in action Yamaguchi was. But not always.

William didn’t want to step in and tell the man what to do. He had no right regardless of his time after the crash of the Lawrence.

Time passed quickly. William tabbed through the operations manual. Much of it was familiar and the sections that weren’t made sense enough. He began typing out his plan for the Captain’s approval.

The chime jolted him out of his thoughts. He snapped his eyes up from the tablet and saw a Marine standing at ease in front of his door. “Yes?”

“The Captain requires you on the bridge, sir.”

*

The Captain was peering at the main nav console when William walked on the bridge. She turned her head and regarded him for a moment before returning to the view. He stood at a respectful distance with the tablet tucked under his arm.

“Mr. Grace, you made an impression in the cargo hold,” Captain Khan said. She patted the Navigator on the shoulder and walked over to William. “We’re having a briefing in ten minutes, all hands, I need you to take the bridge.”

“Yes, ma’am.” William nodded. He could handle the bridge, according to the schedule they had a blink coming up soon. “May I inquire to the briefing?”

Captain Khan began to walk out. “It’ll be on the screen.”

William nodded to himself and turned to the rest of the bridge. Heads snapped back to the consoles. Maybe she was being brief, not wanting to repeat herself, but he was feeling left out.

He sat down in an unused chair at the weapons console and looked down at the Captain’s chair. He had no urge to sit there yet, not ‘til he knew more about Captain Khan. The console popped on and he tabbed it across to show a feed of the commons area.

The alarm chimed. “All hands not on essential duty please report to the commons.”

The room seemed even smaller on the console screen. It looked to be far past overflowing by the time the Captain began. The wide angle view made the room appear circular like they were in a miniature stadium.

“Two days ago the docking stations across the Lagrange points suffered a grievous assault. Nanite weapons were activated inside seven of our major Naval installations. Four of the major Naval stations around the solar system were hit simultaneously. Two stations survived because the nanites failed to reach critical mass. We have not, as of yet, determined the origin.”

Chins raised and arms crossed. There was a shift of posture among the crew as the news settled in.

“Besides the stations, the losses were minimal. The frigates Agamemnon, Trident, Sao Paulo and Omaha were destroyed, along with the Cruiser Brie. The heavy drop ship Chicago was heavily damaged, but the nanites were contained.”

William leaned in closer to the console. He looked at the screen for reactions and saw nothing but stone. The thought that this was a coordinated attack solidified his thoughts on war. This wasn’t just posturing, it was a surprise attack.

“The mission will continue. Life will go on, people. As you can imagine there is a lot happening, most of which I don’t even know.” Captain Khan set the tablet down. She placed her foot on a bench and leaned forward onto her knee. “This will not go unpunished.”

Heads nodded and the commons room relaxed. The tension had been released. Even watching from the bridge William could tell that a shift had occurred. He had sensed the tension, the worry, the unknown.

“Ain’t that da shit,” the petty officer at the nav station murmured.

William looked up. The meager bridge crew were all watching the same thing. He tabbed over and scanned the local readout.

The display was like a spoked wheel. Ships trajectories were spindly strands of light coming or going. The delicate tracks led to either planets, or one of the remaining Lagrange stations. Wide orbital tracks traced the residences of the asteroid mines. The solar system teemed with life.

The view shifted again as he ran further and found those unmarked spaces. In seafaring day they would have drawn monsters and serpents. He floated the cursor and saw stars with numerical names, stars that hadn’t been explored yet. He felt a tug, a wish to be out exploring.

Before he realized he browsed to Redmond. The data was sparse. Celestials, and a brief paragraph on recent contact. One of the three grav points around Redmond was highlighted in red as a “potential hazard.”

He snapped out of the daydreaming and began to work on the tablet. Captain Khan would be expecting some details and he’d have to get on it.

The day-to-day workings of the Malta was mostly preordained. The United Colonies Navy laid forth the basics. Watches, rotations, and methods were standardized. The Captain had the power to override these, but it was rare. Watches were rotated every six hours. The ship contained three watches of fourteen per watch.

William focused his energy on approving menus, exercise schedules, and billets. The Malta was functioning before he arrived so he decided to stick with the current setup. One spot of interest was the entertainment ration. The Captain had forbidden nanite narcotics but allowed alcohol.

“Where’d you come from last, XO?” the petty officer asked William. It took him a moment to acknowledge, he wasn’t used to being called XO.

“Hmm? Last duty station was the Lawrence, though I’ve been on Earth a bit.” William decided not to get into the story, he had the watch rotation on his mind. There were a few changes he’d like the Captain to approve.

“Not familiar with that one. I started out on the Horn and from there came to the Malta.” The petty officer looked quite proud of himself. He tapped at his console and turned back to William. “I was there at Tunis.”

William looked up and smiled. “Career then?”

“Oh hell no sir. I’m gaining points for my veteran’s preference. Then I’ll run a nice barge and make my money hauling.”

William nodded. Most men who wanted to serve came for the preference. It allowed for colony points, or preference in contracts and bidding. Each year earned more points. Enough points could get you a prime plot on a new colony, or early bids on Naval salvage.

“XO, we’ll be ready to make the blink in fifteen minutes.”

William nodded and tabbed over to the comms system. “Ma’am, we’ll be transiting in fifteen.”

“Very well Mr. Grace, announce final data drop, beam it out. I’ll be up.”

William relayed the message to all hands and watched as the incoming data packet swelled. Before the blink out of the solar system every starship made, and received, a final data dump. The golden age of letter writing had returned.

Captain Khan walked onto the bridge quietly and nodded to William. “Call the ship to stations, please, Mr. Grace.”

In a short minute every weapon was primed, grav fields were placed online and damage control crews spread out. The sound of bulkheads locking thudded through the ship. Marines appeared as if from nowhere in full body armor and stood watch in the corners. William was impressed how quickly it happened.

The blink was just that, a subtle shift and the starfield was different. The passive scans slowly ticked in as minutes passed by. They were now well past the comet and ice belt known as the Oort Cloud. The ship stood down and they began crossing the first of many interstellar grav peaks.

“Mr. Grace, do you have recommendations?” Captain Khan asked.

“Yes, ma’am.” William stood and walked over with the slate.

“Send them to my console, I’ll review them when I have time,” she said dismissively. Her hands danced on the console.

William nodded slowly. “Very well, ma’am.”

“Your watch is on in four hours, Mr. Grace,” she said without looking back.

He waited a moment and passed off the bridge, stewing silently.

CHAPTER FIVE

Profile

The Malta settled into a routine of subtle boredom, also known as professionalism. The starship rotated through watches as the inky blackness passed by. Each blink brought them across another gravity wave trough. With it came an even longer transit across the peak.

When the ship exited a blink they would scan passively, followed by an active scan across a wide range of spectrums. The watch would stand ready with systems ready to deploy to defend, or attack. Normally nothing happened.

The ship was quiet, subdued, relaxed. Every ship took on its own feel. Some were mellow, almost like a civilian freighter, while others took on a sense of urgency and tension.

Combat only came in two ways. One was immediately after a blink, the second after watching it approach for days, sometimes weeks. The jump engagement was quite rare. Every ship would make a slight course correction followed by a return to course. Following a blink the ship would exit in a slightly different point. The Haydn drive ignored the starting point as long as the travel was perpendicular to the gravity wave.

The most common style of engagement was two starships eyeing each other like boxers in opposite corners. Depending on velocity it was possible to turn and run, or shift and pass by. Engagements were a fairly rare occurrence, even the largest ship could be thoroughly destroyed by a small frigate if the velocities and weapons landed just right. Though normally the largest ship with the best shields and largest weapons prevailed.

In the latter case it wasn’t uncommon for two ships to stare each other down for a week. In a few cases, communications between the two occurred, with almost cheerful banter between the sides. As if each ship wanted to remind the other that vacuum was the most lonely of things.

William settled in slowly. The tone of the Captain traveled through the ship like an oily slick. He found himself on the defensive in nearly every situation as the crew challenged his authority in subtle ways. For if he didn’t have the approval of the Captain, why should they obey?

The main console that hung above the bridge showed simple icons for the status of the ship. Functioning systems were a bright green, systems that were on standby a dim yellow, with offline systems red.

Each of the watch stations would contain more in depth information about each subsystem, although the officer of the watch would focus on simply the main screen and request information if more was needed.

The remainder of his time was spent learning the routines and rituals required by Captain Khan. For one hour per watch she required all shipboard entertainment to be turned off. A single hour of “quiet” time was observed.

William, at first, bristled against the practice but found it to be quite relaxing in the long run. The day’s tension added to the availability of entertainment was a definite stress multiplier. The stories that came out in that time were quite amazing. The tough part was sorting out the fiction from the truth. Sometimes a story didn’t have to be fact for it to be true.

The commons room was a combination of a small town diner and a sports bar. One section was definitely for eating, while the other was more social, relaxed, with couches and plush chairs. On the far wall a single large screen flickered with images. A pack of Marines were jeering at the screen with slender controllers in their hands.

William sat at a small aluminum table and spooned down his dinner. The rice like bits of pasta were particularly satisfying with fresh shiitake mushrooms grown in engineering. He couldn’t help but eavesdrop on a booth of petty officers sitting across from him.

“So I’m sitting in Sydney watchin’ the Redmond clock and they shows the new star. Bugger is a damn long ways off. Ya know,” Thomas Greer cocks his head and shrugs. “I get the message and off I go, two year rotation.”

“What colony?”

“Well, we only knew it by the number, GJ and a bunch.”

“I didn’t know of any recent ones that went to GJ anything.”

“This is my story, yes? You weren’t even in training yet.” He paused. “So, we pack up and blink through seven star systems.”

“Wait, last time it was five?”

“My story! My story! Just sit and listen, eh?”

William glanced around and saw others watching. It was more than just looks of passing curiosity.

“We go, and we go, and we go. We’ve got a freighter of the old style fuel pellets following that cut loose two thirds of the way. They gonna sit and wait, wait for us.” He cleared his throat. “We blink into the star system and there it is, a beautiful blue and green marble. There’s an elevator, there’s a spectrum from the planet showing nice O2, there’s even a delicate little moon. Nice, eh?”

“What was the name of this colony again?”

Greer continued ignoring the question. “So we ping ‘em, nothing. We blink in closer and ping again. Nothing. Maybe the comms are out, or maybe it didn’t work. Then we blink closer and slowboat our way in.”

The room was now silent, even the Marines had stopped the game and were listening to Greer.

“The Marines gear up and we dock. Colony ship looks fine. They pop the doors and head on in. She’s empty, the usual, whoever was on the ground has everything. The seal is still on the elevator, no one went down.” Greer spread his hands apart slowly for effect.

“How did you know they just didn’t seal it back up?” Tinibu asked.

Paulo interceded. “Once the colonists go down they can’t go back up. The final load brings the elevator up and they’re stuck until the eighty years pass.”

“As I was saying, we break the seal and the Marines go down. Gun drones, this was before they had striders like they do now. They pop the doors on the ground and,” Greer clapped his hands together. “Nothing.”

“Nothing?” Tinibu asked.

“Not a person. Not a cow. Now a single animal. The colony modules are laid out. The buildings are built, the terraforming is rolling, and there isn’t a soul in sight.”

“Bodies? Must’ve been bones or something?” Punjav asked.

“Nope. Nothing. The Marines spread out, they’re all quarantined on the planet now. Ain’t no on going up ’til they know what happened.”

“What’d they do yo?” a Marine PFC named Kelton asked.

Greer leaned back in the booth and spread his arms out. “They searched. Whoever came down unloaded everything. They popped the shelters, opened the containers, and did, well, something. But poof—gone, man. Gone.”

“That’s it?” Tinibu asked excitedly.

“Yeah, that’s it. The Marines came up and got the most thorough medical exam ever and we left.” Greer shrugged. “We leave and they seal up that colony ship, robot welder crawled onto every seam and torched them all shut. We dropped a beacon and blinked our way back.”

“You’re full of shit, Greer,” Punjav said.

Greer shrugged and smiled. “Take it or leave it, eh? I’m telling you, though.” He sat at the table and picked at something stubborn in his teeth. He definitely looked smug as eyes were still on him.

William walked over to the edge of the galley and dropped off his platter. Paulo stood nearby waiting for his food. “Paulo, right?”

“Hmm? Yes, sir?”

“Is that story bullshit?”

Paulo looked back to Greer and smiled slightly. “The details always change, but he swears it’s the truth.”

“And what do you think?”

“I think he likes telling that story.” Paulo turned and picked up a large cup. “Now if you’ll excuse me, sir.”

The sounds slowly edged back to rowdy as the Marines continued the game. William watched. The Marines were devilishly overseeing the AI and giving the Army one hell of a battle.

“XO?” Greer asked with a slight smile.

William looked up. “What is it, Greer?”

Greer scanned his table with a mischievous eye. “Any opportunity for some shore time when we arrive on Canaan?”

William chuckled and shook his head. “I’m not sure how much excitement you’ll find.”

Greer wrinkled his nose. “What do you mean, sir?”

“The colony is mostly Western Anabaptists and Maronite Christians.”

Greer blinked with his mouth open. “Western Anabaptists? Maronites?”

“One is an offshoot of the Amish, the other a sect of Orthodox Christians,” William replied.

Greer looked back around his table with a look of pure sadness. “Do they drink?”

William shrugged. “I’m not quite sure. Can’t say I know much about either. But in regards to shore leave, I’ll speak with the Captain.”

Greer sighed.

“Don’t worry Greer, you can always make up a good story about not getting drunk on a planet you didn’t get to visit, right?” Punjav said.

Greer glared back and sunk into his seat.

*

The suit stunk of old sweat and the tang of polyester worn a few times too many. It was held rigid as if a giant weight was strapped to it. Yamaguchi pushed and tried to stretch his arms and legs, feeling nothing but leaden deadness. His display winked red and told him in no uncertain terms that he was dead.

With a final ominous tone the simulation ended. The joints relaxed and the suit became flexible once more. The results scrolled across the screen and it wasn’t pretty. His landing team had, once again, been trounced by a combination of the AI and the Marines in the commons area. Publicly trounced.

He was glad the comms weren’t open. His breath slowed and he pushed the anger back. This was new to everyone. “Let’s do it again, keep your range from the striders, ignore the infantry, and push towards the objective. Stay in pairs, dammit—that’s you Kowalski, just like without the suits. Got it?”

It felt almost right inside the suit, almost like the feedback really worked properly. But it didn’t. Everything was out of sync by just a moment, a fraction of a second, enough to hit walls or miss targets. He couldn’t shake the feeling that it wasn’t the simulation and was the suits themselves.

The command screen flickered by and he engaged the simulation. It counted down and he was on the ground, moving through high grass and pushing towards the objective. For now it was a red icon that burned on the edge of the map.

The sound of breathing and an occasional curse was all that was heard. The coordination in the squads was visible to each on the overhead display. A combination of implanted hardware and nanites linked and displayed everyone. Details were rendered and cover highlighted.

From the outside each of the armored suits were suspended from heavy cordage. The same mechanisms that propelled them on the ground offered resistance and feedback for a very real simulation. They swayed and danced like marionettes of a deadly purpose.

“Launch the first flight of drones,” Yamaguchi ordered. He keyed the order with his eyes. The back of the suit shuddered. A stream of drones popped out and disappeared. Each of the drones winked and a window opened. Now he had eyes, but more than he could watch.

“Swing in past that warehouse, LT, good cover on the other side,” Sergeant Bale said.

Yamaguchi scanned the display quickly and saw the cover. He shifted his slow loping gait and tucked in along a corrugated warehouse. The drones ebbed above and displayed the top, the sides, and around the corner. All was clear.

The squads moved up in a seesaw motion in front of him. Pairs of the suits struggled in bursts of speed before holding a moment. He ticked paths, spots, orders, all silently.

“Movement, G5,” Sergeant Craig called out in a low monotone.

A yellow icon winked on Yamaguchi’s display. He watched from Craig’s suit and saw the form of a Strider duck back inside of a building.

“Torch it.” He continued forward.

“On the flank!” Corporal Paco cried.

The first of the friendly icons faded from green to a dull red.

“First squad wheel over and reinforce that edge!” He took a deep breath and dispatched a drone. There was a gap coming in the center. He set the waypoint marker and passed through the industrial landscape to reach it.

They had a simulation of what the surface of Canaan looked like, as accurately as a full LIDAR scan was capable of. Rocks, hummocks, and even garbage dumpsters were all in the proper locations.

A shallow canal ran like a gash across the landscape. Gritty yellow weeds clung tenaciously to the edge with chunks of concrete stuck on the edge. The only cover was an old retaining wall sheathed in chain link and cobble.

“Where are they?” Craig asked.

Yamaguchi bit his lip and watched. The drones ranged over and around without sighting anything. The lone strider they had seen was, he assumed, smoked. The left flank dodged outwards and searched for whatever had taken Paco.

He rose up and peeked around the edge of the cobble wall and scanned past the canal. The squad on the left, barely 500 meters away, started moving back towards the objective. But now there was a gap, a nasty gap.

“Spread out the drones, we need to cover that gap.” He drew a line with his eyes on the map. Tiny diamonds fluttered across the tactical display and headed for the central zone.

He saw it just as it happened. The drones began to sweep when the hostiles lit up in the zone. Infantry squads emerged from cover and began to fire on their best defense against the slender striders.

“Craig, keep moving in, Sergeant Hoffman, start moving to my position.” Yamaguchi shifted and watched. The squads moved and adjusted. The drones were disappearing as fast as the enemy infantry.

He leaned around the edge and caught something moving. Something moving in the canal. He blinked and focused. The muddy water parted and eddied as if a fish was swimming beneath the surface. If they were using the canal they could slide in and catch the squad on the back side without drone support.

“They’re swimming in the canal! All drones to the canal, hover!” He licked his lips and watched the remaining icons shift and slide into a straight line. If they weren’t there he lost both his recon and his defenses. “Hoffman, hit the infantry.”

The blocky FN Herstal rifle unlocked from his left arm with a whine of charging capacitors. The camera display on the arm opened another window. He slid the barrel around the wall and scanned into the canal. Movement. Click. Fire.

The recoil pushed his arm back roughly as the charged slug exploded into the muddy water. The line of nanite propelled rounds impacted in geysers of brown and frothy white. He paused. Dimples and foam spread and lapped against the side of the canal. Was it a fish?

The Sa’Ami striders burst out of the water and clawed up the bank. In a flash they tumbled back down as the drones delivered a punishing wave of projectiles from above. They flailed back into the muddy water and lashed out with searing projectiles that felled the drone cover.

The FN resumed fire while the rear mounted launcher thudded projectiles into the water. He snapped a quick glance and saw the squads coming together. Like an iron claw they were closing on the trapped striders. Trapped between two walls of mud and a dirty river bottom.

A flash and a roar rocked his display. The dreaded heaviness returned. Something hit him, something hit him hard. The comms crackled and chaos reined. As before, he was left with an echo and roar in his ears.

He thrashed and pushed and screamed as loudly as he could. The cocoon of alloy and steel held him close. Not a single sound of rage was released. The sweat ran down his face past the fleece mops and into his eyes. This was it. Him, his platoon, his failure, his future. The CO was half a star system away and had entrusted him to hold. They were the tip of the lance.

To hell with the fresh armor suits. He preferred the old style. Heavy, but at least he could move right. These just felt wrong. Out of the labs, into the ships, and now towards a war. This, he thought, better be enough to counter the Sa’Ami striders. What the UC lacked in striders they hoped to counter with powered armor.

The focus returned as the display smoothed out and showed the final objective. Green icons hovered on the red diamond. His men. Holy shit, they did it. Maybe the tip of the spear wasn’t as dull as he thought.

“LT, we brought it home!” Sergeant Craig boasted.

Only a few suits survived. Ragged patches of dull red icons were scattered near the canal and in a line all the way to the objective. He didn’t feel so bad now.

“All right. We’re packing it up for now. Everyone stretch out and meet back here in an hour.” Yamaguchi popped the release. Cold air—cold relative to the inside of the suit, gushed in. His entire body was drenched in perspiration. He shivered as he slid himself out.

Men dropped gently from the hovering suits and blinked away the bright light. All were soaked with sweat. In moments, the smell rolled across the entire area.

Yamaguchi stood and stretched as he nodded with as triumphant a face as he could muster. His hand slid on the stiff armored foot, hoping they performed better on the ground. The small armor platoon grouped up and went to jeer back at the Marines in the commons.

*

William laid the tablet on the table and looked around the wardroom. The meeting was dragging and it had just begun.

The Bulgarian Marine, Lieutenant Zhenya Zinkov, was stuttering. Again. “T-t-t-t-” he stopped, took a breath and wrinkled his brow. “The squad will be ready to board, Mr. Grace.” The pace of the words was slow and methodical. If he tried to speed up his speech, as he wanted to, it snarled and choked in his throat.

William liked him. The Bulgarian put his jumbo sized head down and tackled any task he was given. Serious, quiet, like a sentinel of old. Though in a lively conversation he would drive people insane.

“Very good, the Captain should be in any moment.”

Zinkov nodded, as he preferred to do, and sat with his hands flat on the table.

William squirmed a bit on the narrow bench. He looked down and swiped at the tablet. Each page showed a different thing he had submitted and was awaiting approval. He snapped his eyes up. Zinkov was glancing down without lowering his head. William cleared his throat.

Zinkov smiled and leaned back against the bulkhead. “W-w-w-w-what are you working on, XO?”

“Personnel assignments, some maintenance tasks, and trying to find out who is getting into the entertainment ration.” William frowned at the data leak. Someone was getting into the daily entertainment feed early.

“Eh-eh-eh-early? Why?”

“There’s two hours of sports every day. The data system has the results stored away. Someone is betting, I think.”

Zinkov nodded. “Find the winner.”

William noticed the lack of a stutter. The man had a point. “The money?”

“N-n-n-no. The winner, it might not be money.”

William nodded slowly. Maybe the Bulgarian was on to something. “Thanks Zinkov.”

The Bulgarian smiled widely. His teeth showed in a grill of white and straight lines.

The door slid open silently and Captain Khan entered, Midshipman Lebeau following behind him.

William pictured Tik whenever he saw Lebeau. The woman had not a speck of hair on her skull, but her eyebrows were so blond as to be almost white. “Captain, Ms. Lebeau.”

“Let’s make it quick Mr. Grace. We blink into the Cerberus system within the next hour.” Captain Khan sat and smoothed the front of her uniform. Her eyes were hard and professional. She gave Zinkov a slight nod.

“Very well. For the fuel transfer we’ll run the second shift Engineering crew with Mr. Zinkov securing the launch area. Battle stations I assume, ma’am?” William asked as he glanced down at the tablet.

“Please Mr. Grace. I’d like all watches to step it up. I’m to be alerted anytime anything is out of the ordinary and before every blink or maneuver.” Khan said. She looked over to Lebeau. “Midshipman, you’ll have the off watches that myself or Mr. Grace aren’t covering. Understood?”

“Yes, ma’am,” Lebeau said in a husky voice.

William glanced over towards Lebeau. She stared down at the tablet silently. He glanced at Zinkov. The Marine sat at attention. “Mr. Zinkov, have you anything to add?”

“N-n-n-n-” Zinkov stopped and closed his eyes. His chest rose and fell silently. “No, sir.”

The meeting broke and the command group walked out in silence. William followed behind Lebeau and missed the days of being a Midshipman. He had hoped to get a chance to speak with Khan about his submissions but decided to wait until after the blink.

The Malta secured all stations, primed for combat, and made the next blink.

He stood on the bridge in silence. The Captain stood with her hands behind her back and watched as the screen came alive. Contacts blinked in as transponders were noted and matched. Heavy mining. Asteroids. Zero-G Refineries. And not so much as a planet worth inhabiting. The three planets near the center of the system matched Venus and Mars with nothing in that delicate sweet zone except a trail of rocky debris.

The slender trace of the blinks brought them to a few AUs of the star before they would branch out. The fueling station was on the outlet. Another day of burning through the system and they would top off for a few years in space.

“Mr. Grace, find the Chief and double check the weapons systems. The Persephone is on patrol in system, but I want to have a few claws of our own.” Captain Khan turned her gaze back to the ellipses and arcs that spread out on the map.

William walked out to find the Chief and take a tour.

CHAPTER SIX

Entry

The Malta slid through the void and plunged in ever shortening blinks. As the gravity well steepened, the distance shrunk until it was more effective to burn under conventional drive. The ship cut an arc across the gravity well just outside the orbit of the third planet. The dusty gray ball was like a weather beaten toy.

The destination was a small transfer station on the outbound vector. The station contained supplies that any respectable asteroid harvester or transiting starship could use. Ice. Fuel. Spare Parts. Datacores of entertainment. Drugs and alcohol. The station had a contract to supply Naval vessels but no garrison force.

“Mr. Grace, hail the station, see which berth is open.” Captain Khan shifted in her chair.

William leaned forward towards the console and keyed himself into the station comm channel. A dull static hissed back with an automated message. A high pitched voice stated services, inventory, and a satisfaction guarantee. It paused and continued in Japanese.

“Transfer station, this is the UC ship Malta.” He listened and heard the same reply. “Cerberus Dythco, this is the Malta, we’d like docking instructions.”

“Dythco is proud to offer fuel pellets for Brooks, Siemens, GE, Hyundai, and Zyminski drives. We also have a full inventory of foodstuffs! Ask us about our fresh grown mushrooms! Yum!”

“Ma’am, nothing but an automated response.” William turned the volume down and set his query to repeat every thirty seconds.

“Mr. Zinkov,” Captain Khan called out. She didn’t wait for him to reply. “Your Marines are a go. We’ll be waiting for you to clear.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Sergeant Goldstein, the UC Marine Platoon Sergeant, replied.

The Malta powered in slowly nudging itself ever closer to the form of the Dythco transfer station. Lights winked in a bright line on the upper edge of the station. A docking ring glowed blue as the Malta edged into range.

“Anything, Mr. Grace?”

“No, ma’am, nothing.”

“Engineering, prep to burn.” Captain Khan leaned forward in her chair.

The helmet cameras of the Marines expanded on the main view. All that could be seen was the back of helmets and the airlock door.

“Zinkov, in thirty seconds the rings will lock. You’re going in.”

William slid his hands on the console. The docking routine counted down until a green light blinked. “We’re docked, ma’am.”

“Mr. Zinkov, you’re a go.”

The Marines locked onto the hatch and popped it with a gentle hiss. The airlock was large, cargo sized, and well lit. They tossed a box into the center and retreated backwards. The airlock hissed and closed, leaving the box inside.

“I want those feeds, Mr. Grace,” Captain Khan said.

“On the left.” William pointed to an unused screen.

The drone feed flickered into view. The small constructs darted to the edge of the airlock door and waited for the pressure to equalize. The screen bounced slightly from the left to right.

“Can you fix the feed?”

“No, ma’am, the drone is getting ready to move inside.”

The airlock irised open. A wide open cargo area expanded beyond. Deep bays disappeared into darkness. Large cases, crates, and containers were arrayed throughout the hold.

In a sudden flurry of activity the drones swarmed inwards and broke into multiple vectors. The heads panned, caught the other drones, and coordinated the movement inside. A few seconds later the drones were all on their own.

“What I’d do for a strider,” Petty Officer Gereau mumbled.

Captain Khan slid an eye towards Gereau and didn’t say a word.

The drones picked through the menagerie of goods before assuming positions throughout the hold. They clung like metallic spiders and watched.

The Marines surged into the hold with weapons raised. The motion was smooth and seamless as they sidestepped around corners. Each squad was supported by a bolo tosser in case of a close quarters strider encounter.

The bolo was two dense weights with a meter long cord between them. The cord had a tensile strength close to the ribbon of a space elevator. The launcher was a simple design, akin to a crossbow of old without the horizontal limbs. It was a weapon that had sat on the files for a long time, and only recently been pulled out when the Sa’Ami became a threat.

The Marines swept the entire hold. They, too, found nothing.

“Hold is clear, we’ve got a sealed bulkhead, needs command auth,” Sergeant Goldstein clicked over.

“Mr. Grace, suit up, head over, and assist the Marines,” Captain Khan said.

William sprinted off the bridge and met up with the support team. He grabbed a suit of spare armor and strapped it on while he walked. The armor was bulky, designed for assault and not mobility. He declined a sidearm and tailed the team in.

The hold smelled of burnt cheese with a tang of meat gone ripe. The containers were all standard sizes marked with a collection of barcodes recognized nearly anywhere. They lacked designations readable by the human eye. It might be filled with medical equipment or socks.

Lieutenant Zinkov stood squarely in front of the panel and poked at it with his gloved hand. His nose was wrinkled and his cheek twitched. The helmet cradled under his arm popped out and skidded on the floor when he saw William. “M-m-m-”

“Lieutenant, allow me.” William slid in front of the Marine and checked the screen. It was sealed, it displayed a message about a corporate relocation of personnel due to dangerous circumstances. He keyed in his authorization code and watched as the lights turned green. The door clunked open.

Inside the hallway, pale LED lights blinked on. The passage was bathed in a white light that was almost too intense. William stood aside and waved his arm towards the opening. “After you, Mr. Zinkov.”

Inside was more of the same. A station evacuated and secured. It felt hollow, like a giant abandoned warehouse.

“Bridge, this is Grace. Everything is shutdown. Station is clear.” William walked back into the center of the hold and peered around. “Could someone bring a code reader? Nothing here is marked.”

The Marines arrayed throughout the hold and the living quarters in a defensive position until everything was offloaded. William met an engineering team heading to the fuel pellets. The team began to scan and he began to wander.

Against the back wall was a set of containers that didn’t match the rest. They lacked markings or barcodes. A heavy clasp was patterned against each of the doors. William ran his fingers over the alloy and steel covers. It was rough, flaky, old. Directly behind was a cargo bulkhead that led to where goods were received.

He reached forward and slid the clasp aside and felt it shudder under his hands. It was linked on both the inside of the container and outside. “Hey, LT,” was all William got out before the door blasted him aside. His body slammed away into a crumbled heap. He slid to a stop next to a massive orange container.

The long, gangly form of a Sa’Ami strider burst out. It perched on the outside of the container. Its wide head scanned across the hold. It pounced out and clattered into the containers.

The Marines rallied in a split moment. Teams surged forward. One pocket was covered while another group sprinted towards the mechanical construct. Zinkov’s voice was clear and strong with just a hint of a Bulgarian accent. The stuttering was, curiously, gone.

“Greely! Get up with the bolo, cover the flank. Schmitt, bring your squad to the back. Captain Khan, seal the ship and pull away.” The heavily armored Marine ran and squatted next to William. “Hu, bring the med pack!” He ripped open the nanite case strapped to his side and applied it to Williams face.

Then the hunt began.

Squads spread out and swept through the tight passages between the containers. PFC Greely stood near the center with the bolo launcher at ready. His eyes held position over the tops of the containers.

The drones detached and climbed, crawled, and scooted inwards. “There it is! Back bulkhead, it’s up tight!”

The strider, a gangly mechanical construct of violence and grace, crouched against the back bulkhead making itself as small as it could. A tiny drone stared down at the creature without making a sound.

The Marines moved forward silently and spread out on either side of the position.

“Schmitt, Lewis, don’t fire, just push him out,” Zinkov called over the comms. The Marines moved closer. Tighter.

It leaped and skidded past the incoming Marines and made a dash for the center. Both teams sprinted after with weapons raised. It was eerily silent as only the clatter of armored feet sounded after the hissing screech of the strider.

The strider erupted over the top of a container and was framed, for a moment, like a long limbed man leaping off of a building. Both arms extended wide with the legs trailing behind for balance.

The bolo fired with a clunk. The weights on either end of the cord sprang outward keeping the cord taut while the whole thing spun. It became a blur of dark and silver. It clashed against the upper body of the strider. The weights spun and smashed while drawing the arms in tight.

The strider landed in a heap on its chest and clawed with its legs. It spun and hissed and slammed about like an animal caught in a trap.

“Got it, LT!” Greely called out as he loaded another cartridge.

It lay against the floor and relaxed. A gentle stream of blue smoke popped out from the armored seams in the chest. The smoke rose and drifted into the vents.

“It uh, it smoked itself, sir.”

The strider had, knowing itself caught, deleted all memory banks. What was once a digital apex predator was now a restrained piece of slag.

“Sweep those containers!” Zinkov ordered as the Marines surged forward.

The squads grouped and sent the drones into the first container. Inside was a cradle of a strider and an empty couch. A pair of carbon leads ran to a control box.

“The strider was in drone mode, there’s an empty couch and an old set of leads,” Zinkov said. “We’re checking the second container now.”

The Marines took up position around the second container. The sides were streaked with corrosion and vacuum pitting. Greely stood with the bolo launcher at ready. Zinkov gave the signal and the latch was thrown. The door creaked open slowly. The angle of the light showed nothing but darkness.

“Light sticks!” Zinkov ordered.

Avi tucked next to the door on the outside of the container and swung a pair of ultrabright yellow LED lights into the interior.

“Clear!” Greely called out.

The container was empty. Dead conduit ran the length of the container all the way to the forward bulkhead.

“We’re clear, Captain,” Zinkov called back to the Malta. “Schmitt, take your squad and secure the entrance.”

“How’s it look, Mr. Zinkov?” Captain Khan asked over the comms.

“One man down, ma’am, Lieutenant Grace. Hostile was neutralized.”

“Very well. We’re coming in.”

William blinked his eyes open and pulled a corner of the patch away from his right eye. His chest felt like a giant weight was strapped to it. He was reminded of awakening on Redmond after the crash. Except it wasn’t cold.

“Ooof!” he called out as he tried to sit up.

“Woah there, LT.”

Above him crouched a Naval corpsman. The medic squatted with a medical bag on one hip and a Colt on the other. The mans face was black as midnight ink.

“You got it, Doc.”

The Malta eased in and docked back up. Engineering crews swarmed in and scanned for the required fuel rods. William was hauled back across bearing some wicked bruising, but nothing permanent. In under an hour the Malta was underway once more.

William lay on his bed wearing an oversized nanite patch. The throbbing came in waves. The first rise would catch him off guard, a few heartbeats later it would subside. The medic told him it was cartilage bruising, maybe some interior bruising, but nothing serious. To him it felt like a wave of fire burning in his chest.

A knock came on the door.

“C’mon in,” William wheezed.

Captain Khan entered with a high nose and scanning eyes. It was obvious by her body language that she expected to find something unclean or wrong. She sat on the seat near the door with a rigid back. “How do you feel, Mr. Grace?”

“I’ve felt worse, ma’am. I’ll be up for my shift later.”

“Hmm, no. You got this one off.”

“Very well, thank you.” William laid back and relaxed slightly. The tension was there, no warmth, no camaraderie. He knew she was only visiting because it was expected.

“We’ve sent word to the Persephone, she’s on patrol in this system. They’ll come in and secure it.”

“Any word on the crew?”

“No, nothing. We’ll leave it up to the Persephone to decipher.” Captain Khan stood and smoothed the front of her uniform. “Get your rest, Lieutenant, we’ve a long trip ahead of us.”

William nodded. “Yes, ma’am, thank you for coming.”

She returned a smile that was as plastic as the covering on the walls.

He watched her walk out and closed his eyes. Nanite dreams tinted the edge of sleep as the watch passed by.

*

Archie wasn’t sure who he was. He woke with vomit on his chest and crusted snot around his nose. Whatever happened was painful, deep, wrong at the most basic of levels. A complete mind rape.

How did it work? Where they reading his mind now?

At first he thought of only simple things, things that wouldn’t matter if they knew. Just in case the nanites were like a data logger. Maybe it captured every thought? he wondered.

He moved on to obscenities. He strung together every sequence of horrible profanities he had ever heard. As a Marine he had heard more than the average sailor. This passed and he grew fretful that no matter what, he couldn’t keep them out.

Guilt was followed by regret. He pictured his sons, sons he knew he’d never see again.

Suicide was on his mind when the door opened once more.

Outside stood a man in tannish-gray body armor. The gangly shadow of a strider fell across him and into the cell. The man beckoned with an armored hand.

Archie stood slowly and stepped into the hallway. Immediately his skin chilled as the moving air sucked away what little heat he had. He missed the cell, just for a moment.

“Where to, chief?” Archie asked. There was only one way, but he thought asking was a nice touch.

The hand beckoned away from where he had met the Commandant. The thought of the man brewed anger.

They passed through a thin bulkhead and finally into a cargo area. The ship was alive, more alive than it had seemed from his cell. There were troops, staff, and striders moving all around. Striders he had never seen. Hulking brutes with delicate tool actuators for arms and squat weapons platforms that bristled with barrels.

The cargo hold was filled with gray containers that seemed to find a home in every ship. Some were old and pitted while others were freshly painted. The center of the hold was cleared. A pack of striders sparred in the center of the makeshift arena.

Archie regarded the dance of robots as he walked closer. One of the Commandant’s striders danced through a trio of standard issue striders. The motion was fluid, fast, and brutal. Around the area stood men in uniform, armor, and bared chests. All eyes were on the dance.

A hand stopped his motion. He watched as the others did.

The Commandant’s strider was like a ghost. Anytime the others raged closer for a blow that looked to end the spar it evaded and landed a strike. On the far side of the hold the Commandant stood with his arms crossed. Three men crouched nearby.

The striders swayed and pulsed like a living organism. The trio worked in unison. One would feint while the others would dart and grab. The Commandant was a maestro directing every move in a solo symphony. Motions of beauty and grace made the three standard striders seem like stilted geriatrics.

It was like watching a ballet, Archie thought. A ballet without choreography, plans, or design. No, there was always a plan. Even here. He picked out the movements. He saw the Commandant lead them in, then out, then to the side. The trio seemed to be working together but, in reality, each was just pushing on his own using the others for cover. He had to admit, the Commandant was good.

Movement above caught his eye. He looked up to see more drones in the air above dancing and pirouetting in another duel. It was a dogfight of avian proportions. The bird like drones darted in cover and behind conduit. He looked back to the crowd and saw the awe and wonder. Not only was the Commandant besting them on the ground, but in the air as well.

Archie wondered if this was for him, a show of force? Intimidation? What was more intimidating than what was already done? He crossed his arms and watched.

The Commandant gave Archie a slight smile and a mischievous wink. He uncrossed his arms and walked slowly, methodically, directly across the training area. The striders continued the sparring as he walked within a meter of the trio. He raised his hand into the air and snapped his fingers.

The Commandant’s strider landed a double blow upon a pair and swung a leg out that crippled the third. In a second it was done, all in the time it took him to take another step. The echo of the snapping fingers hadn’t even returned.

“Major Theodore, will you join me for tea?” Commandant Nefoussi asked.

Archie followed the Commandant. Behind him the striders stalked. An avian drone landed on the shoulder of a victorious strider and disappeared within.

“A bit of practice, Nefoussi?”

The Commandant turned his head and smiled widely. “May I call you Theodore? Seeing as you are my guest.”

Archie wanted to tell him to shove his name up his ass, but thought better of it. “Guest, eh? Well, you can call me Theodore then.” He spit.

Nefoussi nodded and put his head down as he walked. “Practice for them, not for me.”

“So you embarrass them three at a time?”

“Do you not train? Sweat in training rather than bleed in war?”

Archie snorted and walked in silence. He took in as many details as he could. The ship was larger than anything he had ever served on. Against the sides of the cargo hold were racks and racks of metal spheres. More sophisticated equipment was stowed nearby.

Nefoussi gave him a knowing look and proceeded down a bustling hall. He sat on a small stool. His hands proceeded through a ritual of unstacking the cups, adding loose leaf tea and pouring the boiling water. The smell of lavender mixed with dark tea.

Archie sat.

“So what do you think, Theodore?”

“Don’t you already know?” Archie replied.

“Ahh well, one has to know where a man stands.” Nefoussi leaned forward and sniffed the vapors of the tea. “Such wonders in tea. They say you can read the future from the leaves.”

“Bullshit.”

Nefoussi shrugged.

“What do you want? You have everything in my head. Why not just toss me out of the airlock?” Archie was sick of bantering. Time to get to the point.

Nefoussi made a wrinkle with his nose. He leaned towards the cup and took a gentle sip. “Ooo, hot!” He rubbed his lower lip. “You will be my biographer, the one who tells history what I was really like.”

Archie turned his head and looked closely at Nefoussi. “Biographer? To a Dictator, or a Dictator’s General?”

“Come now, Major, like your pseudo capitalist regime is any better.”

“We have choice.”

“You’re backwards. Fear of augmentation, nanites, even of your own colonies!” Nefoussi leaned forward and shook a fist. His eyes were intense.

“For good reason, men are men. Not machines.”

Nefoussi waved a hand dismissively. “Archaic. Your mindset feared fire on the plains of the Serengeti.” His hand fanned his tea as he looked downwards. “When I was young, before I can remember, they implanted the nanite computer in me.”

“We don’t do that to children.”

“Oh, I know, too easy to control someone. Map there mind. I’ve heard the arguments, but a society that is founded on that ideal, well, there is no issue! If you have nothing to hide, why be ashamed?” Nefoussi tested the tea with his finger and drew it back quickly. “Still hot!” He sat back and crossed his arms. “Once the nanites spread and grew I was able to use my mind like no one ever else had. Today the youth see this as normal. But I was the first!” His voice was triumphant, proud.

“Until someone hacks your mind.” Archie looked down to the dancing froth in his tea.

“Bah! You lack even the basic knowledge and yet you still discount it. Look at your Core Corporation, they have augmetics as good as ours.”

“For those who chose it. Even then, nothing is added to the brain like a full computer.” Archie looked back at Nefoussi and began to doubt his argument. Was this modification just evolution?

“You see us as monsters?” Nefoussi asked inflecting his voice with a high tone.

“Butchers maybe.” Archie leaned in. He distrusted the tea, distrusted anything that the Sa’Ami Commandant offered.

Nefoussi looked distracted for a moment. His eyes glazed over before he nodded his head and smiled warmly at Archie.

The sounds of a metallic music called out . The feel of the ship changed as footsteps shuffled about. Traffic reversed in the hallway.

“Prayer,” Nefoussi said, as he tested the tea again. “Hmm, about right. Would a lemon help?”

Archie looked at him and shook his head slowly. “No. I doubt a lemon will do much for me.” The thought of being a biographer was rolling through his head. He’d been many a thing in his life, a student, a robot tender, a wrestler, a vagabond, and finally a Marine. Biographer wasn’t even on the horizon.

“Things are already in motion that will change much. Of that much you know already. But there are more to come. Oh yes.” Nefoussi sipped and nodded at his tea. “Good tea.”

“What do you want from me, Commandant?”

“Nothing. You will watch, and someday return and tell my side of the story. History will not make a villain of the Sa’Ami.” Nefoussi cupped the tea and nodded to Archie. “Do try the tea.”

“You’re already a villain, Commandant. How far you take it is up to you.”

Nefoussi set the cup down with a clink. “Mr. Theodore, that was nothing.” The tone chilled Archie. “We will strike a blow unlike any ever seen, and in doing so, save billions.”

Archie shook his head and saw a man who had rationalized insanity. Like a bad wreck, Archie knew he’d watch, even if he tried to look away.

*

Abraham Yoder stood a least a head above everyone else. The first growth of a bushy beard sprouted on the bottom of his chin. His wide shoulders transitioned down to a slender waist giving him the form of a wedge. A very tall wedge.

“Heave!” the voice sounded.

Abraham squeezed the hemp tight in his hands. The rough edges dug into callouses. Feet shifted and he felt the ground bite.

On the other side of the rope three young men grinned back and bared teeth like animals. Each wore the bright colors of the Maronites.

Droplets of water exploded off the rope as the contest began. On one side the giant pulled against the strength of three men. Cheers erupted from both sides as the normally dour faced Anabaptists bellowed for their champion.

Abraham grinned across rope.

“Pull you ox! Pull!” Abdul hollered into his ear.

The three young men strained to gain a good grip. Feet slipped in the dry yellow dirt. Feet pumped and pounded.

A bright red rag marked the center above a wooden stake. It edged from one side to the next wavering and snapping.

“Double or nothing?” Abraham yelled across the rope.

The first man turned and spoke in Aramaic to his friends. “Deal!”

The rope cracked and pulsed as the three Maronites heaved. Abraham let it slack for just a moment. The three pulled back, sensing advantage.

Then he really pulled. One arm over the next he tightened his forearms ’til the muscles stood out like a knotted rope. The red rag drifted closer and closer. The three men stared back and cried out.

Triumph was his and he knew it. He cast his head to the side and gave a wink at the group standing behind. The cheers warmed his heart.

“Abraham!” a deep voice snapped.

Abraham knew the voice. Knew it since he was a child. Lately he grew angry every time he heard it, but he didn’t know why.

He pulled harder and snapped the rope back tumbling the three men forward. The contest was done. The Maronites cried foul while the Anabaptists were strangely silent.

Abraham turned and took two steps away from the rope. “Father.”

The crowds disbursed on both sides. The cask of hard cider was left undisturbed by either side. Abraham walked slowly away and rolled his white sleeves down.

The man waiting for him wore a heavy beard thick enough to nest birds. He was large, but not as large as his son.

Abraham looked at his father defiantly. He felt the urge to argue. He didn’t know why, he just did.

“That is not our way,” Thomas said sternly. His eyes were angry, but restrained.

Abraham looked away and eyed the cask of cider. His cider. “I earned it.”

“You took it.”

“Took nothing, it was three to one.”

“Have you been drinking?”

Abraham wanted to say “not yet,” but instead replied, “No.”

“Your mother would be ashamed of you,” Thomas said quietly.

Abraham turned and faced his father. His fists balled at his side. The urge to challenge burned in his chest. “She’d be alive if it weren’t for your ways.”

Thomas set his jaw tight and stared at his son.

“They had what was needed, you could have saved her,” Abraham cried.

“It’s not our way. It was in God’s hands,” Thomas said flatly.

“How can you say that? The Maronites had the medicine.” Thomas knew the words stung, he’d meant them to. But he felt hurt too.

He had reached the age where he began to question everything around him. The truths of the father had yet to be discovered by the son. He felt nothing but bitterness.

Thomas said nothing. He walked beside his son and looked to the ground before him.

Abraham glared at his father. He wanted him to shout, to yell, to be angry, to feel the same hurt he felt. His father gave him space when all he wanted was to see the emotion.

“The Ambassador came. There is a starship coming tonight.”

Abraham glanced up at the slender black needle rising into the sky.

“I want you to go and stay with Uncle Isaac. He’ll be needing your help.”

The elevator loomed in the sky as a reminder of the boundary of faith. He shook his head. “You’ll need help loading the ciders.”

“They’re not here to trade,” Thomas said softly.

Abraham looked over at his father.

“They are soldiers.”

“You’re going to Uncle Isaac’s.”

Abraham shook his head. “No.”

Thomas looked to his son with hurt eyes. “Don’t defy me Abraham, this is different.”

“Different? Why?”

Thomas looked around to the cedars and pines in the distance. His eyes drifted back to the elevator. “There is a war coming. The soldiers will be a garrison.”

“What are we doing to help?”

“Nothing. We are pacifists.”

“You’ll stand by when we are under attack and let others die for us? Like when you let Mother die?”

“Abraham!” Thomas snapped back.

The pair glared at each other. Thomas was on the edge. Abraham already beyond it. A breeze kicked up and both looked away.

“We’ll talk of this later,” Thomas said. He turned to walk away, but stopped and took a breath as if to speak. Instead he exhaled and walked out.

Abraham watched his father walk into the distance and turned to follow. Abdul would have the cask of cider. He was going to celebrate and see what these soldiers looked like.

CHAPTER SEVEN

Density

The Malta plied through routes that were mapped eighty years before. The trail to Canaan was well traveled. It was a government colony, not a cloistered corporate space or even a hidden gem of Redmond’s.

The blinks passed through space filled with nothing but passing souls in unarmed freighters. The bulk container ships were nothing more than a spine with cargo lashed to it. Strip away the corporate containers and they’d look like steel toothpicks.

They entered the Canaan system and were greeted by a vibrant command screen. Transponders winked alive as they scanned and verified each point. Dots turned into known names which slowly grew threads of light that overlaid orbital paths. Scans went active. Multiple spectrum’s shot out and reflected what was large enough to be seen.

The system held a trio of inner planets too hot for molten lead to get comfortable on. This was followed by the planet Canaan, blue and green with dim white poles. Past this followed the rocky orbs that teased life but held nothing beyond minerals. At the edges were balls of gas, methanes, and ice.

All throughout were asteroids. The random orbits spoke to a large mass passing through and stirring up orbits. Even after fifty years of coordinated mining, new patches were discovered.

Three Haydn routes passed out of the Canaan system. One, the way back. Another led to a dim blue star claimed by the K162. The last, a route to the Sa’Ami.

*

Yamaguchi left the bridge as unhappy as he had entered it. The Captain wanted them offloaded in under an hour. She wanted to slip into a orbital Haydn transfer that he didn’t understand and didn’t much care about. It wasn’t enough time.

He clicked through the comms. “Mcrager! Can you offload the additive cell in an hour?”

“LT, I’ll be lucky if I can get my boots on in an hour.”

“Get your boots on now then. We’ll arrive at the station in a few hours.” Yamaguchi watched the last blink. He wished they could have blinked right into the gravity well but it took far too much fuel. That maneuver was reserved for tactical dropships.

“All right, Platoon,” Yamaguchi keyed the whole platoon, “we’re coming in and have to unload in under an hour. Get prepped and to the cargo hold. If your shit isn’t packed, best do it now.”

The platoon met in the center of the hold and did everything they could while watching the clock count down.

The alarms sounded as the ship matched the velocity of the Canaan space elevator. Below them stretched a ribbon, diamond strong, that slid down through the clouds.

Yamaguchi shook his head and crossed his arms. They had, of course, discovered a few things they hadn’t expected. Bindings stuck, containers didn’t move as planned, and the zero-g had half his crew sick. Until the containers were loaded in the gantries, they’d have to deal with it.

“Mcrager, move that damnable cell. You’re holding us up!”

Sergeant Mcrager stood and shook his head. Sweat stained his brown shirt, turning it black. His face tightened with stress and tension as he pushed off a bulkhead. Next to him the rest of his squad strained with red faces.

A click echoed and it was done.

“All clear, Marine!” Yamaguchi called. Gravity slowly grew.

The ship’s comm opened in his ear. “Lieutenant, you’ve got five minutes. It was a pleasure, but get off my ship.”

“You heard the lady!” Yamaguchi yelled. “Out, out! They gotta pump this down.” Behind him the Marines swept through. The pumping alarms sounded.

The platoon felt large as they all stood on the edge of the transfer tunnel. An armored Marine cracked open the door.

“Move!” Sergeant Hoffman bellowed. The men streamed through and bounced haphazardly through the zero gravity of the tunnel.

Yamaguchi grew red in the face. Behind him alarms sounded. The atmosphere pumped out of the cargo hold. The floor shuddered. Cargo doors opened. Containers shuttled across in the vacuum.

“C’mon!” Hoffman snapped as he tossed the last man into the tube.

Yamaguchi saluted the Marine and followed behind Hoffman. The loss of gravity came on as expected but the weight of the pack threw him off. He tumbled and collided with a Private.

The platoon finally entered the ancient colony ship in a pile more befitting luggage. The ship had a well worn feel. The floors polished from cargo sliding and footsteps of long dead men.

“Sergeant,” Yamaguchi said to Hoffman. “Form them up, we’ll at least march in.”

“Platoon!” Hoffman yelled. The ritual was as old as any military. The group fell into a column four men wide and twelve long. The wide door opened and they marched through in much greater precision than they had left the Malta.

Yamaguchi tried not to gawk. Before him stood a large welcoming party split into two groups. One group of olive skinned men with bushy salt and pepper hair. They were draped in flamboyant clothing.

The other a total opposite. The men wore black flat rimmed hats with white shirts striped by black suspenders. The beards were thick, dark, and hid the scowls that came from beneath.

The Maronite Lebanese and the Western Anabaptists.

Yamaguchi marched past his troops and greeted those he was sent to protect. His head snapped to the side as he regarded his troops. Hoffman’s doll face, Bale’s drooping eyes, Paco’s smiling cheeks. Even as they blended into one caricature of “military” they were all unique. He wondered if the stern bearded faces and slick haircuts across saw them the same way.

He stopped two meters shy of the civilians. The smell of the place hit him at that moment, apples. Apples and something else, he couldn’t place it but it was vaguely familiar. The smell of apples grew stronger until he wondered if something was wrong. What could smell so fiercely?

His heels clicked as he spun and faced his troops. “Platoon, at ease.”

The sound of four dozen men simultaneously shifting boots echoed through the hall. Yamaguchi spun and clicked his boots together once more. Three steps brought him to the civilians. “Greetings. I am Lieutenant Yamaguchi of the United Colonies Third Armored Division, First Squadron, Third Platoon.”

Eyes looked past him. He knew they were curious. Canaan hadn’t had a garrison force of troops before.

The station creaked around them. Alarms blared. The gantry pulled back leaving the containers in the vacuum of the station.

“Welcome, welcome!” A man stepped forward in a shirt so red that it resembled a fire. A thick gold chain bounced as he walked.

The rest of the Lebanese followed suit with the man. The Anabaptists stood and watched.

Yamaguchi saw the dynamic, the shift. The dislike that the Anabaptists showed so clearly was mirrored and inverted by how friendly the Lebanese seemed. He smiled with a crisp professionalism at both groups. “Thank you, gentlemen. We look forward to building a strong relationship with the citizens of Canaan.”

“Of course! Please, you must be my guest, it would be an honor to have you.” The Lebanese spoke too loudly. “Forgive me! I am Faris.”

Yamaguchi extended a hand. He gripped and released after a single shake. “Thank you, Mr. Faris. I’ll stay with my men.”

Faris nodded and bowed slightly. “Of course, but dine with me.”

Yamaguchi smiled and nodded. He broke from the growing crowd of loud men and walked to the Anabaptists. These, he knew, would be the tough crowd. “Gentlemen.” He waited and watched the lead man of the group.

The man wasn’t the oldest, or the largest, but he had the presence of leadership. His eyes dark, his chin strong, a mound of beard jutting almost straight out. He extended a hand slowly.

Yamaguchi seized the moment and gripped it. He felt callouses and force. The strong smell of apples hit his nose. He expected no welcome from the Anabaptists—they were pacifists, isolationists, technological throwbacks—but they signed the Covenant and that was enough. They were also the majority on the colony, while the Maronite Lebanese made up the louder minority.

“I smell apples.”

The man nodded. His beard bounced on and off his white shirt. “Yes. We distill the essence of our apples into a concentrate and ship it back to Earth.”

Yamaguchi nodded. He could feel the Lebanese clamoring for attention behind him.

“Is this all?” the Anabaptist asked.

“No, sir. The remainder is following on another ship.” Yamaguchi saw disappointment in the man’s eyes.

“Very well. We shall see you below.” The group turned and walked towards the elevator.

Faris stepped towards Yamaguchi. “Thomas is a quiet man, but he is honest! Oh so honest.”

Yamaguchi had a sense that this bothered Faris.

Alarms sounded and wide cargo doors opened. He saw his opportunity. “Gentleman, we must get on the ground.”

Faris departed with a smile and a bow. He stood near the elevator with the rest of his entourage but away from the Anabaptists.

“Sergeant Hoffman, time to go downstairs.”

The platoon broke ranks and streamed into the cargo hold. The containers barely cooled in the vacuum. They were slick with a touch of condensation. A yellow cargo loader, chipped by age, slowly plodded one container after the next into the wide elevator. The civilians watched.

The elevator ride down was uneventful. Yamaguchi spent his time staring at a tablet and looking like he was concentrating.

Below spread out a patchwork of green in various shades. Blocky squares of green checkered to the horizon.

“Why the pattern?” Hoffman asked.

Faris spoke as the soldiers looked out the slender viewport. “It is White Pine, and the elegant Cedar of Lebanon. Trees from each of our homelands.”

Yamaguchi placed the other smell. Cedar.

“We let them grow, and grow, and harvest when large enough. Our soils are particularly well suited to the growth of our beautiful cedars.” He waved an arm across the horizon. “Some we let grow to see how large they will get. Amazing groves that you will have to see.”

The deepest shades of green grew larger as the elevator descended. The trees were larger than anything Yamaguchi had ever seen. Even kilometers away the forests were breathtaking.

The elevator dropped low enough that the city spread out below him. Or at least half of it. One half of the city held the Lebanese section with another on the opposite side holding the Anabaptists.

The door opened a few short minutes later. The smells of apples, cedar, and manure assaulted his nostrils. The receiving station looked like so many others he had visited, styles that were reminiscent of a history book.

A bald headed man in modern garb stepped forward. “Lieutenant? I’m Ernest Gratham, UC Ambassador.”

“Ambassador Gratham.” Yamaguchi shook his hand.

“You have our billets arranged?” Yamaguchi needed a place to start sticking things.

“Hmm. Well, yes.” Gratham turned and waved at the Anabaptist Thomas. “Mr. Yoder, a word please.”

Yamaguchi sensed the Ambassador was not in a position of power here.

“Mr. Gratham.” Thomas Yoder stood with arms crossed.

“You and I spoke of a place for the soldiers to be housed.” Gratham looked nervous. “A barn, or an old warehouse?”

Thomas looked down on the bald man. “I think they can find billets elsewhere.”

“Now, Mr. Yoder!”

“We are pacifists, Mr. Gratham. I suggest you speak with the Maronites.” Thomas turned and walked away.

“Shit,” Gratham said under his voice.

“Ambassador, what did I just walk into?”

Gratham sighed and looked back to the Maronites. The Lebanese smiled widely back at them. “The Anabaptists run the show here. We don’t have any leverage, so they pretty much do as they please. The Maronites, ethnic Lebanese, handle the technical side. They look to improve their position, but we can’t choose sides.”

“Mr. Gratham, I need somewhere for my equipment and my men.” Yamaguchi eyed nearby storage warehouses.

Gratham nodded towards Faris. “Faris, is that space still open?”

Faris’s eyes grew as wide as his smile. “Oh, my friends! Of course. Of course!”

Yamaguchi looked to his men with a look of dread. It was going to be a long day.

*

Abraham shifted the hat on his head. The heat of the midday had taken his anger away. Not to mention a few good slugs of hard cider.

His father stood with the other men. Behind them was the offworlders. They didn’t look so odd, he thought. The uniform was simple, crisp. The men looked so different, so very different from the vids. There were even women in uniform.

Abdul laughed next to him and pointed. “Look at the fools, they don’t even have weapons.”

“Maybe they’re still up above?” Abraham asked. The soldiers didn’t look that dangerous.

“Why are they here? We can defend ourselves. Well, the Maronites can,” Abdul said as he nudged Abraham in the ribs.

“Hey, not fair, my father—”

“Your father? What about you? Gonna take it?”

Abraham’s face grew red, but he knew better than to wrestle with Abdul. At least not here. He’d toss Abdul a beating somewhere else.

His father walked away with the elders in tow. Abraham tried to make himself hidden by staring at something else.

“Abraham,” Thomas’s voice boomed.

“See ya Abdul,” Abraham said as he ran to his father’s side.

“I said to stay away.”

“Why are they here?”

Thomas said nothing.

“What do they want?” Abraham asked. He could feel the looks from the elders behind him.

“I don’t know.”

Abraham looked at the Elders and saw stern faces. They looked even angrier than normal.

“Stay away from them.”

“Yes, Father,” Abraham said, but only because the Elders were around him.

The two walked in silence. Abraham sensed that his father was thinking.

“Go on now Abraham, I must meet with the Elders,” Thomas said.

Abraham stopped and watched as the Elders followed behind his father. When they were out of sight, he turned and ran.

Abdul sat on the edge of a rust-stained container with his legs bouncing off the sheet metal. “I was wondering when you’d come back.”

Abraham scrambled up the side and took a good grasp on the flaking insulation. “Anything happen yet?”

“Nah. They’re waiting for the next car. See?” Abdul pointed to a cargo elevator descending.

Abraham squinted at the elevator and back down at the soldiers. They didn’t look all that interesting. Nothing like the vids that Abdul showed him on his tablet. He glanced over at Abdul and saw that he was fiddling with the tablet once again.

“Gonna record this,” Abdul mumbled. He flexed the tablet and found the perfect focus point.

The cargo car dropped down into the center of the complex. A wide arm sailed across the yard and settled above the opening. One by one dull looking containers were offloaded. Each was tucked tightly onto the concrete apron.

“What’s in ‘em?” Abarham asked.

“Guns.” Abdul grunted.

The soldiers popped open one of the containers and began tossing out olive drab backpacks. They stacked them into a rough pile before opening the doors wide. A soldier with wide shoulders disappeared into the darkness.

A four legged drone walked out with the soldier directly behind. It was graceful like a cow running through a pasture.

“Oh hey!” Abdul cried out. “That’s a Chimera drone!”

“What is it?” Abraham asked, curious.

“So they can follow behind it and send it around corners and stuff. Plus it can drop down armored panels so they can shoot behind it.”

Abraham squinted. “Where’s the gun?”

“I don’t know,” Abdul adjusted the tablet for a better view.

The soldiers began heaping backpacks onto the drone until nearly all were loaded. The pile looked ready to topple into the mud. One soldier tossed a slender packet over and a net exploded, securing them all tightly.

“Oh that was wicked, see?” Abdul said as he replayed the net splaying out.

The two young men watched as containers were grappled and towed onto low cargo trucks. The soldiers climbed on like a pack of vagabonds and bounced towards the Maronite sector. A final oversized container was towed by a bulldozer out towards the pines. They split the last of the cask and tossed it aside.

“That’s it.” Abdul rolled up the tablet and stuck it into his pocket.

“What do you think?” Abraham asked.

Abdul shrugged. “My old man thinks they’re here in case aliens come.”

Abraham kept quiet and nodded. Aliens weren’t a topic to be spoken of in his house. There was a theological debate about where aliens fit into the canon of creation.

“Don’t much matter, you ain’t gonna see soldiers anyways.” Abdul stood and walked to the edge of the crate.

“Why not?” Abraham asked as he followed.

“There’s no booze with the Anabaptists.”

Abraham smiled and nodded. There was definitely no booze with the Anabaptists. “You thirsty?”

Abdul smiled and nodded. “I thought you’d never ask.”

The two scrambled away from the complex and set off in search of another cask of cider.

*

The hull pulsed and shivered just enough to wake Archie. He sighed and sat up slowly. The cell felt smaller when he first woke. The walks with the Commandant became welcome if only to stretch himself out.

The days passed in silence. He spent it in moments of reflection and regret. When the opportunities for self-loathing disappeared he thought of the past: wrestling, Marine training, university, especially his sons. Details caught on the edge of his memory like old moss. He could never quite remember everything no matter how hard he tried.

Physically his muscles rebelled. His greatest urge was to exercise. To stretch out his legs and fly. To run like he’d only run after he stole a wooden Indian at a bar in Tennessee. He liked that memory. The damn wooden Indian was heavy, though.

After every memory he worried about who was watching, if they were. Was it a ruse? They hadn’t acknowledged anything he thought of, not yet, but were they waiting? Paranoia came in waves that ebbed in between the memories.

He rolled over and pushed himself up and down. Each day started with the exercises. Arms. Legs. Pushups. Crunches. Planks. The contortion required to fit in the cell worked muscles he normally didn’t. He had no doubt he was losing muscle mass. His only goal was to prevent the worst of the atrophy.

The first scratch on the wall was but a simple smear. His fingernail wasn’t hard enough to do much but slightly deform the plastic. Time became an odd concept. Sleep came, and sleep went. The food came at intervals that he thought were regular, but he wasn’t sure.

The door opened. He kept his eyes on the floor and finished the push-up.

“Move.” The voice was new, different, female.

Archie debated doing another set. He stood slowly and crouched slightly. “Out? Or jump up and down a bit?”

The woman in the hall had a face that was plump and round, but without being fat. Her hair was sheared down to brown stubble. Carbon pads broke the lines of her temples and shone slightly. She didn’t look happy.

He walked in silence down the same path as he had followed before. The first meeting was easy, he simply hated the man. Now he found himself not becoming fond, but at least starting to like him. That made Archie even angrier. But the Commandant was a charismatic leader. Had times been different, Archie could have served under him and felt proud.

Always in the back of his mind was the nanites the Commandant had put in his skull.

“Hello, Major. Please, sit.” Nefoussi sat at the same table with a single strider behind him. He looked warmly at Archie before returning his gaze to a tablet. “One moment if you would, please.”

Archie sat on the same stool and waited.

The woman turned and began to walk out.

“Captain. Stay.” Nefoussi called out with his face intent on the tablet.

The woman paused as if unsure before taking position near the strider. She regarded the creature like a sleeping dog.

Nefoussi looked up from the tablet and smiled a grandfather’s warm smile. “I’m afraid I’ll be departing shortly, Major. I expect that we’ll meet again quite soon.”

“Off to butcher another station?”

Nefoussi smiled slightly. “No, Major, there are many facets to this operation. I’ll be in command in another system.” He set the tablet down and placed his hands on his lap. “Though once the Canaan system is pacified, we’ll have an opportunity to speak again.”

Archie ran the starmap through his head. The single name provided a frame of reference. They hadn’t taken the most direct route back—in fact, it was an odd tangent away from Earth.

Nefoussi’s eyes smiled as he watched Archie think. “A bread crumb, yes?” He leaned forward. “You wonder why not Earth? Move in with the pincer and hammer it home yes?”

Archie shifted in his seat.

“Simply we can’t beat you. We know it.” He rubbed his hands together and looked down at the tablet. “We need the stability of having three equals, not just one giant.”

Archie snapped his eyes from Nefoussi to the woman. “We never attacked you.”

“No,” Nefoussi said. “But you would have eventually.”

“Now we definitely will,” Archie said. “We’ll come here and smash you with so many troops that any technical advantage won’t matter.”

“The UC will crumble. They are not a military institution. The member states will balk, Earth will pay the price to keep the colonies secure. For what? They have everything to lose.” Nefoussi leaned back and spread his arms apart. “All we have to do is make the price high enough that it isn’t worth dealing with a few colonies.”

Archie wanted to argue, but a part of him knew Nefoussi was right. The colonies already weren’t regarded fondly. Only the hidden Redmond colonies generated any enthusiasm. The more mundane colonies were seen as a dumping ground for those without countries of economic mobility.

“Captain Asa will be your companion, until we meet again.” Nefoussi nodded to the Captain and rattled off a short command in French. “You also have new quarters, Major. I apologize for the conditions these past weeks.” He looked genuinely sorry.

“They will still come for you. This attack won’t go unpunished.”

Nefoussi stood in unison with the strider behind him. “I’m sure it won’t. But the fuel costs alone will become prohibitive.”

Archie could sense that Nefoussi was holding something back. The man had a flair for the dramatic. Fuel costs would be the least of the fleet’s worries.

“You see Major, as long as the border is so close there can only be tension. So we’re going to lengthen it a bit,” Nefoussi said.

Archie stared at Nefoussi. “How?”

“Ahh mon ami! I won’t ruin the surprise!” Nefoussi walked to the door and turned. “Think of the lives that will be saved. This can only be for the better.” He walked out with the gentle clanking of the strider behind.

“Move,” Captain Asa said.

“We’re going to have to work on your vocabulary darling,”Archie said as he stood and stretched.

“English is not my first language,” she said. The phrase came out slowly, carefully. “Major. Move.”

Archie nodded and walked out. “Lead the way.”

She shook her head slowly and pointed. “Non.”

He nodded and walked slowly where she pointed. The ship was different now, tenser, the air was tight. People moved around him with a purpose. He knew the feeling, combat was close. Archie pondered, just for a moment, whether he could wrestle the Captain.

*

The Malta powered away from the docking station even before the cargo doors closed. The bulky station receded as one half reflected the bluish green light from Canaan below. Before them lay nothing but the carbon black of space.

The ping summoned William away from his quarters. He glanced down at his tablet and saw the staff meeting was early. The ping offered no explanation but every officer on the ship was listed, technical staff included. The smell was back, too—it was musty and completely out of place in a starship.

When he entered the briefing room the engineering officers were huddled, almost head to head. The high-pitched twang echoed as each spoke. Mars offered the best Engineers, and they knew it. Though they tended to stand too close, the personal space on Mars was as tight as the air.

“Hello, gentlemen,” William said as he sat on the bench. The moldy smell was a bit lighter but it still tickled his nose.

The pair broke conversation a moment to give a nod.

“It’s not aft, I already looked near the reclaimer.” Huron ran his hands through his hair.

“Storage leak? Can’t be, the alarms would ping.” Reed tapped his chin.

“Are you talking about the smell?” William asked.

The two Engineers exchanged glances.

“You can smell it too?” The looks on their faces showed true worry.

William nodded and smiled slightly. “Yes. Everyone can. It’s like an old sock in my quarters.”

The pair looked at each other.

“The humidity has been rising. We may have, um, mold.” Huron cleared his throat.

“A leak?” William asked.

Reed sighed and nodded. “Maybe.”

Captain Khan walked in with Midshipman Lebeau and Lieutenant Zinkov behind. The three men stood until the Captain waved them down.

“At ease, gentlemen,” Captain Khan said. “A leak?” she asked with a serious look on her face. She dropped a tablet lightly onto the table.

Reed looked to Huron who looked to William. William realized that the buck was on him, and as the XO it really was. “Mr. Huron and Mr. Reed were informing me of some maintenance tasking.”

Captain Khan looked at the three and nodded. “Is that the smell?”

The two engineers nodded. The focus of the Captain’s attention was never pleasant.

“Get it fixed.” Her eyes held a distracted look as she looked down to the tablet.

The feel of the room changed subtly as the Captain stood with her hands flat on the cool alloy of the table. She stared down in silence.

William glanced at the tablet. It was nothing but a glare. He’d been waiting for orders to come. After what happened on Redmond and the assault on the Naval Stations, there would be something.

“About the same time the Naval Stations were assaulted the Sa’Ami launched an attack on the trade station at the midpoint of the DMZ.” She looked up from the tablet and scanned the staff. “UC Command had a feeling something would happen after Redmond.” She nodded to William. “But a full blown assault wasn’t it.”

The silence in the room was broken only by the random clicking of a ventilation fan.

“Behind us is the dropship, Aleutian, escorted by the missile cruiser, Scylla. The bulk of the fleet is heading towards the most likely intercept point.” She looked slowly at each member of the crew. “For the time being, we’re it.”

William sat back and took a breath. The border skirmishes and tensions had come to a peak. He always knew something would happen, but had no idea it would be all out war. “Do we have any reason to think they’ll hit Canaan?”

“No, but we don’t have any reason to think they won’t either. But the Army will hold the elevator in case there is an attack.”

The response told William enough. Time had been short and the Malta was sent out with the first unit that was ready.

She cleared her throat and began to read from the tablet, “UC Malta, you shall, to the best of your abilities, protect the Canaan system from any threats. Of primary concern is the condition of the elevator and the orbital industry. Preserve the independence of the colony only if the orbital assets are not at risk. Once the remainder of the garrison is in system you shall coordinate under Commodore Clark.” She looked up and into the eyes of the staff. Her face was a professional mask.

So there it is, William thought.

“Ma’am, we’re abandoning the colony?” Lebeau asked in a whisper of a voice.

“He who controls the gravity well controls the planet,” William said as if from a textbook.

“Exactly, Mr. Grace,” Captain Khan said.

William realized that this was, in the entire voyage, the first time she praised him openly.

“The orbital industry is on the far side of the system in relation to where any Sa’Ami would come in. There’s eleven asteroid miners out there with a single unit moving inward to offload at Canaan. We’ll head out near the fifth planet, a gas giant, and take position on the edge of the rings.” She slid the tablet forward to the center of the table. A hastily drawn route was plotted along a system map.

“All watches are to be in full combat readiness, off watches will have duty station kits with them at all times. Mr. Grace, make it happen.” Captain Khan nodded.

Lebeau squirmed and looked uncomfortable.

“Midshipman, this system is a colony, and we’ll do everything we can to protect them. But if this is a long war, and I think it will be, we’re going to need those alloys,” Captain Khan said.

“Y-y-y-y-you can always d-d-d-d-drop Marines at your leisure on the planet,” Zinkov added.

Captain Khan nodded to the Marine.

“And Huron, find that leak, I’m sick of the Malta smelling like the beach.” Captain Khan scooped up the tablet. “This is what we’re here for. Let’s do our jobs.” She turned and walked out of the room.

The remaining staff looked at each other and absorbed the moment.

“You’d think the diplomats could, you know, negotiate this sort of thing,” Reed said.

William shook his head. “You can’t. Even with a high-G courier it takes a month, longer if you send an actual diplomat. Once your fleets are out, there isn’t much recall going on.”

“So that’s it? We’re stuck fighting? Just because the dominoes are falling?”

William wasn’t sure what to say. Reed was right, he knew it, but it didn’t change the immediate problem. “For now, find that leak. Mr. Zinkov, can you spare some Marines?”

Zinkov nodded his large head slowly.

William cut him off before the stuttering started. “And Lebeau, spend some time with the simulator, especially near gas giants. Got it?”

Lebeau nodded quickly, “Yes, sir.”

William’s tablet pinged. “Very well, send me a message in an hour on the status,” William said to Reed and Huron. “I’ve got to go. The Captain calls.”

The feeling that things had changed, maybe for the better faded quickly. He hurried to the Captain’s office, passing by the dim lights of the bridge and giving a nod to Avi. His friend, he was sure he could call him that, was on guard duty.

He knocked on the half open door to the Captain’s office. There was something that always bothered him about a half open door.

Inside, the Captain sat reading the tablet.

He was about to knock once more when she looked up and shook her head. He slid the door closed and stood in the hallway.

His eyes closed and he let the sounds of the ship wash over him. Footsteps plodded nearby. A compressor fired up to a turbine whine and shutdown. A fragment of a conversation about the Brazilian soccer team and a moment of silence broken only by a harmonic from the grav drive.

“Come.”

William snapped out of the moment and entered the Captain’s office.

Captain Khan had slouched against the back wall with an arm resting on a padded pipe. The tablet was slid to the side and skewed at an odd angle. She didn’t invite him to sit.

He waited a moment before speaking. “Ma’am?”

She ran a hand through her hair and dropped it to her lap. “We’ll be doing twelve hour rotations, I’m pairing Lebeau up with you,” she said without looking up.

“We’re expecting visitors?”

“Fleet finds it likely.” She stretched her arms out, a dull pop sounded from her back. “I’ve been short with you Mr. Grace, I’m not sure you deserved it.”

He shifted. The room felt warm. Her words said one thing but her tone and body language another. He waited to see what she would say.

“You are…” She smiled slightly. “This sounds archaic—maybe racist—is that the word?” She nodded to herself. “You’re not from Earth, you’re a born colonist.” She relaxed her shoulders and nodded. “There are more people in India than there are on all of the colonies combined.” Her shoulders pushed forward. “And yet you people have managed to worm into command positions across the entire fleet, especially after Farshore.”

A bigot, he thought.

“Now don’t get me wrong, there are plenty of qualified people, it just well, you shouldn’t be in a command position.” She sat back and sighed.

“You think I’m going to side with someone else when the shooting starts?”

“Would you if it were your people?”

The question cut deep. “No.”

“What do you believe, Mr. Grace? Colonies for Earth or Earth for the colonies?”

“This isn’t about the colonies, this is the Sa’Ami. Or the Hun.”

“How different is it? The cast-off children of Earth, does it matter if they come from Mars or Sa’Ami?”

“But the Covenant.”

Instead of replying, she stood and walked across the room to her door. “Alert me about anything, I’ve got my own bridge crew prepared. That is all.”

William stood and looked out into the hallway. He wanted to stand, to argue, to fight. He was too shocked to do anything but walk out.

The air in the hall seemed cooler. He closed the door behind him and stood, wondering what the hell was going on. Her last words stuck with him: ‘my own bridge crew’.

CHAPTER EIGHT

Gravity

The troops found the billets to be about what they expected. Faris had a delightful factory that had been, from what they could tell, part of the original colony buildings. It was too small, with ceilings too low.

Outside of the low walled building the yard turned into a yellow slick mud after the first rain. The great containers that had come from across the stars were now stained with gobs of clay.

The one redeeming feature was the proximity to the elevator. Which meant that they were in a zone that neither the Maronite Lebanese or the Anabaptists frequented. The two groups kept to themselves on the ground.

“What do you mean I can’t launch the drones?” Lieutenant Yamaguchi said to Ambassador Gratham. He leaned towards the Ambassador.

“The Anabaptists won’t allow it.” Gratham turned and looked out the yellow-tinted window.

“Have you explained that without drones we don’t have shit? We’ve got no eyes. We’ve not no air support. We’ve got no counter-drones. We don’t have. A. God. Damn. Thing!” Yamaguchi slapped his lunch off the table. Red bits of grilled tomato plopped against the wall.

Gratham snapped his head back. “Yelling at me isn’t going to change anything.”

“Where is he?”

“Who?”

“The Anabaptist who runs this show, I need to talk to him.”

“He won’t see you.”

“Hoffman!” Yamaguchi yelled.

The call of ‘Hoffman’ echoed through the inside of the barracks.

Yamaguchi stared down at the tablet and looked at the tasks to be done. Without his drones he was finished. The only thing that was promising was Mcrager and his operational additive cell. The crazy Scot was making a tank.

“How went the exercise in the forest?” Gratham asked.

“Don’t change the subject, I can only be mad at one thing at a time.” Yamaguchi sat on a wooden chair and avoided thinking about the ground exercise. It had gone about as well as the exercises onboard the Malta.

“Sir?” Hoffman asked as he stood at attention in the door.

“At ease Hoffman, get in here.” Yamaguchi waved the Sergeant in. “We can’t use drones.”

“But—”

“I know. I’m going to talk with Thomas Yoder. Get everything ready, we’re launching when I come back.” Yamaguchi stood and slid on his jacket.

“What if they say no?” Hoffman asked.

Yamaguchi shrugged the jacket for a better fit and walked to the door. Nothing but yellow mud greeted him. “They won’t.”

He struggled out of the yellow mud yard and walked past the elevator complex. The ribbon rose skyward where it disappeared into wispy clouds above.

The Anabaptist section greeted him with the smell of apples and sawdust. A short distance past the elevator the houses were simple, white, almost blocky. Wood planks made up the walls with roofs of cut plank. It took him a second to recognize the design from the history books.

Around him were men with varying degrees of beards. Some were short and thick while others frazzled out like a wild bush. They looked at him with curious eyes and greeted him with silence. Only once did he catch a glance of a woman, she was sheathed in a light blue dress with a bonnet to match.

The road went straight away from the elevator before ending at a church. The walls were ivory white with a steeple like something out of an old calendar. A man stood on a low platform at the entrance with his arms crossed over his suspenders.

“May I help you?”

“I’m looking for Thomas.”

The man looked back at him. His face was creased like a piece of buckskin. His beard mostly gray with the ends twisted and bent wildly. “Down on your left, it’s a large hall, there’ll be planks stacked up high as a man.”

“Thank you.”

Yamaguchi stopped when he heard a loud clanging. His hand tapped his pistol, but he caught himself.

Around the corner a man was framed through a rough door. He was bathed in an orange glow as he hammered onto a piece of forge heated metal. Sparks and bits of red hot metal sprayed off.

Yamaguchi watched. He’d never seen anyone work steel.

He found Thomas inside a low roofed building with a pile of sawdust on the side. The interior was faded with age to a dull red color. The air smelled like a rich cedar chest.

Thomas was knee deep in wood shavings. His arms guided a long tool like a chisel-tipped Roman spear. A piece of reddish wood spun at a rapid pace before him.

Yamaguchi stepped forward to speak, but stopped and watched instead.

The tip of the tool dove into the rotating piece of wood with a staccato pulse that slowly turned into a soothing hiss. Reddish-white shavings erupted as the cut went deeper until a final continuous shaving issued forth. He stepped slightly to the side and continued.

The tool looked like an extension of his body. It was rigid, connected, but he only steered the chisel, his body was still relaxed. The steel did the work, the man guided the blade.

When Thomas finished a simple shaft hung from a machine that Yamaguchi had never seen before. It was simple, all it did was spin something. On one end was a clamp, the other a spike that was pressed into the wood.

“What is it?”

Thomas smiled slightly. He set the tool down and waded out from the chips. “It’s a lathe.”

“Lathe,” Yamaguchi said as he tested the words out. So simple, it did but one task, it spun a piece of wood.

“I know why you’re here.” Thomas’s voice was level and tinted with a slight German accent.

Yamaguchi leapt in. “I need to have my drones, without them…” He faded out as Thomas rested backwards and leveled a hand with the floor.

“Do you know why?”

“Religion.”

Thomas nodded. “In a way, yes, but there’s a reason.”

Yamaguchi shifted uncomfortably. He felt embarrassed, he knew the most minute details of the colony, but little of what the colonists believed in. “I didn’t, well, I thought you saw it as evil.”

“We choose our way of life not to soothe a religious requirement, but with thoughts of our community.” Thomas looked around. “There is electricity here, we buy it from the Maronites.”

“So one tool is fine, but another isn’t?”

“If it was a tool this would be a simple argument, but it’s not, it’s a weapon.” Thomas wiped the chips off of his suspenders.

“You know, if the Sa’Ami come, I’ll need those drones to protect you?”

“No, you’ll need those drones to kill the Sa’Ami.”

Yamaguchi shook his head. “But you don’t understand, they are the exact opposite of you, they implant and control with machines, they use nanites even more than we do.”

“We would speak with them—they’d know we are pacifists.”

“Self-defense? You must defend yourselves?”

Thomas looked sideways at the Lieutenant. “But I say to you: don’t use violence to resist evil!”

“The Bible, I assume?”

“A man named Matthew, and yes, from the Bible.”

Yamaguchi nodded slowly. This wasn’t an argument he was going to win. “Do you know why we’re here?”

“The Covenant?”

“The UC was attacked. They’ll be coming here,” Yamaguchi said.

Thomas shifted. “Maybe, but they are not here yet.”

“My job is to protect this planet. I’m going to do it with or without your approval.”

Thomas stood and walked to the edge of the door. “I am glad you came to speak.”

“Why? Neither of us achieved anything.”

“No, but we know each other better now.”

Yamaguchi looked at the bearded Thomas for a few seconds and walked out in silence. There was a gap too far for him to cross. He stopped in the middle of the street and sighed.

“LT!” Hoffman’s voice was loud in his ear.

“What is it, Hoffman?”

“You better get here, sir, the Malta called in, Sa’Ami came into the system.”

Yamaguchi broke into a run passing by the buildings of white and plank.

Behind him Thomas walked back into the shadows without glancing back.

*

Abraham stood on the edge of a pile of wood shavings and listened. He wanted nothing more than to leap out, to leap out and tell his father. Listen! Listen to this man!

Anger grew inside of him. How could he keep so quiet? They were coming. Coming here!

The sound of boots echoed on the wooden floor. The room was silent except for the hissing of wood being sheared.

“Come Abraham,” Thomas boomed.

Abraham looked to the floor and stepped out from behind the wall. He felt ashamed but also angry. “Why aren’t you helping him?”

Thomas looked back through hard eyes.

Abraham knew the answer but had to hear it, again.

“Son. We do not use violence,” Thomas said.

“Father, how can we stand by? This is our home,” Abraham pleaded.

“What would we do? We are not soldiers. Ours is to trust our faith.”

Abraham felt the tug of a challenge. “Eye-for-eye, tooth-for-tooth, hand-for-hand, foot-for-foot, burn-for-burn, wound-for-wound, stripe-for-stripe.”

Thomas raised his chin slightly. The beard lifted off his chest and hovered. “You have heard that it was said: ‘An eye for an eye and a tooth for a tooth.’ But I say to you, do not resist the one who is evil. But if anyone slaps you on the right cheek, turn to him the other also.”

Abraham looked down at the floor. He felt empty inside. There was a pit that the faith didn’t fill. Not then. He thought of his mother.

“Son, you are young. Listen to me on this.”

The pair locked eyes. Abraham’s eyes were filled with the defiance of youth. He saw the hurt in his fathers eyes. Neither understood the other.

“Stay by me. No harm will come to us,” Thomas said softly.

Abraham shook his head and looked down at the curled shavings. “We should stand. Stand with the Maronites.”

Thomas looked at his son with eyes that hurt. “Then said Jesus unto him, put up again thy sword into his place. For all they that take the sword shall perish with the sword.”

“But—”

“No, this is our faith. You’ll be baptized soon as an adult. This is who we are.” Thomas stood and came close to Abraham. He clapped his heavy hands onto the his sons shoulders. “Please, as your father.”

Abraham looked at his father and wished he could see strength in his eyes. In that moment he saw only a weakness, something he didn’t understand.

*

The watch was long before it was half over. William stretched his neck and stared up at the ceiling. Tense muscles relaxed before tensing again from fatigue.

He leveled his head and watched the screens above him. The near system view showed them stationary. Parked in the midst of crystalline rings. The visual camera showed a slight ruddy brown edge to the gas giant. They were bathed in darkness. Only the occasional star sparkle in the rings betrayed any light.

“Sanjay, how are we looking?” William asked a man with bright eyes set into a dark face.

“Emissivity and radiation both below threshold, Mr. Grace,” Sanjay said as he fought back a yawn.

William nodded and scanned to the next feed. The civilian announcer was positioned near the entry point. Any ships entering system would come somewhere near and be reported. The feed showed nothing. Though he didn’t expect it to last long, it would be one of the first things the Sa’Ami shot.

The final screen showed a narrow window of starlight with an overlay of radio data on top. The satellites they launched a few days before were bathing the area in a stream of radio waves. Anything coming in would be lit up.

All looked quiet, silent, and mundane. Only the smell, the damned inescapable smell, broke up the moment.

Lebeau sat upright and stretched her hands over her head. “Mr. Grace, will you check the last round?”

William stood and his knees popped. There was a moment of tightness in one knee—the scar tissue still felt odd. He walked across the bridge and looked down at her console. “Start it.”

The icons pulsed in and surged towards each other. The green icon, for the Malta, ran into the gravity well before being intercepted by a pack of Sa’Ami frigates. The Malta didn’t fare well at the end of the engagement.

“Why did you go in?” William asked as he poked a finger at the display.

Lebeau cocked her head. “Well, sir, I had to engage.”

William shook his head. “Not there, you ran in. They knew you were coming. You’ve got an entire system to brawl.”

“Again?” she sighed.

“Again,” William replied. “Sanjay, page the galley, see if we can get a flask of coffee, please.”

“Is there a winning scenario?” Lebeau asked as the console reset the solar system.

“Yes, I’ve set on a few, but the opponents generated are based on a likely attack. We could see less or more.”

“So you’re saying this could be for nothing?” The fatigue of a twelve hour watch was showing on her face.

“Of course not, if you don’t run through and watch them yourself, you don’t learn. My console is running statistical scenarios right now, but it’s not a substitute for knowing why things fail.”

Lebeau nodded slowly. “How about after the coffee Mr. Grace?”

William nodded. “Fine, but think on your plan.”

“Oh, oh!” Sanjay cried out. “Mr. Grace!” His voice was high pitched, almost a squeal.

The feeds began to light up. The civilian transponder barked first as the data feed expanded. Mass and dimensional data flowed before winking out. The first numbers showed a fairly conventionally sized Sa’Ami cruiser.

“Announcer is down, sir,” Sanjay said as he replayed the data.

William moved the packet to his console and studied it. There would be a few minutes delay until more data came in from the satellites. The Malta was still running quiet. “Captain, we have Sa’Ami in system.” He knew what was going to happen when she came on bridge and he didn’t like it. “Sanjay, bounce off the satellite, send word to Canaan.”

“Aye, aye, sir.” The echo of keystrokes slapped off walls. The excitement was rising.

“Mr. Grace?” a voice peeped up from the entry to the bridge.

William turned and looked behind him. Avi poked his head around the corner. The Marine was in full battle armor. “Yes, Avi?”

“Is this it?” Avi asked.

William nodded with a smile. “Yes, this is it.”

Avi nodded as his grin grew. “Aww, hell yeah, sir.”

Minutes passed and the data stream from the satellite showed the same thing. A single Sa’Ami cruiser of a familiar design.

William wondered how this was going to go down. Captain Khan had made it clear she had her own, Earth-born, staff picked for the engagement. Almost a third of the ship’s crew were from off planet. Tension grew in his back and he hunched himself over the console. He wouldn’t leave until properly relieved.

“Captain on the deck!” Avi sounded out.

William stood slowly and at lax attention.

Captain Khan wore the same uniform but her short hair was ruffled. Behind her were two men and a woman: Clark, Garceau, and Mombani. All Earth-born.

William felt helpless as the Captain sat in her chair and called up the console. She hadn’t asked William anything yet—the data stream would tell her enough.

“Mr. Grace, you are relieved.” Captain Khan leaned forward and studied the data.

“Ma’am, I am formally stating that I protest this order.” William’s voice was wooden, hoarse.

“Noted, Mr. Grace.”

He stood a moment more and waited.

Captain Khan looked up from the console and over to William. “You’re relieved, Mr. Grace. Get off my bridge.” She waited a second and called out again, “Marine, escort Mr. Grace off the bridge.”

Avi walked in. He slung his weapon over his shoulder and stood next to William. His face was blank but his eyes didn’t look happy. “Mr. Grace,” he said with a tight voice. “Follow me please, sir.”

“You’re making a mistake, ma’am,” William said to Khan.

She looked across the bridge for a second and returned her view to the console.

William nodded and walked off the bridge. Avi followed closely behind.

“I’m sorry, Mr. Grace!” Avi said as he hurried next to William. His heavy kit clunked as he ran.

William shook his head. “Nothing you can do, Avi. Get back to the bridge, I’m heading for some coffee.”

“This isn’t right,” Avi said as he turned and walked back to the bridge.

William agreed but didn’t see much he could do.

The Malta hadn’t yet awakened. There was still a window of time until the arriving ship made its way closer. The murmur passed through the halls almost as quickly as William worked his way to the galley. He passed through a low bulkhead and entered a room filled with people.

“Mr. Grace!” Reed called out in unison with Huron. The two Mars-born Engineers ran towards him.

William looked around. All of the colonist-born were in the galley. A small group of Marines sat together without weapons. He felt the anger rise. This wasn’t right.

“How about some coffee?” William said as he walked past the pair. The flask sat on the edge of the galley window. He grabbed it and a stack of double walled cups. “Who wants coffee?”

Eyes perked up and heads rose. The feeling of defeat, betrayal, anger flowed through the room. The Marines stood shoulder-to-shoulder with the naval personnel. No one said it, but they all wanted to.

William poured cups in silence. The smell of strong coffee tickled his nose. “We’ve got a single cruiser coming in. No one take this personally, this is a decision the Captain feels she has to make.”

He wanted to spit and rail against her. It wouldn’t do any good, and he knew it.

The flask was emptied and a second ordered. The crew looked in shock, like they were at an unexpected funeral.

“Reed, can you give us a feed on the screen?” William nodded to the blank screen.

Reed had a questioning look on his face before nodding emphatically and sitting down at the entertainment terminal. “We can only see what the bridge sees.”

“Tile it out,” William said.

Four equal squares spread out on the screen. One was filled with basic diagnostics. The second and third were tactical views of the surrounding space. The final a feed from the satellites. The Sa’Ami cruiser was but a dot in the distance.

“Here’s what we’re gonna do, people.” William stood. “Depending on what the Captain does we could engage in four hours, or longer. Get to your battle stations with an hour to spare. Assist as you can.”

Angry eyes looked up at him. Hurt eyes. He felt the same way. “I know how you feel, but now isn’t the time to get angry about it. We’re part of the Malta, we do our job. She’s gonna need us.”

William meant the ship, but he was sure a few people thought he meant Khan.

“But what do we do?”

William looked around and locked eyes with everyone. “Do your jobs, as well as you can. That’s our oath.” He turned and stood before the screen. The right thing, he thought, was always hard to do.

The icon for the Sa’Ami cruiser showed 1G of acceleration heading directly into the system. The gas giant would intercept the ship as it barreled in. The Sa’Ami ship would have to skirt around the gravity well before doing another blink.

William crunched some quick numbers. They were about 8 AU out right now, they’d do two more blinks to get them on the edge of the gravity well. The light was already stale by just over an hour. He knew they’d see double shortly, the ship would be 1 AU out while the light from the 8 AU ship would still be visible.

The cruiser came closer and for a short time a pair icons were visible with a question mark on the farther. The computer was sharp enough to identify and notate the farther one. The velocity markers began to shift. The Malta was moving.

He turned and looked behind him. The eyes of the crew was on him. The screen was large before him and his frame cut a shadow across it.

“Marine, have Lieutenant Zinkov meet me on the bridge. Everyone else, get to your stations.” William turned and nodded at the crew. “We’re the United Colonies, not the damned United Nations.”

“But we’ve been ordered—” Reed protested.

“Bullshit. Get to your posts.”

Looks of surprise filtered into pride. Men and women from Mars, Haven, Tunis, Valley, and Sahara stood proudly.

William nodded and marched his way through the room towards the bridge. He needed to make this stand now, before the Malta engaged. They needed a full crew. He knew Captain Khan knew it. Be damned if he’d let them get destroyed because of foolish ideals.

The Marines stood guard, as per orders, at the entrance to the bridge. Behind them a pale green and orange light scattered into the dim hall. William recognized Avi.

“Avi, I’m going onto the bridge,” William said.

Avi glanced at the other Marine who tensed in his body armor. “Mr. Grace, I’ve got orders to keep you out.”

“Belay that order, Marine,” Zinkov said in his thick accent.

William nodded to Zinkov. “Lieutenant.”

“M-m-m-m-mr. Grace.” The thick-skulled Marine stood next to William.

William felt a wash of relief. He noticed that Zinkov only stuttered when he was talking to him. Had it always been that way? “Thank you, Lieutenant. I’m challenging the Captain’s orders here.”

Zinkov nodded and parted the two guards. “At ease, Marines.”

Avi looked proudly at William and nodded.

The two men passed onto the bridge. The space felt even smaller with the lights dimmed. The displays were a shade too bright, washing out the faces of those who stared up at them.

Captain Khan snapped her head away from a console and glared at William. Her back was hunched over and her hands hovered on the keys.

“Ma’am, I respectfully disobey your illegal order.” William marched back to his station with his chin held high and stood behind the chair.

A petty officer, Monbani, looked up at him with her face half illuminated in the orange light. Weapons programs scrolled behind her as simulations played out at a rapid rate. She cast her eyes to Captain Khan.

“Mr. Grace, you had your order. Get off my bridge,” Captain Khan said.

“That’s an illegal order, ma’am, this is my post.”

Captain Khan stood slowly, deliberately. “Get off my bridge!”

“I will not.”

“Lieutenant Zinkov,” she called out. “Escort Mr. Grace to the brig and secure him inside. Sweep this ship for any others who disobey and lock them up as well.” Her eyes grew bright with anger.

“Captain Khan, I will not. That is an illegal order,” Zinkov said.

“We’re going up against a ship over twice our tonnage, we need everyone, Captain, we can’t stand alone,” William said.

Captain Khan snapped back. “This is mutiny! Mutiny!”

“You have command. I, and everyone else from off planet, will do our job,” William said as calmly as he could.

“Traitors! Mutineers! You’ll damn us all.” Captain Khan shook with rage. Her arms quaked at her side. Her fists were balled like a bantam weight boxer.

“We don’t have time for this, Captain. That ship is coming in.” William nodded down to Monbani and placed a hand on her shoulder. “That’s my seat.”

“I’ll see you both court martialed for this,” Captain Khan said with restrained rage in her voice. Her eyes smoldered as she snapped between William and Zinkov.

“I must get to my post,” Zinkov said. The burly Marine saluted and walked off the bridge.

“Orders, ma’am?” William said. He began loading up the weapons programs he’d been working on.

Captain Khan stood and locked her eyes on William. The moment was filled with violence that fizzed and popped, but never struck. William leaned towards his console and looked up at the Captain.

She licked her lips and slowly sat back into her chair. Her body twisted towards William, as if she couldn’t turn her back on him. “You do one thing I don’t like and I’ll shoot you myself.”

William became aware that her sidearm was strapped onto her hip. His heartbeat skipped a second when he realized she could have shot him at any moment. “Yes, ma’am.”

“Now get me weapons plots, we’re meeting them on the terminator line once they come through. See your console.” Captain Khan turned and huddled back over the console.

*

The bridge crew labored in silence as plans were formed. Individual programs were loaded for weapons, navigation, and the course. All eyes watched as the Sa’Ami cruiser blinked closer. The second ghost cruiser disappeared with a new ghost mark appearing 1 AU out.

“He knows we’re watching,” Captain Khan said to herself. “We’ve been painting him with radio since he came in.”

The icon for the cruiser was close. Very close. The cruiser had blinked into the edge of the gravity well of the gas giant and had paused as if balancing on the edge.

“Lebeau. Announce battle stations, get me a status check.”

Lebeau clicked on the ship’s intercom and cleared her throat. “All hands, battle stations, stations report.” She darted her eyes back to Captain Khan and William with a nervous look on her face.

The voices filtered in as the crew responded. William felt a particular point of pride every time someone from a colony pinged in. The voices were proud, almost defiant.

The Sa’Ami cruiser began to power through the edge of the gravity well. The ship would pass near enough to the rings for the Malta to engage.

The plotted course would bring the pair through a similar plane for a short moment. Long enough for a few quick barrages before either pair could blink out. William liked the plan, it wasn’t perfect, but it wasn’t bad. The Sa’Ami was on path for the next planet in while the Malta would hit a midpoint between another gas giant.

Lines and paths snaked and arced on the console above. The Sa’Ami cruiser had a glaring red icon. The Sa’Ami orbit around the planet was conservative. William imagined they were saving fuel rods. It was almost like a slingshot maneuver of old.

The lines converged just past the terminator line on the starward side of the gas giant. The slender green path of the Malta had an overlay of spheres on top. Weapons zones. The meat of the moment when different weapons were in cutting range. He zoomed in and tuned in the firing plot.

Captain Khan barked orders as the course was plotted. “We’re going in, we’ll get a couple of jabs and then we’re heading out. On my call.”

The console counted down. The Sa’Ami cruiser continued in a curve, no longer accelerating, gliding around the edge of the gas giants immense gravity well.

“Go.” The words were final. Simple. Intense.

The Malta came alive as the drive ramped up. An explosion of ice crystals blasted away from the ship as the grav deflectors came online. The Malta charged forward.

“They’re spinning, ma’am,” Lebeau said.

The Sa’Ami reoriented itself so the nose was pointing at the Malta. The smallest possible silhouette was put forward.

“Twenty-four minutes,” Clarke said.

William felt the tension in his back rise. Muscles tensed. Around the bridge the excitement climbed. Lebeau tapped her console and updated rapidly. Clarke shifted screens. Even the Marines kept peering inside.

He knew the feeling. To watch, to wait, to see the enemy and know it was coming. That was the hardest part.

Captain Khan looked relaxed as she stared upwards at the view screens. An arm was draped over the side of the chair.

“Full magnification, Clarke,” Captain Khan said.

The screen shifted. A new view opened of a Sa’Ami cruiser composed of raw edged pixels. The front edge was slender like a dart. The sides held bulbous protrusions ending in points and crests. It was as if a weather-worn mountain range met the sea.

“Dervish class, ma’am,” Lebeau said in a nervous voice.

“I know, Ms. Lebeau, thank you.” Captain Khan leaned forward and rested her hand on her chin. “She’s gonna be a bear, a big prickly bear.”

The pair both moved closer to an imaginary point occupied by nothing but vacuum. The paths would close on the far edge of the Malta’s range. The dim ellipse marked the Sa’Ami theoretical range. They were in for a beating.

“Mr. Grace, begin your program. Ms. Lebeau, defensive shift once they launch weapons. Clarke, give me a channel.”

William slid his hand forward and tapped the console. The lines of code unfolded and program steps counted down. They were almost in range.

“You’re live, Captain,” Clarke called out.

“Unidentified Sa’Ami cruiser, alter your course or you will be fired upon.” The words were sharp, clinical.

There was no reply. Clarke looked back to the Captain and shook his head.

“Thirty seconds,” William said. The program would start automatically.

The pixel studded starship became clearer as it passed into the light of the sun. The dull browns and grays stood out as it contrasted in mounds of shadow. A slight whisp of ice crystals trailed it.

The Malta opened fire. Lances of flame shot out from the missile batteries. Groups of chemical powered missiles exploded away and began to hunt. At that range the hostiles could simply dodge raw projectiles.

The cat and mouse game of mass drivers exploded through space. The trails of the missiles danced and moved. Explosions of silent light appeared on the visual display. The Sa’Ami mass drivers slashed into the approaching missiles with ferocious strength.

A single warhead impacted on the grav shield of the cruiser.

“What was the expected efficiency?” Captain Khan asked.

“Thirty-five percent, ma’am.” William revised the weapons program as quickly as he could.

They’d have to rely less on the missiles and power closer before firing any more missiles. The Sa’Ami had improved since the last time they engaged the UC Navy.

The Sa’Ami cruiser began to wink lances of green light with a halo of missiles launched from the rear of the ship. The trails arced out on all planes and began to converge.

The Malta slid to the side in rapid motions, faster than most humans could pilot, and dodged the incoming railguns. The mass drivers opened fire as the Malta rolled.

Sa’Ami missiles punched through the Malta’s mass driver defense and accelerated towards the ship.

William felt the dread grow as the missiles dove in.

The mass drivers halted firing and the ship was silent. A moment later the displays raged red. The missiles exploded upon the grav shields of the Malta in showers of red and green. Alloy and nanite shrapnel pushed through the edge and tore into the hull.

The Malta shuddered. The backbone of the ship let out a groan as the force of the explosion pulsed deep.

“Woah!” Clarke said. “New contacts at the entry point! Uh, dropship, two cruisers, and a large contact, not on record.”

Alarms flared onto the displays. The nanite sheathing on the hull was responding across the damaged areas. The Sa’Ami missiles had smashed into the Malta on every surface.

Captain Khan bent over the console and tapped furiously. Behind her alarm messages were being relayed from around the ship.

William plotted the path. He didn’t know how long until the cruiser could fire again. He decoupled the railguns from the automatic control and held fire. They had another minute until the missile batteries reloaded, those that hadn’t been burned off by the Sa’Ami missiles.

The icons of the newcomers blinked on the screen. Ominous in the distance. Velocity readings slowly rose. They were moving into the system.

“Ma’am I’m going manual, after our next barrage we may have a window with the railguns,” William said as he swapped his display for a visual.

“Absolutely not,” Captain Khan said.

“Trust me, ma’am, I can make this shot. I’ve done it before.”

“No!”

William shook his head in disbelief. “Ma’am, there is no issue.”

The missile batteries fired. The UC ordnance surged at the Sa’Ami cruiser and encountered another wall of nickel slugs. This time the interception wasn’t perfect—the Sa’Ami didn’t have enough time to counter them all.

Explosions burst against the nose of the cruiser in scarlet streams. The grav field was visibly scarred as the hull glowed beneath it with the energy of billions of nanites repairing it.

William saw his opening and trained the crosshairs onto the nanite glow. He slammed a hand down and engaged the railguns. At the same moment a dull thud pushed against his side and a thunderclap echoed through the room.

He felt odd. Like a searing anvil slammed into him. He slid a hand down and felt warm, sticky, wet. His eyes held disbelief as he scanned to the side. His first thought was the Sa’Ami had struck hard.

Across the bridge Captain Khan held her sidearm out. A thin tendril of smoke drifted upwards from the barrel. Behind her alarms blared as another missile barrage was incoming.

He tried to speak but only a gurgle and a tightness in his chest rose forth. He slumped to the side of the desk and looked wide eyed at the Captain. Numb fingers clutched at the wound and pressed tightly.

“Marine!” Captain Khan yelled.

Avi and the other Marine had stormed onto the bridge with weapons raised when the gunshot rang out. The maimed Avi knelt next to William and tore open the nanite medical patch. “Hold on, Mr. Grace.”

The Malta passed behind the Sa’Ami cruiser as it continued its path. The ships kept nose-to-nose like a matador squaring up with a bull. In the moment where both ships were closest the mass driver batteries gushed out projectiles of nickel and steel.

Grav shields buckled and wounds were cut. Superheated plasma, green in color, expanded on the hull. Nanites countered and fought to repair the damage but the force was overwhelming.

“Watch it now!” Captain Khan cried out. The display counted down. The next missile barrage was due in seconds. The two ships pulled apart as the Malta continued moving directly away from the icy rings of the gas giant.

The countdown struck zero. All eyes were on the visual display. A small launch issued from one of the batteries of the cruiser. The full barrage had been muted by William’s shot.

William glared at the Captain. He felt vindicated by his actions. Though he would have rather not gotten shot for the effort.

Captain Khan rattled off orders. Damage reports came in quicker than she could respond. The Malta had been battered, holed in a few sections, and thoroughly outclassed.

The nanites flowed deep and the bleeding stopped. It was as if a cool breeze was blowing against the caked blood. The bullet, luckily, was a frangible round and had shattered upon impact. If the round had been solid it would have pierced through his chest.

“How long ’til blink?” Captain Khan asked.

“Two minutes, ma’am,” Lebeau said in a shaky voice.

The weapons cycled once more sending a barrage of missiles towards the cruiser as if to show that some fight was left.

Captain Khan paged Marines that William didn’t know. Earth-born Marines. They arrived and stood near the Captain. Looks came from the trio as they stared down at William. His eyes unfocused and waves of painkillers washed over him.

The Marines stood him up and guided him off the bridge. He willed Captain Khan to look back at him. Her eyes were focused down and below. He passed Avi. The young Marine gave a nod with hard eyes.

The same group he ordered to battle stations were converging, under guard, before him. Fear. Pain. All looked proud, but none looked free.

The ship smelled of burnt sugar. A haze of dust floated in the air like glassy motes. They passed a closed bulkhead with a vacuum alarm flashing. The center of the door was covered in baked paint.

A Marine with a flat nose popped open a hatch and stood aside as the colony-born crew was herded inside. Inside was empty racks and magazines. The air tasted like metal and ozone.

“We’ll be back with supplies later.”

The hatch closed and dim service lights popped on.

William didn’t recognize the room. “Where are we?”

Reed raised his head and looked around. “Port side ammo storage for the mass drivers.”

William nodded. Prisoners, he thought. His ribs were tender, but the pain felt detached. He tested the edges of the wound and felt the nanites firmed up like warm jelly.

“Jeez XO, you should be dead,” Huron said. The Engineer stooped down and checked the wound.

William gave the man a quick look and relaxed his head against the bulkhead. At least it didn’t smell like an old sock.

Around him the same dozen people he rallied once before looked forlorn. Eyes cast down. Everyone was silent. The only sound was a hum from the grav drive as the ship moved on to destinations unknown.

CHAPTER NINE

Descent

The wound ached and burned in a way that reminded him of Redmond. The painkillers in the nanite patch wore off long before the coagulants. The body would know by pain, as it was designed to, before it knew by bleeding. William didn’t much care—the throbbing was endless.

Around him men and women, sailors and Marines, stood or sat. Faces were worn, battered, defeated. He felt it himself. Not only was the Malta mauled by a superior foe, but they too felt mauled.

“Reed, c’mere,” William said through clenched teeth.

The thin Mars-born Engineer scooted across the floor. “What’s up, XO?”

“Help me up.”

William stood with the Engineer supporting his good side. The tearing pain in his chest almost dropped him back to his knees. “Listen up.”

Eyes, dim in the light, looked up.

“When we’re let out, everyone follow orders. We didn’t do anything wrong. Remember that.” William stopped and looked around the room.

“There will be an Admiral or a Commodore with the dropship, we’ll bring the issue up there and get this all sorted. Captain Khan is in the wrong.” He said it. She was wrong. It didn’t make him feel any better but heads nodded around him.

“What’s going to happen?” a petty officer named Gomez asked.

Reed spoke up. “The drive is pushing hard, and we’ve been blinking more often than we should.”

“We’re heading into a gravity well. I’m assuming ahead of the Sa’Ami. Once we’re under the guns of the defense batteries, we’ll have some breathing room.”

William hoped that’s what was happening. At least the Captain could order them onto the planet. The ship was in rough condition. He hadn’t seen all the damage reports but he’d seen enough to know the Malta needed time to refit. Time she didn’t have.

“We didn’t do anything wrong,” a Marine pleaded.

“No, we didn’t. Prejudice is something you can’t control.” He was afraid of this coming up. The last thing the ship needed was a rift between Earth born and colonists. He could see it happening, and hoped it wasn’t happening elsewhere.

“Stay professional, keep your chins up, and do the right thing,” William said. The words of inspiration didn’t seem to carry far in the empty chamber.

The door opened. A pack of armored Marines clustered outside with batons in hand. Captain Khan stood in the midst.

“Out, you’re getting off my ship,” Captain Khan said.

William staggered out with Reed on one arm.

Zinkov stood on the edge of the Marines. He wasn’t wearing armor or carrying a weapon. He nodded to William.

The group passed through the Malta before arriving at the cargo hold. The ship pulsed and hummed before becoming totally silent. Docking clamps thudded against the hull. The smell of battle was almost totally gone. The musty smell worked its way back in.

William stood painfully.

“Out,” Captain Khan said. She pointed a slender finger at the airlock hatch. The display showed atmosphere on the other side.

“When the Admiral arrives, I will protest this,” William said.

Captain Khan regarded him with dull eyes and said nothing.

“Detail. Attention!” William ordered as best as his pain would allow.

Captain Khan glared back and crossed her arms over her chest.

Zinkov nodded. A slight smile grew on his face. A proud smile.

The ragged group came to attention and stood in a line. Huron was in the lead facing towards the hatch.

“Captain, permission to disembark,” William said.

“Get off my ship,” Captain Khan spat.

“Mr. Huron, the hatch, please.”

Huron stepped ahead and opened the hatch.

“March!” William ordered.

The column streamed into the umbilical. William locked eyes with Captain Khan as the group left the hold. When the last sailor passed through he gave a crisp salute and followed.

He let out a sigh and floated through the zero-g heading to the docking station. Only upon arriving did he turn and look at the Malta.

The ship was beaten like a rented mule. The edges were rough, burned, and jagged. Patches of nanite heat glowed on the open edges of armor. One of the railgun turrets was missing, with the other charred carbon black. She’d done well, just outclassed was all.

“What now, Mr. Grace?” Reed asked.

William watched the ship a moment more before replying. “We’ll get on the ground, not a damn thing we can do here.”

The pair turned and began to walk away from the viewport when a flash illuminated the room around them. William hobbled to the viewport. A light expanded while diminishing in intensity.

“The hell is that?” Reed asked.

William knew. “They’re here. They waited to see if we had reinforcements before risking the jump to the planet. That was one of the orbital defense batteries detonating.”

A mass driver turret on the Malta peppered nickel slugs out into the inky darkness.

“Get into that elevator!” William shouted through the pain. Behind him the airlock alarm sounded. The Malta powered away trailing the umbilical. His heart dropped as he watched the Malta go to what was surely her doom.

“C’mon, LT!” Reed yelled.

William tore himself away and half ran across the deck. The smell of apples was strong enough to make his nose twitch.

The elevator descended. All eyes watched out the slender viewports. Missiles flared away from the Malta and streamed into space. The Sa’Ami cruiser was lit up briefly as the missiles exploded around it.

Then the Malta stopped. The side of the hull ripped open in a gout of flame that extinguished itself almost immediately. The once proud frigate carried on its course but nothing more issued forth.

The elevator was silent as it dropped and the starship was lost in the darkness above.

*

Yamaguchi strained against the tight bindings of the armor and cursed whoever made it such a bastard. The cuffs were too sharp. The armor plate was unbalanced. The whole damn thing did nothing but irritate him.

He recalled the lecture as he engaged each piece. Designed by the best Engineers, they said. K162 guidance throughout each step, they claimed. Gracelle edges and theory, they boasted. Bullshit, he thought. It was like an alien circus monkey doodled in crayon. It might have been smarter than an Earth circus monkey, but it was still a damn monkey.

It took every bit of restraint to not shout and stomp. He wriggled and stretched and then the armor was on. He snatched a quick glance and saw the others having about as much fun as he was.

“Move it!” Hoffman hollered as he stalked through the center of the billets. His armor was streaked gray and sooty green. A dull white skull was stenciled on the front of the face shield.

For all of its faults, Yamaguchi did like how it looked.

“LT,” a voice clicked in his ear. It was Sergeant Craig.

“Go ahead.”

“Elevator coming down, sir. Orbital defenses just went down.”

“Ask the Malta what the hell is going on—is that dropship still headed here?” he asked. He shook his head and pressed the helmet on tight.

“Drones prepped, LT, on your call,” Sergeant Bale said.

“Not yet.”

“Uh, LT. Malta said a dropship is moving in, a few cruisers. Uh, I think they’re engaged.”

“Shit. Call the Ambassador, we need to clear the city.” Yamaguchi grabbed his kit and walked out into the yellow mud. Even the powered armor struggled in the thick muck.

“Third squad, meet that elevator. Mcrager, I’m on my way.” Yamaguchi turned. The slow lope of the powered suit brought him out of the muck and down the lane.

The quick trip passed through the edge of the Lebanese Maronite sector. How different, he thought. Loud colors, garish lights, almost flamboyant decorations. Crucifixes in the old style seemed to be everywhere with idols of saints he didn’t know.

Comm chatter rattled in his ears as the squads prepped. He had a few hours yet. Everyone knew where to go and what to do. If he clucked around like a mother hen everyone would just get pissed and he knew it.

“Mcrager, give me good news,” Yamaguchi said.

The burly Sergeant lifted his head up from a console and blinked into focus. “LT! It’s rolling!”

Yamaguchi glared at the Sergeant and stared into the cell. Inside a haze of nanites and raw materials coalesced into something he could use. Something that could help. A bright light arced through the fog showing a frame taking shape. “What is it?”

“It’s a giant robot. Big legs, gorilla arms, and a head with a bull’s-eye painted on it so any asshole with a missile launcher can knock it down,” Mcrager replied.

Yamaguchi grinned back. “You know this isn’t a drill, right?”

“I’m banking on it, this is gonna be my baby.”

“So what is it? Low-pro? VTOL? Klein?”

Mcrager shrugged and drooped the corners of his mouth. “It’s a mystery!”

“C’mon!” Yamaguchi flipped up the front of the helmet. Cool air rushed in, the smell of burnt metal tickled his nose. “Does it always smell like that?”

“It’s like a cake baking,” Mcrager said simply.

“What’s in the damn box?”

“Spider.”

“You’re rated for Spider?” Yamaguchi asked.

“I’m rated for anything on the ground or the VTOL.” Mcrager turned and scanned the console. “Few more hours for the base model.”

Yamaguchi felt better, and a bit surprised. He hadn’t known the Sergeant had new qualifications. Spider was the most challenging to pilot, a multi-legged cross between the failed mech program and a strider.

He sighed when he thought of the striders. Those beautiful machines were coming with the rest of the squadron. A handful of the live-control drone infantry would make him feel better.

Mcrager turned back to the console. He ran a hand over the stenciled letters of the CORE corporate logo as if soothing a tender child.

“I’ll give you two some alone time. Let me know, Sergeant?”

Mcrager raised a thumb up over his head. “You got it, LT!”

The bravado melted away and the worry crept back in as he loped through the edge of town. Civilians were everywhere fleeing with, carts, loaders, and trucks. Anything that could haul something was moving. But people still sat on porches, huddled in the shadows, and watched.

Before him the elevator dropped through the gauzy clouds and decelerated into the complex.

“Hoffman, get me a status on the evac. I’m seeing people hanging out,” Yamaguchi called as he waved people along. They responded in loud words with wild gesticulations. The fact that he looked like a skull faced robot didn’t help.

“Ambassador says not everyone will leave,” Hoffman said.

“Not acceptable Sergeant.” Yamaguchi stopped. “Shit.”

“LT, you better get over here,” Bale said.

“What is it?”

“The Malta is gone, sir.”

Yamaguchi cranked up the pace and ran as fast as the power armor allowed.

The complex was silent except for the whistling of the wind against the carbon black ribbon. The halls echoed loudly as Yamaguchi stomped through. The grips on the power armor adapted and grew nanite scale chameleon inspired grippers.

The displaced crew of the Malta huddled together. A medic squatted over a Naval officer. The man was rigging a transfusion patch.

Yamaguchi came to a halt in front of the group. He rocked forward slightly and caught himself. Anger rose again—the damn suits just weren’t tuned. “What the hell is going on?”

William looked up to him with gaunt eyes. The side of his uniform was stained a brownish red. The uniform bent awkwardly as he struggled to stand.

Yamaguchi keyed the visor to disengage and looked at the man before him. The others from the Malta all looked up to the Lieutenant.

“Hello, Lieutenant,” William said. He stretched his back slightly. “Ooof.”

“The hell happened to you, Lieutenant?” Yamaguchi asked. He realized it was a gunshot wound.

“There was a difference of opinions.”

Yamaguchi blinked. “Mutiny?”

William smirked. “Not quite—the Captain segregated anyone that was born off Earth.”

“You’re kidding, right?”

William shook his head slowly. The fatigue grew as he stood. “No, unfortunately not. A Sa’Ami cruiser came in, the Malta engaged off the gas giant.” He paused and licked his lips. “It didn’t go well. We blinked out. About that time the Captain saw fit to tuck us away.”

Yamaguchi looked back and shifted his weight. He snatched a glance at his display and saw the squads moving into position.

“The Malta docked, sent us off, and went to engage the cruiser again. The last we saw,” William paused and his eyes lost focus a moment. “The Malta was hulled.”

“Shit.”

“Shit indeed, Lieutenant.”

“Prognosis, Doc?” Yamaguchi asked a medic named Mullins.

Mullins glanced over at William and shrugged. “He’ll be okay, LT. Frangible round, looks worse than it is.” The medic handed a small infantry pack of nanite patches to William.

“Looks worse, eh?” William chuckled and grimaced.

Yamaguchi nodded and scanned the group. “Get with the Ambassador, he’s heading into the cedars.”

William glared back. Some of the color came back into his face. “Absolutely not, Lieutenant, I’m leading my men.”

Yamaguchi started to laugh and stopped when he realized William was serious.

“Put us to work.”

Yamaguchi nodded slowly. A few Marines, a bunch of Sailors and a banged up Officer. They couldn’t keep up with the power armor, but they could buy Mcrager some time. “We’ve got an additive cell. Protect it.”

William nodded. “Where are you from, Lieutenant?”

“A valley east of Arsia Mons.”

“Mars,” William said.

“Mars.” Yamaguchi called up his display and pinged Hoffman. “Get an escort here Hoffman, Lieutenant Grace is going to guard Mcrager. They’ll need weapons, armor, and a comms tune up.”

“You got it, LT. I’m sending Dropov.”

Yamaguchi pointed out the door. “There’s a Private named Dropov coming, he’ll get you to our billets. Get what you need and support Mcrager.”

The two men stood a pace apart and looked at each other in silence. They both knew how these sort of things went. They could only hold out so long, regardless how valiantly they fought. Eventually Canaan would fall and they both knew it.

Yamaguchi dropped the visor. All that showed now was the visage of a skull with a slight hint of green from the eyes. He turned the suit and loped out to the door. He stopped, spun, and saluted. “Give ‘em hell, Lieutenant.”

William returned the salute. “Give ‘em hell, Lieutenant.”

The sky dimmed. Yamaguchi stood in the open and scanned around. His troops were in position. It was time to loose the dogs of war. “Launch the drones.”

*

“Abraham!” Abdul whispered. The Maronite youth walked softly on the wooden floor.

Abraham turned his head from the heavy workbench and narrowed his eyes. “What do you want?” He returned his gaze to a panel of wood and continued planing wide shavings.

“I just got word from my father—they’re here!”

“Who?”

Abdul slapped Abraham on the arm. “Who he says! Who! Who else?”

“My father said—”

“Bah! They’re here!” Abdul said. His eyes were wide as he spoke.

“But what would we do?” Abraham asked. He laid the iron plane onto the bench and crossed his arms.

“My father says—”

“Faris says what?” Thomas said in a level voice.

The boys were both silent as they looked. Thomas stood in the doorway of the workshop. Abdul shifted and glanced outside.

The large Anabaptist seemed menacing. His dark beard was like an anchor on his chest. His arms crossed in a manner that highlighted the size of his biceps.

“What does your father say that is worth bothering my son while he works?” Thomas asked.

Abraham looked to Abdul and nodded slightly.

“He says that we’re forming a militia.”

Thomas looked down at Abdul and nodded slowly. “Go Abdul. The Ambassador says you are to leave the city.”

“But Mr. Yoder! We—”

“No.” The tone was final.

Abdul slunk out the door. He cast a glance at Abraham before slipping away.

“Abraham, I know how you feel.” Thomas crossed the room. He ran a calloused hand on the edge of the board. “I too was once young.”

Abraham watched his father in silence. He could tell his father wanted to talk, but was finding the words. “This is our home.”

“The Lord provides. Faith is a difficult thing, son.”

“What if this is different?” It felt different, monumental. Not an argument about land or religion, but a threat to them all.

Thomas set the plane aside. “If it is different, we will have faith.” He walked slowly to the edge of the door and turned his head back. “Trust in me, son, we have always found a way. The Lord provides.”

Abraham nodded to his father. The only parable he could think of was that the Lord helps those that help themselves.

“Clean up your bench and head to the church. We will pray there and wait for what the day brings.”

“Yes, Father.” Abraham watched him leave. He turned to the bench and straightened up the tools. He brushed the resinous chips onto the floor and scooped them up. He emptied the chips and saw a large thick handled maul.

He didn’t know why but he grabbed that maul and hefted it in his hands. It was like an axe melded with a sledgehammer. They would use it to split gnarly bits of wood. It was the only thing like a weapon he knew. He grasped it below the steel head and walked out the door with it.

The church was large, white, and simple. Men, women and children streamed towards the plain building. They were quiet, as if a funeral was about to begin.

Abraham waited a moment with the maul against his leg. Everyone was preoccupied with entering the church. He walked around the edge of the entrance. A lush bed of grass grew in the shade. The maul blended perfectly.

He turned and looked back to the spot. Only the very back edge of the handle showed in the grass. It felt better having something nearby. If all else he could feel foolish later. For now he had something on Abdul. While the Maronite ran to the cedars he had a maul.

*

The room was cool, but not cold. A slight draft of crisp air spiced with the smell of cumin drifted in from beneath the alloy door. The walls held a wide panel of woven cloth. It was a simple room: a bunk, a table, a chair. Archie sat slumped with his jaw on his chest.

The view screen blinked images. The stream appeared not long before showing a UC Navy frigate engaging a Sa’Ami cruiser. Cheering echoed from the halls outside as a massive barrage of missiles landed on the frigate.

He watched, unable to avoid the view, and felt even more depressed. The room was almost humiliating. He wanted to be a prisoner, not a guest. In a sweeping motion he slammed the chair back and dropped into the pushup position.

One. Two. Three.

…Sixty-three.

He stopped and stood. His back cold as the sweat ran down. The fight was still going on. He walked over and watched as the cruiser took a blow to the nose.

When he returned from the shower the view screen was blank. He knew how the fight was going to end. They had things he’d never seen before. The hope had risen when the screen first flickered on, but after the first blows he knew the outcome.

The door slid open and the sounds of loud conversation filtered past the guard at the door. The man held a stubby weapon. His eyes watched Archie from beneath a crystal clear visor. He stepped aside.

Captain Asa walked past and stood near the door. “Major.”

“What do you want?” Archie snapped.

She smiled slightly and nodded to the screen. “We can hold our own.”

Archie looked up at the screen and saw nothing but an inky starscape.

“We’ll be heading in soon. After we’ve secured the planet we’ll move on and you can see the Commandant again.”

The Commandant. Archie felt his shoulders tingle. The anger rose inside him. “Where is he off to now?”

“Not far, a system away.”

He caught himself. “Is he raiding another station? Slaughtering civilians?”

Asa stepped closer and leaned towards him. “He’s a great man! His vision. His skill. His grace. We’ll be the brightest star, the rising sun.”

“How you gonna do that? You whooped a single frigate. The rest of the fleet is going to come here and shitstomp you.”

She sniffed and stepped away to face the screen. “What if the price is too high? Will they?”

“No price is too high.”

“Don’t be foolish, Major. Everyone has a breaking point.”

“Or you just implant nanites into their skull?”

Captain Asa turned and faced the Major. “The Commandant has methods. You are a valuable prize.”

Prize.

Archie exploded from the chair and crashed into the Captain. Her body slammed against the wall with a crack. He tried to spin fast enough to face the guard.

He sensed the blow a fraction of a second before it landed. The shadow of the baton crossed his nose and then he was down. His head was a ball of pain so intense that his vision was stained white.

“You!” Captain Asa cried out. She spat thick blood onto the floor and leaned against the wall. “You! Twice now you’ve bested me. I’ll kill you when the Commandant is done with you.”

Archie tried to rise. His arms were weak as the nerves didn’t seem to work right.

Asa leaned down close to the Major. Her voice was light, a whisper. “Your fleets will be dashed on a great Sa’Ami wall. They won’t even get to fight. We have things you can’t imagine. You’ve lost this war and it has barely begun.”

He laid on the cool floor and felt the texture on his cheek. Footsteps were followed by the clank of a strider. He focused on those words. He’d lost everything now. But that knowledge he kept close.

Was she bluffing? A great Sa’Ami wall seemed ridiculous. No wall or barrier could stop a Haydn drive. Or could it?

The Gracelle and K162 had always been neutral. They had technologies beyond even the Sa’ami. Would they pick a side? Everyone had a price. Everyone had a breaking point.

They dragged him out of his room. He locked eyes with Captain Asa and remembered another thing she said. He bested her twice. Was she the suit of power armor he wrestled on the transfer station?

They tossed him back inside the small cell. He curled up on the floor and felt the ship blink once again. Alarms sounded. Vibrations pulsed through the hull. They were launching dropcaps.

CHAPTER TEN

Penance

Yamaguchi’s display was alive with drifting and shifting icons. Small green dots showed the battlescape drones while different colors and shapes detailed hidden hunters, missile drones, and close combat drones. A few white diamonds lazed around the edges with a cloud of escorts nearby.

“Squads, report.” He ran between a group of white and black clad Anabaptists.

“In position,” Sergeant Bale said.

“Holding,” Sergeant Craig said.

“Ready to rock,” Hoffman said.

“Still sober,” Mcrager said.

Yamaguchi nodded in his suit. “Watch the link. Drones are going to paint anything. Keep moving in your zone until we see what they do.” He didn’t need to review it, the orders were already laid out.

“We got any eyes up top, LT?” Hoffman asked.

“Negative, all orbital platforms are down. We’re blind up top.”

Grumbles came over the comms.

“Shaddup you. Navy gave em hell, right LT?” Yamaguchi said.

“That’s right. Now it’s your turn,” William Grace replied.

Yamaguchi rounded a corner and came upon an odd sight. A group of Maronite men were huddling against a whitewashed building with assault rifles. He took cover next to them. “What are you doing?”

A man with a mustache as bushy as his eyebrows replied, “militia, sir.” The man looked scared out of wits, and just slightly drunk.

“There’s no militia here, get the hell out.” Yamaguchi looked at the group. Fear. He toned up the volume. “Get out of the city.”

The man shifted his wide mustache and stood his ground. “No, this is our home. If the Anabaptists won’t fight we will.”

“Protect the civilians moving out of town.”

The man stood proud. “We’ll fight them here!”

“Listen to me you moron. When the Sa’Ami come down they’re going to have striders so fast you won’t even be able to shoot. They’ll eviscerate you and then crush your skulls.” Yamaguchi glared at each. The visage of the skull on his facemask was intimidating on its own—added with the enhanced volume, it was terrifying.

One man edged away with his back to the wall, his face white. “No, not like this,” he mumbled.

“I need someone to cover those civilians,” Yamaguchi said. “Do your job there and let me do mine here.”

The mustached man looked around at scared faces and nodded. “Very well.”

“What’s your name?” Yamaguchi asked.

“Nasri.” He puffed out his chest.

“Hmm. You need a nickname. I’ll call you bushy-boy. Now go!” Yamaguchi slapped him on the shoulder. The blow nearly toppled the man.

The group looked at each other and back to the armored man with a skull facemask. Grins broke out. Nasri bellowed out a laugh showing teeth white against the black hairs of his mustache.

Yamaguchi watched the group shuffle away with weapons at ready like toy soldiers. He hoped they didn’t get themselves killed.

The time passed and Yamaguchi strained to stretch inside the suit. The movement was almost right, he could almost get in a good stretch, but not quite. The adrenaline was long past. Now the waiting came.

His greatest fear was that the Sa’Ami would sit and wait. He could only keep his men in the armor for so long. Eventually they’d have to rotate out of the suits. He pictured a siege of old with arrows coming over a stone wall.

Bells rang in slightly off keys. The tone echoed across the city. He scanned and magnified his vision. The shadow of a bell moved inside the Anabaptist church. He listened to each stroke and offered up a silent prayer.

The comms were silent and he wondered if he was the only one. He never prayed except before action. That moment when you could reflect. Everything seemed brighter, crisper, tighter.

Above the sky was a brilliant blue with a low layer of clouds sliding in. He craned his neck and stared up. The cedars surrounded the city in pillars of green. Each needle seemed to stand on its own. He regarded the beauty and finished his prayer.

A single reflection in the sky caught his eye. It was gone as soon as he looked. He could sense that this was it.

A single ping sounded in his ears. He snapped his eyes to the display. A red icon blinked on the edge of the city. Ping. A second icon lit up. Ping. Ping. Ping. The red icons appeared everywhere.

“Here we go!” Yamaguchi moved himself at an oblique angle towards the tightest cluster. “Heading your way, Bale. Spread ‘em out.” Yamaguchi cued up a stream from one of the drones and watched as he moved into position.

A drop pod plunged down. A single heavy grav drive engaged with a deep bass boom. The air pushed from beneath and landed in a puddle of dimpled mud. The pod was large enough to hold a single man. The exterior was a latticework of crystal and alloy.

A pair of striders folded away from the outside of the pod and crept around a building. A man in sandy brown power armor emerged from the capsule and unslung his weapon.

The drone wobbled and shook. The camera diverted away to a shot of the cedars.

Yamaguchi switched to a random feed and watched similar scenes elsewhere. The same continued around the city. “You’ve got one suit of armor for two striders. If anyone sees heavies, let me know.”

Gunfire and explosions echoed nearby. He sprinted forward in the shadow of an alloy sheathed building. His display was alive with red icons on the ground and far above. The Sa’Ami aerials were engaging his drones.

A strider, dull brown with mud-stained feet dropped down from the building. Mud splattered around it in a cascade of yellow. It sprang forward.

Yamaguchi raised his weapon as quickly as he could and fired a stream of armor-piercing nanite propelled rounds. The damn thing caught him off guard. His heart rate pinged into the redzone.

The rounds stitched into the yellow mud and rose higher, catching the strider. They hit first on one leg in a shower of orange sparks. The next rounds shattered the chest armor and sent the creature flying into the center of the road.

He pulled the weapon tight and loosed another cluster.

The strider tried to roll and claw the mud. The stubby railgun had been blown aside and out of reach. It shuddered and grew still.

The edge of the roof shook above his head. A booming sound echoed from his right. He snapped his head to the side and saw a hunter-killer drone with a smoking large bore cannon.

The drone slid back into the shadows and disappeared as quickly as it came.

A mechanical leg tumbled from the sky.

Two striders down.

The ground shook behind him and he knew what it was. He tried to spin as quickly as he could but the armor just seemed a touch sluggish. A fierce heat burned against his shoulder. Alarms blared as he saw the power armor behind him.

The Sa’Ami suit was almost like the strider but wider and not as graceful. The dull brown armor was speckled with yellow clay. In one arm was a stubby nosed assault cannon, in the other a retracted lance that crackled with energy.

Yamaguchi leaped to the side. The assault cannon burped out a loud sound that tore the edge of his armor. He snapped his weapon up and fired as he ran.

The rapid shot peppered the alloy wall above the Sa’Ami, showering it in glowing sparks.

He slowed his movement for just a second and took closer aim. The servos and nanite muscles tuned just a bit better. The next cluster of shots slammed the Sa’Ami against the wall.

Armor splintered and buckled. The Sa’Ami soldier pitched forward. The armor panel glowed intensely as nanites flowed in to repair the wound.

It responded by lashing out with the lance and firing the cannon wildly.

Mud exploded around Yamaguchi. He steadied himself and delivered another group of rounds. His leg burned as the lance sunk itself into the joint just below his knee. He screamed and fell backwards.

The lance dropped out. The second group of shells impacted the Sa’Ami soldier on the neck joint. Nanites flowed to the armor fissure. Blood hissed. The armor was repairing itself but the man was dead.

Yamaguchi scrambled into cover next to a storefront. The armor administered painkillers and soothing agents the moment he was hit. He looked down and saw a smooth edged hole with the nanite lining exposed.

“LT! You okay?” Bale called. The sound of firing and explosions echoed from behind.

“On my way,” Yamaguchi replied, as he stood and loped through cover towards the Sergeant.

Red icons grew and blinked out. They were acquired and lost by the watching drones. One would blink in, followed by a hunter drone engaging before blinking out. Sometimes the hunter drone was caught, sometimes it became the prey.

“Bale, spread out.”

“Negative, LT, we’ve got a good position, they’re pushing in hard.”

“They’ve got you clustered. Move!” Yamaguchi saw the icons glow together on the edge of a ridge. He glanced up through the low trimmed buildings. They had a good position, plenty of cover from below, but he was worried about above.

The icons were moving. Scrambling. The ridge burned white. Damage indicators flared into red, followed by signal lost.

Yamaguchi dove into cover and shattered through a thin wall into an open porch. The light flared around him before dimming and disappearing. It seemed darker outside when he crept out.

“Everyone keep moving! They’ve got orbital strikes, c’mon!” Yamaguchi shouted. He glanced at the display. Most of the squad was gone. “Paco, it’s all you.”

“Oh shit, oh shit,” Paco’s voice was hoarse.

“Shut up. Move. Now.” Yamaguchi highlighted a point and pinged it to his squad. Three survivors. Anger rose, not at the men, but for himself. This was his job, and he was failing. He pushed the moment behind and kept moving.

*

William crept up next to a skinny Marine named Voss. His ribs burned and ached. Each breath a reminder that he was shot not long ago.

Voss was tucked in tight against the edge of a building. He scanned the ground before him. “Heya, LT,” he said without pausing his scan.

William looked up and out over the city. Lights flared and flashed in the clouds. Dogfights came to rapid conclusions. “Anything?”

“Negative.” Voss’s voice was smooth, mellow.

William nodded. He heard brief chatter from the soldiers down below and didn’t envy them.

He mourned, just for a moment, those who were on the Malta. There’d be time for that later.

A wicked white light slammed against the top of a ridge a few kilometers away. The two men turned their heads to where the ridge was only a scarred lump of smoldering yellow dirt.

“Hate to be on that hill,” Voss mumbled.

They watched the scene below as fire rained down from the clouds. The ground erupted at the base of the ridge. Explosions and gunshots erupted throughout the city. Church bells rang incessantly.

“Movement,” Voss said. He slid the rifle slowly up to his cheek. The greenish glow of the scope reflected off his eye. “Strider.”

William slid his rifle up and checked the stocky action. The caseless slab of ammo was fed tight. “Contact, hold until they’re in the sticks.”

He knew it was only a matter of time until one of the Sa’Ami drones picked up the thermal signature of the additive cell. The Sergeant running the cell kept telling him the same thing. Almost done.

The road before them dropped down and was surrounded by small buildings and drab storage facilities. A wall of baked clay bricks marked the edge of the free fire zone. A set of simple sticks marked the boundaries of the killing zone.

The Sa’Ami strider leapt over the low wall and hugged the side. It scraped against the brick as it scanned the area away from William and his group. A second strider dropped down and skittered sideways.

“Hold,” William whispered. Yamaguchi told them they came in threes; they needed to see the controller.

Voss slid his weapon a fraction of an inch and clicked his tongue. “Got ‘em.”

A smaller form crept around the edge of the building and took up position where the first strider came down. The Sa’Ami soldier knocked over the stick as he passed into the killzone.

“Fire,” William ordered.

Almost before William could pull the trigger, the striders surged forward and took cover. The soldier leapt and scrambled on all fours to reach a low hummock of dirt. Rounds impacted and sprayed gouts of yellow clay.

The left most strider tilted its oblong head up slightly. Rounds raked along the edge of the helmet shearing against the armor. Sparks exploded upwards but the damage was only superficial.

“Yamaguchi, we’re engaged.” William squeezed off a burst at one of the striders. The Sa’Ami creature huddled tight and didn’t move an inch.

“On your own,” Yamaguchi replied quickly. Mechanical sounds and firing weapons almost drowned out his voice.

The first strider popped up again. The speed was breathtaking. It moved with an animal grace that was quicker than any beast. Shots impacted against the armor, but they hardly slowed it.

“Focus on the left!” Reed called out.

William tracked his weapon. His finger slid against the crisp edge of the trigger. He focused and released his breath.

A clattering shape descended upon Voss with mechanical intensity. The Marine screamed and rolled. A razor drone.

William jammed the muzzle of the weapon against the body of the drone and fired a single round. The body disintegrated and rolled down the hill.

Voss grabbed his weapon and squeezed another burst off.

“You okay?” William asked quickly.

The Marine didn’t reply. His weapon went silent. A pool of blood spread below Voss’s neck.

“Watch for drones!” William called. “Mcrager! How long?”

“Soon!” Mcrager called back.

The first strider moved up and took the blast of a nanite round squarely in the center of the head. The strider tumbled sideways and thrashed about.

William turned his aim to the soldier but the Sa’Ami wasn’t in sight. Rounds sounded from behind him as others in the group continued to fire. Where? He scanned and looked.

The difference between trained ground troops and naval personnel became painfully obvious. They knew how to shoot, and how to take cover, but they lacked the skill to work as a cohesive unit. The Marines were too few to organize and coordinate the fire.

The Sa’Ami soldier was gaining ground.

William caught a glimpse of something moving towards his left and right. It took him a second to realize that he had a strider on one side and the Sa’Ami soldier on the other. He could taste metal in his mouth and felt the adrenaline pump.

Senses tuned. Every movement and shift was painfully tense. He expected to be shot, or ripped apart at any moment. He had seen the intense violence a strider was capable of on Redmond.

In a flash the soldier was on him. The suit pounced from cover and slammed down next to William. The comms went wild as the entire group called out in unison.

William rolled and felt the ground shudder next to him. Oh shit, was all he could think. He looked up and saw the dull colored suit stained with mud. A tuft of grass stuck out from the shoulder armor.

It had a weapon in one hand that was firing uphill while the other arm bore a fist clenched tightly. The face was hidden behind a mask of alloy and plastic.

The fist went up and slammed down towards William. His body didn’t even have a chance to tense when the blow struck him. The fist rose up once more for another strike.

The blow was staggering. His shoulder popped oddly and his back was wrenched. The wound on his ribs felt like it was being torn open.

William tried to do something. His weapon was tossed to the side and out of reach. Rounds ricocheted off the armor of his attacker. The fist hovered, or seemed to, in the heightening of the adrenaline.

The head of the Sa’Ami turned slightly, as if questioning William. The fist paused and drooped down. The soldier tumbled on top of William.

Black smoke poured out from the back armor of the soldier. The remaining strider broke sideways and disappeared into the low buildings from where it came.

William lifted himself up and saw a band of olive skinned men sprinting towards him. Each clutched a weapon to his chest. Thick black beards bounced as they ran and cheered.

The Maronite militia was like an arriving carnival. They immediately took cover and began pointing and gesturing. William was propped up and a cigarette was tucked into his mouth.

“Thanks,” William said through the acrid smoke of the filterless cigarette.

One of the men stood with his hands on his hips. Thick chest hair sprouted from his shirt. His eyebrows were so thick they nearly tangled his eyelashes. “Ahh, it is good that the militia came to save you, eh?”

The whole thing seemed rather surreal to William. The group had zero military discipline. Luck must have been on their side.

“Indeed, now help me up.”

William limped the militia up into a tighter position. He turned and glanced at Voss before creeping into position.

“Cover, LT! Heavies coming in,” Yamaguchi sounded on the comms.

“Drop your cocks and grab your socks. Mcrager is coming!” Mcrager hollered into the comms.

William spun and looked up the low hill.

The additive cell was mostly hidden in the piney growth around it. The Maronites stopped and looked at William. “Get out of the road,” he wheezed.

The great mechanical spider sprung forth from the trees. The limbs sprawled outwards and forwards as the creature scrambled ahead. Instead of standing tall it was low to the ground, no more than a meter. On its back several pods of weapons and sensors scanned. It moved with a speed so rapid that it looked comical for its size.

“Holy shit,” a Maronite said as the creature leaped past with limbs on the roof above.

“Follow that thing!” the man with bushy eyebrows ordered.

William, his task done, looked to the carnival group tumbling down the road. He wasn’t about to let them seize the day. “Let’s move!”

The remaining crew of the Malta came into formation.

“Where you need us, LT?” William called to Yamaguchi.

“Elevator,” Yamaguchi replied. The roar of gunfire in the background was deafening.

“Huron, Bass, you’re on point. Let’s move!” William ordered. The group moved away from the additive cell and towards the heaviest fighting. He stripped the nanite patch off his chest and laid another on.

Behind them white light struck the additive cell. They stopped and took cover as debris rained down.

Bass turned and looked to William. “Elevator is the only place they won’t use orbital strikes.”

William nodded. The Marine was right, but a static target was easy to overwhelm.

The last of the debris clanked on the metal roofs.

“Hit it!” William yelled. He only hoped they wouldn’t be too late.

The wound on his side had sealed back up. His fingers traced on the coagulated edge. The pain dulled away like a shadow from a bright candle. He picked up his pace and jogged as quickly as he could. If it weren’t for the nanite patch he’d have laid in the ditch and cried.

Mcrager’s spider-mech bounded through the buildings and streets. It was heading directly for the elevator complex.

*

Yamaguchi crouched inside the edge of the building. His drones were nearly destroyed, but according to his recon birds, so were the enemies. He called down the last of the strike drones on a Sa’Ami cluster nearly an hour before.

He keyed up a recon drone and scanned the area around him. The hostiles were keeping away, just barely. He knew there was one of his hunter drones hidden nearby. Though he had a feeling it was hiding from a Sa’Ami drone.

The orbital strikes came down so quickly after the first that the soldiers had to take cover near the elevator. Yamaguchi hated to lose the mobility but they couldn’t engage with the strikes coming from above.

“Where are those heavies?” Yamaguchi asked.

“Moving from the east, LT,” Paco replied. His voice was hushed.

“What’s your status, Paco?”

“Legs are locked up tight.”

Yamaguchi sighed and took stock of his forces. Damned meager.

The clouds dropped further down into a sheet of mist. The wind wanted to blow, but couldn’t quite get up the energy. An occasional drift of rain would bring enough moisture to stain the mud bright yellow.

He shifted the display and pinged orders to his remaining troops. The bright blue icon showed Mcrager rushing towards them, but the pace was still slow. The order was sent and he shifted himself into position.

Yamaguchi snapped his rifle up and knocked a drone from the top of a building. A shower of debris peppered the tin roof below. He kept his bead on the edge of the roof—he’d learned the drones liked to travel in packs, too.

The icons shifted on his display. The live image flickered. Data streams changed. The drones struggled to keep a cohesive view. He watched as the count approached that perilous point where he’d lose his live view.

Yamaguchi sprinted across a gap and waited in the shadow of a cargo container. Dim red icons winked in on the edges of his perimeter. They moved relentlessly towards him.

“Whoa, they’re big,” Sergeant Craig said.

“Clear, clear, draw ‘em in, hit ‘em with what you can. Full load.” Yamaguchi adjusted the rifle. Each slug would have a tighter formed tip with a larger charge behind it. It would hit harder and power deeper, but would consume the slabs three times as fast.

“Full load?” Hoffman asked.

“If we don’t hold ‘em now, it won’t matter.”

The side of the container shuddered. Fluid sprayed out in a wide sheet of golden brown. Shrapnel stuck through the side. The smell of apples was so intense the air filters kicked on.

Yamaguchi leaned around a corner and saw a pair of the heavies moving in. One was coated in fibrous yellow mud. Behind was a pair of men in power armor with three striders flanking. Two of the striders limped awkwardly.

“Get me counts! I’ve got two heavies here, two walkers, and three striders,” Yamaguchi called.

His remaining troops sounded off. Another six heavies all converging on the entrance to the complex.

“Mcrager, this would be a good time to hurry.”

“Engaged, LT, moving as I can.” Mcrager replied back.

Yamaguchi snapped his eye up to the display and saw that Mcrager’s icon was barely moving.

The heavies were slower than a standard strider but packed anti-infantry and anti-armor weaponry. Each arm was a rotary cannon. One shoulder held a mass driver while the other was a rapid turret to engage drones or incoming ordnance.

Yamaguchi snuck another glance. He’d never seen them before, only heard stories and watched feeds. The doctrine was to move and use mobility—however, if he moved too much the ships in orbit would pound his position.

“Shoot and dodge. One burst and get out, pick another spot.” Yamaguchi set the drones to full aggressive. “Drones are going red, get ready.”

The drone icons moved closer. They would now hunt and engage without regard to their own safety. One shot was now worth becoming killed. The drones wouldn’t last another hour.

He turned his weapon around the corner and squeezed off the first burst. A smile grew involuntarily as the shock and recoil of the weapon surprised him. Big guns were something he enjoyed.

The first of the rounds impacted the mud speckled heavy while the rest disappeared behind.

It raised the rotary cannon slightly. The burst of fire was like a blowtorch. High intensity slugs stitched the container. Blasts of steam rose. The air stunk of burnt apples. It stopped and scanned about.

Yamaguchi was already gone. He shifted ten meters behind a pile of scented yellow lumber.

The heavy that had fired was in a holding position while the other moved up. The Sa’Ami soldiers tucked up against a brick wall.

Fire opened from the opposite side and one of the Sa’Ami soldiers buckled. Rifle blasts boomed, but there was no echo off of the low clouds. Yamaguchi squeezed another burst as the heavies turned.

The shrinking platoon of UC soldiers gave ground slowly, but the Sa’Ami heavies were nearly unstoppable. At each shift they sent rounds at the heavy striders. The heavies took no damage that Yamaguchi could see.

The display winked once, twice, and reverted to a satellite map taken a few days before. All of the icons on his screen were haloed by dim blinking question marks.

“Everyone get to the complex!” Yamaguchi called over the comms. He sprinted across an opening. His lower back tightened with fear. He had no eyes in the sky and no weapons capable of stopping the heavies. The last of his hunter drones had been destroyed.

The sky grew brighter but it was just the rain emptying down. The mud washed off the tops of the power armor but each of the suits looked to be wearing yellow trousers. Yamaguchi never thought he’d die looking so damn ridiculous.

“LT!” Hoffman called. The Sergeant crouched behind a pillar with a ragged scar of metal running across his chest. “Not bad, eh?”

Yamaguchi shook his armored head. “Not bad, suits just took some breaking in.”

The two were silent as they both knew what Hoffman meant.

“Movement,” a voice called out.

Yamaguchi lifted his rifle and scanned behind him. The corridor was wide and open all the way to the elevator ribbon. A set of rails ran along the floor. He wished for something, anything that they could use to defend the area with.

Gunfire snapped him out of his thoughts.

The heavies advanced slowly, but at a steady pace. Gunfire poured out from the complex down onto them but they would, at the most, halt and hunker down. Mud sprayed from beneath the heavy feet.

Yamaguchi felt a strange sense of loss that the only thing that could slow the Sa’Ami heavies was mud.

Hoffman took a shot to the shoulder from one of the rotary cannons. The sergeant fell backwards and scrambled away from the wall. Smoke rose up from the hole until orange fire suppressant poured out.

“Hoffman, fall back!” Yamaguchi ordered.

Calls echoed over the comms. The heavies were coming in at each side and the defenders couldn’t stop them.

Was this his moment of failure? Yamaguchi always wondered what happened when units died. That final moment of collapse where the troops fled, or died in holes.

The thought of surrender slipped through his mind, but he knew they’d not take prisoners. The Sa’Ami were here for conquest, this wasn’t a probing action. He was set on this path and they all knew it.

He reached down for another slab of ammo. Empty. He had half a dozen shots left at most. The suit diagnostics showed that it was performing admirably, better than he thought he was.

The heavies climbed onto the concrete apron and closed on the wide door to the complex.

Yamaguchi ducked to the side and rattled a pair of shots. The rounds had ferocious power at such close range. The angle was steeper and he hit on the side armor. The heavy staggered under the blow. A wisp of blue smoke rose. It turned and poured fire from both barrels.

The shells impacted against the concrete and sputtered through with cores of nickel and uranium. The dust poured down onto Yamaguchi as he slipped and fell on the yellow mud. He turned and rolled, sliding the weapon between his legs and waiting for the creature to appear.

He couldn’t get up in time to reach cover. Even if he did, they’d blast him in the back.

The first bulking shape appeared. The heavy strider was focusing its attention on the inside of the complex. Weapons fire rang from around the complex. The heavy paused as it sensed movement.

Yamaguchi squeezed the trigger and fired the entire slab. He stabilized it by squeezing his knees tight. The weapon recoiled and shook him as it released the final few nanite rounds.

Each round impacted with a flare of green and white. A spray of pressurized gas pulsed out as the strider turned. It was damaged, but not enough to stop.

The bulky form paused in mid-motion and, instead of turning the weapons to face Yamaguchi, it pivoted its arm backwards. The cannons were vertical when the blast struck the beast. It slammed aside and collided with the concrete wall in a shower of flame.

The second strider sidestepped and walked across the edge of the concrete. Projectiles burst forth from the cannons with a stream of anti-armor missiles popping out. It was engulfed in dull blue smoke.

Then he saw it. The mechanical form thundered forward with a mass of alloy limbs splayed out each thundering wildly into the ground. The forward legs reached and pulled as the rear sets propelled it. It bounced off the side of one container and dropped into the sickly yellow mud.

Mcrager charged forward. A burst of fire ripped out from a railgun turret mounted on his back.

The air tasted of metal and violence.

The heavy bowled back and Mcrager continued forward. “Get clear! Spider coming in!” he bellowed over the comms.

Yamaguchi leapt up and took cover inside of the building. Down the lane the forms of two Sa’Ami power armor lay sprawled out. One of the slender striders quaked and shook in the center of the road. Dirty smoke poured out from the other.

He ran as fast as he could towards the center of the complex. The ribbon loomed before him like a sentinel.

“Ammo!” he cried out.

Mullins tossed a pair of slabs through the air. His medic bag hung limply against his back.

Yamaguchi snatched them and locked one into the weapon. He glanced back at the medic and gave as much of a nod as the power armor would allow.

The sounds of violence blasted through the concrete walls. Yamaguchi slid on the floor and rested next to Private Kowalski.

Mcrager pummeled a heavy strider with one of his legs. A single battery opened fire on the back. A burst of flame exploded from above.

“Keep moving!” Yamaguchi yelled.

The spider tore free from the mangled strider and sped along the other corner.

Yamaguchi ran after with his weapon raised.

A pair of heavy striders were waiting. Each hunched like an old beetle in the yellow mud. Mcrager took a wave of anti-armor missiles that spilled the spider onto its side. He struggled to rise. One leg arced wildly while a rear actuator spouted fluid.

The railgun fired again, smashing against one of the heavies. The armored form tumbled backwards and came to rest in a smoldering heap.

Yamaguchi sprinted with the weapon at his shoulder.

Mcrager lurched forward with legs broken and torn. The spider was a shambling mess.

The heavy released a last barrage of silver-pointed missiles. The pin-pricks of heat each homed in and delivered a terrible blow to the now immobile Mcrager.

The heavy strider, distracted by the last barrage, didn’t see Yamaguchi until it was too late.

He fired and kept the trigger depressed. The full load nanite rounds splashed and tore into the armor of the Sa’Ami heavy. Blistering heat reflected back as something burst inside of the strider.

Yamaguchi blinked. Raindrops splashed onto his face. His chest felt like a shovel smacked it.

The Sa’Ami heavy was a splintered mass. Something had detonated inside of it with a horrible fury.

“Mcrager,” Yamaguchi said, as much a call as a plea. He struggled to stand.

The shape of the spider lay with one good leg planted in the mud. Sooty smoke rolled out from the back of the armor. The rain sputtered and hissed as it landed on the barrel of the railgun.

“Mcrager!” Yamaguchi called. He steadied himself on the leg of the spider. He released the armored cockpit door.

Mcrager crumbled out and dropped onto the ground. His face was stained with soot and smoke.

“Medic!” Yamaguchi shouted.

The bells ceased ringing. The remaining soldiers came together and stood as Mullins knelt before Mcrager.

“Sorry, LT,” Mullins said.

Yamaguchi raised his weapon as splashes sounded from around a container. A menagerie of civilians, Marines, and sailors poured around the side. The mass was as undisciplined as one could be. Lieutenant Grace limped in behind everyone else.

“LT!” Grace called out.

The pair came together in a moment of silence. The rain came down in sheets that cleansed more than mud. Yamaguchi found it odd to watch the rain and yet not feel a drop.

“Is that it?” Grace asked.

A single gunshot echoed. The bell rang once more and was still.

“Not yet it seems,” Yamaguchi said. “First squad with me, everyone else pair up and sweep. Ping me if you find trouble and wait for backup.”

Yamaguchi ran through the rain with a small group of soldiers following. The remainder of the Malta’s crew and the militia followed as quickly as they could. They headed for where the bells had stopped.

*

Abraham tasted blood. His ears rang as he lay in the dirt. The mud was cool on his cheek.

To his side a man lay face down with blood staining his beard. Raindrops rinsed the blood into thin streams.

He blinked away the rain as it ran through his eyes. Behind him the man in the power armor held a stub nosed rifle with a dark hollow bore.

The smell of burnt plastic and fear was evident even through the rain. The Sa’Ami shifted in place. His face mask was open. Inside a man darted his eyes back and forth. The carbon pads on his temples reflected a silver coating.

Abraham looked up at the man. The eyes were filled with fear. The powered armor was unlike anything he had ever seen. It was graceful, beautiful, but terrible at the same time. It didn’t look manufactured but sculpted.

The fear came back to Abraham when the man looked down. There was no compassion in the eyes. No hope.

The power armor had crashed through the door and began tossing people outside. It clambered back out and shot a man. The man who now lay next to Abraham. Now the only sound was the rain.

“Don’t look at me,” the Sa’Ami said slowly. His voice was a thick accent that Abraham didn’t know. He waved the muzzle towards Abraham.

Abraham turned his head and lay his cheek back into the mud. The handle of the maul stuck out of the matted grass.

The Sa’Ami stood in the rain and waited. Sheets of water beaded up on the suit and ran off like molten silver.

Behind him the crowd peaked out from the doors of the church. The congregation stood and watched the man with the gun.

Thomas stood at the forefront. His heavy beard covered any emotion.

UC Soldiers arrived with face shields lowered. Each wore a visage of death. They spread out and came in slowly, steadily, with weapons at ready.

A suit of armor walked straight at the Sa’Ami. His footsteps were deliberate and his body leaned forward. “Let them go,” his voice boomed loudly through the wet air.

“Once I’m on the elevator,” the Sa’Ami said. He swept the blunt nose of weapon towards Abraham.

Abraham stared at the coal darkness of the barrel and scooted himself as slowly as he could. Safety was away from the man. The maul.

It was too far. He could leap but he was sure that he’d be shot.

Thomas stood in front of the crowd with his eyes locked onto Abraham. He seemed to be ready to move, to jump, to do anything.

The Sa’Ami was focused on the soldiers around him.

Abraham saw his moment: the Sa’Ami had his back to the Anabaptists. He looked at his father, then back to the maul. He snapped his eyes back and forth. The work polished handle just barely stuck around the corner.

Thomas saw and lifted his head slightly. He locked his eyes onto the handle and snapped them back to the Sa’Ami.

“Far enough,” the Sa’Ami soldier said. He shifted his feet and turned slightly to face the oncoming soldiers.

Abraham looked to the power armor and back to his father. If it was going to happen, it had to happen now. He pulsed his eyes and nodded his head at the maul.

Thomas looked back at his son. He mouthed silently, “No.” Thomas stepped away from the congregation and laid his heavy hand onto the handle.

The Sa’Ami soldier tensed and spun. His movement was fluid and graceful as the suit propelled him.

“We forgive you,” Thomas said.

The Sa’Ami leveled the barrel at Thomas and fired. It lashed out a greenish red flare that blew the large man aside.

Thomas rolled softly onto his side and slipped gently into the grass. The maul dropped and stood upright for a split second. The heavy steel head wobbled and tipped sideways.

“Drop it!” the UC Soldier shouted. He snapped the weapon up and came closer. He couldn’t shoot—the entire congregation stood behind the Sa’Ami.

Abraham looked to his father and knew he was dead. His eyes had lost that edge. The edge that made him a leader of men. That edge that Abraham never had.

Anger filled him and reddened his vision.

The Sa’Ami spun and raised the weapon, pointing it towards the soldiers. “Stay back!”

Abraham latched onto the maul. He heaved, lifted, and when the maul was high over his shoulder slammed it down with every bit of strength he had.

The UC soldier stepped closer and growled.

The Sa’Ami soldier swung the weapon a fraction of an inch and leveled the barrel at the soldier.

The maul, powering with the rage of youth, smashed into the shoulder of the Sa’Ami soldier. The dull wedge sheared the armor plate aside just a fraction of an inch. White sparks leapt from the wound as if electrified. The entire shoulder shimmered as the nanites swam towards the shear.

The Sa’Ami soldier dropped the rifle as the arm lost power. The facemask slammed open and the man inside howled.

The UC Soldier rushed closer with the rifle raised. The other soldiers closed on the figure falling before them.

Abraham staggered backwards and fell to his knees. His arms were numb. The recoil of the blow had jarred all of his nerves. He wanted to strike again, but he simply couldn’t do it.

A strider, hidden beneath a low awning, pounced on one of the soldiers. The Sa’Ami creature was wounded, missing an arm and part of its head. With a terrible fury it slammed the soldier aside.

The closest UC Soldier fired at the Sa’Ami. Slugs ricocheted off the crouching Sa’Ami and plowed into the walls of the church.

Screams and moans burst from the door. The congregation fled. There was a crush as some ran inside and some fled out. Abraham tossed himself down and lay next to his father.

The Sa’Ami soldier tried to stand but the shots, at such a close distance, punched holes right through. He staggered and fell onto his good arm before collapsing. Thin trails of blue smoke rose into the rain.

The strider rolled and tumbled and was shot down by the other soldiers. More fire leapt at it from behind as Marines and sailors arrived with the Maronite militia.

Wails and cries came from the church. A UC medic rushed out of the group and pushed his way inside. He gave no more than a quick glance at Thomas.

Abraham stood slowly and looked down to his father. He’d betrayed him. He’d betrayed everything he stood for. The one thing he wanted to do on his own and he couldn’t do it. His father died trying to keep him alive.

Those that came out of the church looked at Abraham and turned away. Two men came forward and grasped Thomas under the arms and carried him inside.

Abraham took a step and knew it was wrong. His father had, as his last act, renounced any violence. Had he died before seeing Abraham turn his back on that? He realized his father knew. He hadn’t forgiven the Sa’Ami, but Abraham.

Men and women streamed from the church and raced away. The soldiers and Marines stood in silence.

Maronites rushed into the church, casting weapons aside, and helped with the wounded and the dead. The bonds that held family and community together were strengthened. Maronite looked to Anabaptist and consoled.

Abraham turned from it all and took a step away. His father was dead because of him. His soul felt empty. Loss flowed over him and tears came.

A gunshot rang out. The strider squirmed and shivered before being still.

One of the UC Soldiers leaned down in front of the Sa’Ami. He nodded and kicked the rifle away. The maul was still wedged into the armor. “I’m sorry,” he said to Abraham.

The soldiers turned and ran into the city. Gunshots still sounded through the air.

“Let’s move!” a slender man shouted. The man turned and limped back towards the elevator. The sailors and Marines followed behind leaving the Maronites with the Anabaptists.

Abraham stood alone. Tears mixed with the rain. He looked at the pack heading to the elevator and followed behind. The church seemed closed to him. He was off to find another way.

CHAPTER ELEVEN

Debris

They brought Archie to the room where he tackled Asa. The two guards held baton and looked eager to use them.

His body ached. All he wanted to do was sleep. Instead he was watching the screen. He tried not to watch, kept his eyes on the opposite wall, but he kept glancing at it.

When he came in the screen was showing silent feeds of the Sa’Ami on the planet below. The movement was fast and disorienting. The camera view slewed and spun, tumbled and rolled. He had to look away and get his bearings. The striders were like acrobats.

A suit of power armor appeared on the screen and blasted the strider down. The camera was live long enough to show it sprint away and launch into cover.

Archie sat up and began to pay attention.

Another feed winked out. A suit of powered armor leapt down from the corrugated roof of a building. He studied the armor. The edges were paneled and modular. The joints looked delicate but the strength they showed was immense.

He felt a particular point of pride when the face showed. A dull white skull was painted on the front.

Archie had trained with a few different styles of armor. Power armor was theoretical but not functional. At least not that he’d seen. This was something new.

Previous doctrine went a different direction and explored augmenting wounded soldiers and Marines. He had seen the results of the project and wasn’t comfortable with the conclusion.

Striders seemed like the next big development. The last he’d heard at Quantico Orbital was striders. Striders and drones. But they didn’t have enough, they were complex, finicky, and took an amazingly gifted controller. Not everyone wanted implanted carbon pads.

He knew the wish was to have striders and drones that were totally autonomous. They tried, he’d participated in the simulations. The AI, while gifted, wasn’t able to beat out humans. They would win on occasion, but statistically it was a failure.

The guards became silent as more feeds winked away. The action became focused around the elevator complex. Fire showered down from the blocky complex onto the Sa’Ami but they continued to move forward.

The soldiers firing were like ghosts as they danced away from the heavy fire. Archie knew how this went. It was all fun and games until the armor came out—or in this case, heavy striders.

He leaned back and looked at the guards. They were both focused on the screen. Archie wondered if he’d have time to tackle one and disable the other. What then? Hole up in a room and get shot?

Captain Asa leaned in the door with her arms across her chest. She watched the screen and snapped an eye to Archie. “What do you think, Major? Your forces are surrounded.”

“That simplifies things.”

Asa snorted.

It didn’t look good. The heavies were converging. All of the feeds that cycled showed the same thing: an approaching apron of concrete and the blocky elevator complex.

Archie shifted in his chair. His spirits wavered. Watching one defeat was tough enough. He looked to Asa. She was preoccupied with a tablet in her palm.

“Not enjoying this, Captain?” Archie asked.

“We should be done with this by now. There’s a schedule,” she said with the words trailing off. Her mouth remained open. Eyes grew wide.

Archie turned his head back and grinned.

A crawler mech descended upon one of the heavy striders and ripped it limb from limb. The feeds were wild as the Sa’Ami ground troops surged for position. The UC mech was precisely violent.

“Hoo wee!” Archie shouted. It was invigorating to watch. His heart rose. Pride was his for now. He turned his head to Asa with eyes that beamed.

Asa entered the room and rested her back against the wall. Color drained from her face.

One of the guards pointed the tip of his baton at Archie and shook his head slowly.

Pushing his luck, Archie decided, was not an option.

The feed dropped out to an empty screen. A moment later it was replaced by an orbital view.

“Is that it?” Archie asked.

“No, we’ll burn the city from orbit.” Asa walked closer to the screen. The bluish-white planetary view reflected off her face.

Archie shook his head and looked at the screen. “Why?”

“We can grow another elevator.”

The room was silent except for the background noise of the ship. Archie stood and walked into the bathroom. The polished stainless showed a face he almost didn’t recognize. Pale, thin in the cheeks, a few days of reddish brown stubble dotted his chin.

Thoughts of escape danced through his head. If he could get away now he could get to the elevator. Desperation strained as he pictured something, anything. He took a deep breath and grasped the cool steel of the sink.

He felt something move. An odd feeling like the floor slipped. His eyes locked onto a single droplet of water on the edge of the sink. It shook slightly and slid down into the basin.

“What?” he mouthed silently.

Asa was standing in the same spot.

Did he really feel it? He sat down silently and looked around. Something was off—he could sense it.

Alarms sounded. Booming echoes shuddered the hull.

Asa tipped her head slightly and turned to face Archie. Her mouth opened and closed. A confused look spread across her face.

A hole the size of a man’s fist opened in the wall. A terrible bang sounded as the room was showered in splinters of alloy and stone. Everyone instinctively tensed and cowered.

The hole whistled and hummed.

Archie leapt to his feet. A smile grew on his face. Someone was shooting at the dropship! Then he realized he’d suffocate if he didn’t get out of the room.

“Out!” Asa cried. She sprinted to the door and found it sealed. Vacuum alarms went off.

One of the guards fell forward. A single stream of blood ran down his forehead. The other guard rushed to the door and gripped his palms on the flat alloy.

“Don’t you have a kit here?” Archie asked. He glanced around the room and tried to think how much air they’d have. Not enough, he thought. There must be other rooms venting.

“No!” she snapped back. “This was temporary. It must be an accident.”

Archie ran across the room and lifted up the dead guard. His body felt heavier than he thought it should. He wasn’t as strong as a month before. He heaved the body and dragged it across the room.

Asa spoke rapidly in a language Archie didn’t know. She stopped talking and looked at Archie. “What are you doing?”

The body was heavy and awkward. Archie struggled to move it closer to the whistling hole. The vacuum leak seemed quieter.

“Help me, dammit!” Archie yelled.

The guard stood and pounded on the door. Asa ran next to the body and pushed it against the wall.

There was a slight pop and the whistling stopped. Archie dropped back onto the floor and breathed in deeply. The air was just rich enough to give him something.

“Hey cowboy,” Archie called to the guard. “Look at the alarm, the vacuum is on the other side.”

The screen flickered. The planet view pivoted.

“We’re moving,” Asa said simply. “Something struck us.”

“No shit.” Archie said. “What’s your comms say?”

Asa stumbled on the words. “They’re down.”

A second blast rocked the ship. The floor shuddered. A roaring crunch boomed from every wall and beam. The view spun more and something blinked past.

The shape was rough, large, and like a potato. Debris trailed behind it in a great train of particles.

“What was that?” Asa whispered.

The shape was gone from the view screen.

“A powered asteroid. Where’s your pickets, Captain?” Archie knew the only thing that used a powered asteroid was a wildcat miner.

“They left,” she whispered.

The ship shook violently. The star scape on the screen changed instantly. A deep groan ran through the hull as if the very structure of the ship rebelled against the blink.

“They’ll come for us,” Asa said.

Archie looked at the Captain and had a hunch she was lying. “We’re going to need more air.”

The guard slid down next to the door and mumbled to himself. Tears streamed down his olive cheeks.

“That’s not helpful,” Archie said. He walked around the room and slapped at the walls. At each seam he ran a hand up and down.

A slight whisper of air pushed against his hand.

“We’ve got some time,” Archie said. “Air coming in here.”

The baton rattled against the wall and Archie smiled. The odds were starting to look better. Now the only problem was where the hell would he go?

*

“Meestur Gratham! Meestur Gratham!” Faris shouted as he ran into the elevator complex. His fat arms flapped wildly above his head.

A crowd of soldiers, Marines and sailors stood near the command post of the elevator complex. The controls and feeds were blank behind them.

“Shit,” Yamaguchi said. Half of his armor was peeled off. He stunk like an animal.

William stood upwind and watched as the fat Maronite slid up to the Ambassador.

“Mr. Faris,” Ambassador Gratham said. The Ambassador faced the large man and smiled a smile only a politician could.

The plump Lebanese huffed and strained to catch his breath. He took a huge breath and exhaled. Both hands were on his chest as if to restrain his breathing.

“Kassub came in!” he said between heaves. “He left a mighty trail.”

“Who is Kassub?” William asked. His ribs still burned intensely.

Faris went to speak but was stopped by Ambassador Gratham.

“One of Mr. Faris’s asteroid miners.”

William stepped closer to Faris. “I’m Lieutenant William Grace, any word of the Malta?”

He’d been hard pressed to stop thinking of the ship above. The blow the Malta took wasn’t necessarily fatal, but most definitely critical.

“Eh? No, they just said they hit the Sa’Ami,” Faris said with a strained voice. He looked to Ambassador Gratham. “I shall send an invoice for the fuel and ore.”

Gratham looked back in surprise. “What? We’ll see what your rock did, then the UC might repay a portion.”

“Wait—what? Start over. What happened?” William asked. His heartbeat was rising.

“We sent a message telling them to divert. Kassub, he was coming in to offload his ore.” Faris looked around and beamed. All eyes were on him and he seemed to be loving it. “So they burned as hard as they could and did a, uh, what’s that word? You use it to move little rocks?”

William squinted his eyes and had an urge to slap the man. “Keep going.”

Faris waved his plump hand and nodded. “On the backside of Canaan they empty all the ore, all that beautiful ore.” He paused a moment and took another deep breath. “So when they come by the ore is all around and whammo!” He slapped his palms together. “They hit.”

“Hit what?”

Faris shrugged. “Everything.”

“Can you talk to them? Do you have comms?” William shuffled closer to Faris.

“Well, yes! Now about that payment, the Kassub has been out for quite some time.”

“Give me the damn commset,” William growled.

Faris turned and faced William. He raised an eyebrow and nodded. His hand slipped into his shirt and pulled out a transparent panel. “One moment.”

William looked to Yamaguchi. “Sweep clear, LT?”

Yamaguchi nodded. “Almost.”

“We have reports of striders in the pines,” Gratham said.

“We’ll pick ‘em out later,” Yamaguchi said. He ran his hand over his oily hair.

Faris poked at the transparent screen. Sounds crackled and he shouted at his hand. “Shlamalukh? Shlamalukh?” His fingers poked and he shouted before the tinny sounds of a voice replied back. “Oh hey!”

The voice on the other end spoke rapidly and in a language William didn’t recognize.

Faris questioned the screen. His hands danced and gesticulated as he spoke. The excitement grew and spread as he spoke at the same time as the person on the other end.

Silence spread across the room as Faris grew louder and stomped his feet. He drew a fat stubby finger and pointed it threateningly at the screen. “Aloho amich!” Faris nodded to himself and stuffed the screen back into his pocket.

“Well?” William asked.

“He says they should get combat pay. How ridiculous!” Faris shook his head.

William’s face grew red. His temples pulsed and he began drawing together a stream of obscenities.

Gratham laid a hand onto Faris’s elbow. “What did they say about the Sa’Ami, Faris?”

“Oh, that? They blinked away, short hop, very inefficient. The Malta is still at the docking station. The rest of the ships are moving in.”

“Rest of the ships? More Sa’Ami?” Gratham asked.

Faris shook his head. “No, there is a UC dropship coming in with a few more ships. The rest of the fleet is heading across system.”

“The rest of the fleet?” William spat. “Does anyone on that ship speak English?”

Faris shrugged. “Maybe?”

“LT! Let’s get prepped, we’re heading upstairs.” William said. He stalked off to find another nanite patch.

“You heard the man! Reload and get a bite, we’re going for a ride,” Yamaguchi said.

William peeled the patch off his chest and stuck on a fresh one. The pain had grown as the day wore on. Thoughts ran through his mind. The fleet was back! The dropship would be filled with the rest of Yamaguchi’s company.

Thoughts of the Malta came to him. He wasn’t sure if he was happy or just relieved. Captain Khan had cast him off, but it was still his assignment. There would be a ranking officer in that fleet group that could set things right.

*

The room shifted and supplies piled in. Soldiers stood in suits of power armor with mud stained legs. Marines and sailors kept a respectable distance from each other. They began to load up on the bulk cargo car.

“Excuse me,” a man said to William.

William looked up to one of the largest men he had ever seen. The sheer bulk made the man—no, boy—nearly a giant. His face held a wisp of beard. His eyes were red and bloodshot.

“Yes?”

“I want to come with.”

William cast a glance. Anabaptist.

“This is a military mission, you can enlist later,” William said.

The boys voice trembled. “My father died today.”

William looked closely at the boy. “What’s your name?”

“Abraham Yoder.”

“I’m sorry Abraham, this is no place for a civilian.”

Yamaguchi walked up with a dull clanking sound. His facemask was open. The smell of sweat poured out. “I’ve got eight suits operational. Oh hey, the kid with the axe.”

William looked to Abraham. Recognition flowed across his face. “You struck down the Sa’Ami power armor with an axe?”

Abraham nodded.

“That was his father,” Yamaguchi said to William in a low voice.

William looked back to Abraham and locked eyes. He knew what it felt like to lose a father to war. The thought of a raw civilian wasn’t something he liked. He wanted to say no, he wanted to boot him off and call an uncle. But instead: “Corporal Klein.”

A wide shouldered Marine separated from the group and jogged over to William. He saluted and looked at the giant of a man next to him. “Sir?”

“Get Abraham set up.”

Abraham lifted his head up and stuck his chin out.

Yamaguchi stepped closer to William. Both the men watched the large Anabaptist walk with the wide-eyed corporal.

“What are you doing?”

“We need the men, we’ll take the militia up top as well. Once everything is secured we’ll let them keep a watch,” William said. “It’s not unheard of to bring in locals when a crew requires it. Hell, sometimes they impress men into a ship.” He shifted his eyes away from Yamaguchi. The answer wasn’t exactly the truth. He didn’t want to admit that he didn’t know why he let Abraham come. Something inside him saw himself years before.

The last thing they waited on was the militia. The colorfully dressed Maronites streamed in smelling of wine and bitter liquor. Maronite celebration and mourning came with a bottle on Canaan.

Men shuffled and stood in the empty space of the elevator. Doors slid shut and the smell of mud mixed with overpowering body odor. Someone half gagged-coughed. The soldiers dropped face shields down. The sound of air purifiers running in the power armor brought jeers from the marines.

The excitement rose. The feeling of the unknown. William remembered his trip on Redmond that seemed so very similar. Then they had to assault a ship, this time they’d just have to secure it.

William thought back to Yamaguchi grumbling about the militia. He countered that some of the Maronites were employed, working with the elevator. They were technical support as much as back up. It was their planet and some of them deserved to take a part in this.

Eyes darted out the slender window and necks craned. Everyone wanted to get a view.

William waited next to Yamaguchi and wished he just could take a nap. His eyes closed and he thought back to Redmond once again.

Fingers reflexively went to his chest. He felt the slender ration bar. He hadn’t been able to avoid hoarding food. Starvation was a constant companion even when he wasn’t hungry.

“LT,” Yamaguchi said.

William opened his eyes. They were almost there. “All you, Yamaguchi.”

Yamaguchi nodded and slid the face mask down. The mud-stained skull mask looked even more intimidating. “Listen up! Armor with me, everyone stay here until we sweep.”

William nodded to his Marines and straightened himself up.

Outside the view was a rapidly dimming whitish blue crescent of light. Darkness was coming on the ground. The station came into view.

Ragged gashes and scars gouged the length of the station. Each a dark brown streak that had moved parallel with the orientation of the station.

The Malta hung motionless. The hole in the hull was like a shadowed scar.

The elevator creaked to a halt and paused. A dim orange light blinked on the side control. Low atmosphere. Next to it the red light for no atmosphere was off. Compressors hummed in the rear of the capsule.

Power armor streamed forward and brought weapons to ready. The suits were mud stained and carried tufts of grass. Bits of filth and debris still clung to the edges. They seemed out of place on the almost clinically clean elevator.

“Minimum load,” Yamaguchi said. His hands slapped the charge lever. He nodded to one of the militia.

The door opened. Cold air rushed in that smelled of apples and burnt resin. The power armor pounced out and the door closed.

William paced in front of the door and waited. The comms were mostly quiet. The soldiers said little. In a few short minutes the all clear was sounded, but with a caveat.

“LT,” Yamaguchi called. “We’re bringing suits, the militia is going to have to do some patch work. There’s a lot of damage here.”

William relayed the information. Members of the militia stepped forward and waited for the suits.

Another delay. He wanted nothing more than to get onto the Malta. That was his place. That was his duty, whether the Captain wanted it or not.

The alarm sounded and one of the soldiers tossed in half a dozen maintenance suits. The door closed and the militia suited up.

“Leaks over .5 CFM first, save the little ones for later. As soon as you have a balance let us in,” William said. He looked at each of the men and they nodded nervously.

“Door’s sealed to the Malta,” Yamaguchi called back. “Want us to blow it?”

“Hold on.” William yelled across the elevator. “Reed, Huron, c’mere!”

The two Mars born Engineers pushed through the crowd.

“Doors are sealed, know any tricks?”

Huron looked to Reed. Reed nodded to William.

“Get us to that airlock,” Reed said.

“And we can open it.” Huron added.

“My crew can, hold tight,” William clicked over to Yamaguchi.

The door opened once more. The maintenance crew streamed out and closed the door.

William was ready to tear his hair out when the alarm light flickered and disappeared. “Okay, here we go.”

Abraham stood and walked to the front of the pack.

“Abe. Stay with the militia.”

Abraham nodded. The plate vest he wore looked comical as both sides of his chest squeezed out. In one hand he held a boarding shield and the other a pneumatic rifle. Both looked like toys.

William was the first through the door. The smells assaulted him once more. Apples. Burnt plastic. A sooty acetylene tang made him want to sneeze.

Marines passed him and secured the area. Not that they didn’t trust the soldiers but they had their own duty.

By the time he reached the edge of the airlock, the Marines had taken up position on either side of Huron and Reed. A metal panel was slid aside. Slender wires floated out in the zero gravity. The pair of engineers were debating something.

“What’s wrong?” William asked as he glided up.

“He wants to just cut it,” Reed said.

“Well, we’re going to have to fix it later, might as well do it right,” Huron said.

“Open the damn door,” William snapped.

Huron nodded to Reed. Reed clipped a set of wires.

“On your call, Mr. Grace.”

“LT? You ready?” William said to Yamaguchi.

The squad moved to the door and crouched on either edge with weapons at ready.

“Wait!” Huron called out.

Yamaguchi snapped his head back. “What?”

“What if they rigged it to show there was atmosphere but there really wasn’t?” Huron eyed the atmosphere indicator suspiciously.

“Clear the tube,” Yamaguchi ordered.

Everyone but the soldiers moved out of the tube and sealed the airlock.

William craned his neck to look out the hatch. He saw a suit, he assumed it was Yamaguchi, punch the release and the hatch popped open.

The suits surged inside of the Malta. The atmosphere indicator still hovered in the green.

“Hit it!” William called. “Marines go!”

The outer hatch popped open. Marines surged into the zero gravity pipe and shot through, head first. Each of the Marines tucked into a roll and landed running. Boarding in zero-g was a particular talent tuned in long training runs.

William followed with the remainder of the crew behind. The air seeping into the tunnel smelled like burning garbage met a bayou swamp. He wrinkled his nose when he passed through. “Oh god, that smell.”

Groans sounded from behind him as the rest of the crew ran into the smell.

“LT, you better get in here,” Yamaguchi called over the comms.

“What is it?” William asked. The smell was in his mouth.

“We’ve got survivors.”

*

Grace stepped lightly through the debris strewn passage. He tucked his body sideways and pressed behind a mass of smoke blackened tubing. The thought of fixing the mess around him made his head spin. He had stopped cataloging repairs in his head—there was so much to do.

Yamaguchi told him it was breathable atmosphere but it was stuffed with chemical residues.

“I’m moving to your position, damned place is a mess. Medics are inbound.” He stopped and took in his bearing. The directions he received played back in his mind. Sections were closed off and he had to snake through the ship.

A low gravity section threw him off. His feet danced on the deck. The battle damage had taken some of the grav generators offline. Harmonics existed at certain points that made for an uncomfortable walk.

The room he entered was claustrophobic to start with, even without a dozen people packed into it. They were dirty. They were wounded. Some were dead. He paused and took it in.

The faces of the survivors were nearly indistinguishable. Soot coated their faces while eyes of broken white looked back. The shock was still evident.

William knelt down next to a small woman with a burn on one arm. The smell of the dead bodies was intense. “Hey, it’s Lieutenant Grace. It’s going to be okay.”

“Midshipman Lebeau.” She cleared her throat. “The Captain is still alive.”

He scanned around the room looking for a familiar face. Distinguishing between anyone was impossible. He hardly recognized Lebeau.

“Lebeau!” William called out.

Mullins pushed into the room and stood for a moment. Triage was written in his eyes as he took in the task. The slender medic moved to an unconscious woman and began working. “Patches! Get ‘em on everyone.”

William moved with Reed and began spreading patches around the room. The crew had every appearance of being dumped into the room and forgotten.

“Avi.” William stood before the Marine and knelt down. He gently smoothed a patch onto his chest.

One entire side of his face was a gnarled red mass of burns.

Avi opened his eyes and tried to focus. His face was unsmiling, but his eyes looked relieved.

It was the same across the room. Burns. Impact wounds. Concussions. In the corner lay the dead.

The moment came where he faced the Captain. He thought her dead after seeing the ship struck. Looking at her face was even more shocking.

“Grace,” Captain Khan croaked. Her lips were raw. Her neck burnt.

“Captain.” William took note that she didn’t use his rank.

She cast her eyes away from him and looked to the rest of the room. She looked back to William and away again.

William stood slowly and turned.

“Wait,” Khan said.

“Yes Captain?”

Her eyes darted around and lost focus. William knelt down on the floor and felt the crunching of something under his knees.

“Do you have any water?”

William called for water.

She took the offered flask. Streams of clear water ran down the corner of her mouth and washed away some of the soot. She let out a sigh and rested the flask on her lap.

While she was drinking, William took in her injuries. Burns. Cuts. Her left arm was at an odd angle. She was shifted oddly with her legs askew.

Mullins came over and dropped his kit. “Third degree burns, contusions, broken left arm, probable spinal injury, gangrene in the left leg, group alpha.”

She looked up at the medic. The patch seemed to be working. Her body relaxed and sunk slightly. “I’m not leaving my ship.”

“Then you’ll die,” Mullins replied. He stood and walked to a man with black burns on both hands.

“Ma’am, the Malta is pretty rough. The fleet is coming in. It’s going to be fine,” William said.

“You just want my ship. Like the bastards did.” She looked up at William with a defiant face. “The Malta is mine.”

William stood and walked to Lebeau. He wasn’t going to argue, not now.

The Midshipman was battered, but not nearly as bad as some. The patch had relaxed her to the point that she was almost knocked out.

“What happened, Lebeau?” William asked.

“They hit us once we cleared the station. Just bam, pinpoint, right through engineering. Lost all power. Zippo. Totally gone. Reactor is still there but they vaporized the main conduit. The slugs must have been nanite coated. We had little surface fires flare up all over the ship. Nanite alarms going off everywhere.”

William wondered how the burns had spread like they did. The entire ship seemed blackened, even parts that should have been sealed.

“Then the striders came in. Zinkov led the Marines but they couldn’t do much. I saw ‘em wrap one up with the bolo, but they were all over. They towed us to the station after that.” Her eyes unfocused and glazed for a moment.

“How many survived?”

“About a dozen of us left, unless they’ve got more people elsewhere.”

“We’ll get you taken care of,” William replied.

“You know why they left?” Lebeau asked with a smile.

William shook his head.

“The smell.”

“The smell?” It came back to him—the musty, old cheese smell.

“They asked what it was, where it was, how to stop it. They couldn’t deal with it.”

“It’s worse now.”

“I know—amazing isn’t it?”

William watched the nanite narcotics firmly lock into Lebeau. He left her in that induced bliss.

“Grace,” Yamaguchi said. A man in power armor stood behind Yamaguchi at attention.

“What’s up LT?” William felt tired now. The wounds of the day and the intensity were draining from him fast.

“Kowalski?” Yamaguchi turned to the man behind him. “Tell him.”

Kowalski dropped the facemask. Perspiration ran down his cheeks and his nose was wrinkled tight.

“We uh, we left a surprise for the Marines when we left the Malta, sir.”

A surprise, for the Marines? William looked quizzically at the soldier.

Kowalski squirmed with a layer of sweat on his brow.

“Tell him Private,” Yamaguchi snapped.

Kowalski looked to Yamaguchi with wide eyes.

“It’s a stinkbomb, Mr. Grace.”

“Stinkbomb?” William asked.

Kowalski sighed. “I wanted to play a joke on them, sir, I didn’t think it’d smell like this.”

“You’re telling me that the smell is something you did to play a joke?” William asked.

Kowalski nodded.

“Go,” Yamaguchi ordered. He turned back to William with a slim smile across his lips. “Oh, Kowalski?”

“Sir?”

“Turn it off.”

“Yes, sir!” Kowalski made a hasty exit.

“Hmm, well, that explains why we never found a leak.” William remembered the maintenance bots crawling all over the piping.

“He says it releases a nanite pheromone. But gah, that smell.”

William nodded and looked around. The survivors were relaxing and allowing the nanite patches to take hold. Only Captain Khan looked defiant.

Mullins walked up to the two Lieutenants. “Gentlemen, I need stretchers and bearers, I’ve got to get these people on the ground.”

“Done,” William replied. He called out for his remaining crew to scramble and find stretchers.

“I’m headed to the bridge, LT. The fleet needs to know.” William turned to the room and thought of saying something inspiring. Nothing came to mind.

The bridge was almost as rough as the rest of the ship. A section of pipe had burst through one wall, splintering like a ragged pineapple. Ash coated every surface in the room. The displays were lifeless and cold, a cool carbon black on every screen.

William sat in his old chair. His eyes glanced at the Captain’s chair. It didn’t feel right, not yet. “Reed, Huron, give me something.”

“Oh wow. This is a mess, LT,” Reed replied over the comms. Clanging and banging sounded in the background.

“A mess, well, shit, once we get that conduit up we can get power, but not ‘til then,” Huron added.

“I need comms. Ten minutes ago.” William rubbed his temples. The pain was edging through the nanite patches.

“Five minutes, LT,” Huron said. His voice sounded like he was running.

Three minutes later the lights flickered in pulses before remaining on. The screens displayed a single cursor and began a slow boot. William leaned forward and watched the systems come alive.

Diagnostics showed nothing but alarm after alarm. The entire ship registered critical damage. Strain-stress sensors showed core structural damage from bow to stern. The Malta was barely keeping atmosphere in.

Two icons blinked incessantly: “COMM REQUEST” and “NANITE REPAIR”.

“Can we do a full repair yet?” William asked over the comms.

Huron and Reed replied at the same time. “No!”

William called up the comms request. First he entered in his signal code and waited.

Huron and Reed led the beginnings of the recovery operations. William listened as the Engineers directed the few remaining crew. The plan was to online the reactor and provide the additive cell with enough juice to make a new piece of conduit. After that it would go much smoother.

Twenty-four minutes later William saw the reply: “STAND BY AND WAIT FOR THE ARRIVAL OF THE ALEUTIAN.”

Mullins cleared his throat. The medic stood on the edge of the bridge. “LT, Captain Khan is requesting to see you.”

William nodded slowly and made his way through the ship.

He found her at the edge of the airlock laying on a stretcher. A pair of militia stood uncomfortably fore and aft of her stretcher.

“As you ordered, ma’am,” Mullins said.

Captain Khan looked up and found William with dark eyes. “I demand to remain on my ship Grace. You’re running me out with your colonist agenda.” Her eyes looked drunk and wavered as she spoke.

William looked to Mullins. “What happens if she stays?”

Mullins shrugged and looked annoyed. “She’ll die.”

“Take her away,” William said. He bore the full brunt of her gaze as she was carried through the hatch and into the zero-g connecting tube.

“I couldn’t legally order her off, Mr. Grace,” Mullins said. He looked worn through.

William nodded. “I’m not sure I can either.”

CHAPTER TWELVE

Solution

The air stunk of burnt plastic and the hard tint of vacuum. Apples were the only pleasant smell, and at that it was too sweet, too close, too concentrated. The hold was quiet except for the ripping sound of a proper weld being laid down.

William Grace stood at the airlock and waited.

The bulk of the dropship, Aleutian, came to a rest. Behind it the shape of a missile cruiser hovered like a watchful hen. Further out a slender slice of light showed the location of the Heavy Assault Cruiser Erebus.

The umbilical snaked out from the Aleutian. It locked with a loud mechanical sound. Lights flickered and changed, showing that the vacuum was gone.

The hatch burst open and Marines spread out in full boarding armor. Face shields were dropped with boarding shields lowered like knights of old. Each shield bore a notch with the barrel of a weapon protruding from it.

William raised his chin slightly and stood with his hands clasped behind his back. He knew enough to not offer the Marines an excuse for violence.

They were all business as they spread throughout the hold and secured it.

“Lieutenant Grace?” a Marine with skin as black as coal asked.

William nodded. His throat felt dry and parched.

“With me, sir,” the man said, turning towards the airlock.

The Marine was as much escort as he was guard. The halls were empty in the Aleutian. William found himself in a conference room with cream colored walls. The Marine stood at the door at attention.

The door popped open and three men walked through. One with the silver pip marking him as a Commodore. The second a strangely tall man with the rank of Captain. The third was stout like a brick and wore the rank of an Army Colonel.

“Commodore Cain.” The Commodore stuck out a hand and sat across from William. “This is my XO, Captain Andropov and Colonel Viljoen.”

“Lieutenant Grace.” William returned the handshake. His hand felt cool, raspy, mechanical.

“What’s that smell?” The Colonel wrinkled his nose.

William had replayed what he would say while he waited for the Aleutian to arrive. The truth was the simplest, even if he didn’t like how it all came together.

Captain Khan would take a fall, of that he was sure. There was no legal reasoning for her paranoia. He had disobeyed her order, but it was an illegal order at that.

The men across from him were professionals. The Commodore wore enough tabs to show a lifetime of service. The Colonel had the same look as all Colonels he had met, manufactured, not promoted. Like there was a factory churning them out.

The big question to William was the sentiment regarding colonial or Earth-born.

“Gentlemen, if you don’t mind, where are you from?” William asked.

Cain raised an eyebrow and glanced to the other men. “Luna, Lieutenant.”

“Ukraine,” the Captain replied.

“New Cape,” the Colonel said in a curious tone.

William nodded and began his story. He started from the point where he was assigned to the Malta. They listened in silence until he reached the point where Captain Khan ordered the Earth born onto the bridge.

This was most likely all being recorded. The room felt a bit warmer and his collar a bit tighter. Relax, he thought, I’m in the clear.

“What did you do?” Cain asked.

“I left the bridge for a time. Then I ordered everyone back to battle stations.”

“Even though she ordered you not to?” the Captain asked.

“That’s correct.”

The men exchanged a glance.

“Please continue,” Cain said.

He was interrupted again when he reached the part of the story where he was shot.

“She shot you?” Cain asked. His palms were flat on the table.

“Yes, sir.”

“In the chest?” Andropov asked.

“Frangible rounds I assume?” the Colonel said.

William nodded.

The rest of the story went quickly. When he reached the part about the ground troops, the Colonel waved his hand. “I’ll watch the feed and ask Lieutenant Yamaguchi.”

“Well done, Lieutenant.” Cain tapped the screen and showed the tablet to Andropov. The Captain nodded.

“Admiral Xan is taking the rest of the fleet through to pursue the Sa’Ami. There’s been hell behind us. That container you found contained hunter-striders. They’ve been assaulting mining operations all across our space.” Cain propped up the tablet and showed William. “Get the Malta online and secure that Sa’Ami dropship. We’ll have a missile cruiser, the Scylla, escort you out there.”

“Why not have the missile cruiser do it, sir?” William asked. He knew it’d be quicker to have them do it.

“The crew of the Scylla is about a dozen—we could hardly get a full compliment. Plus she’s not designed for boarding actions.”

William nodded. “Can we have the assistance of your crew?”

“We’re here for three days while the Colonel offloads the garrison. You can have my entire engineering staff if it will help.” Cain set the tablet down and cleared his throat. He glanced to the men on either side. “That was some nasty business that happened with Captain Khan. There will be an inquiry.”

“I assumed as much, sir,” William said softly. The fatigue was weighing his mind down. The nanite patch was beginning to wear thin.

“The UC Navy has been walking on a tightrope. One half wants to institute a Colonial Navy, paid for by Colonial funds, with Earth maintaining its own fleet, while the other side wants it like it is.”

Andropov spoke next. “It is a hard thing to do. You must forget your roots and cast off with the whole.” He shook his head and clicked his lips. “We shall see, eh?”

“Oh and Lieutenant, if you can’t secure that ship, have the Scylla blast it.”

William nodded. “After that?”

“You will rendezvous with the fleet, the Admiral is making a push. One hell of a fleet, too. They’ve got two carriers, the Lyons and Nantucket. Four heavy battlecruisers, six heavy assault cruisers and enough support to dance with the devil.” Cain rolled up the tablet and tucked it under his arm like a baton.

“Send Lieutenant Yamaguchi my way please,” Colonel Viljoen said to William.

“Very well Mr. Grace, carry out your orders,” Commodore Cain said.

William stood and nodded tiredly. “What of Captain Khan?”

“When she stabilizes she’ll be sent back to Earth to recover,” Cain said. His tone said he didn’t want to talk about it.

“Very well, sir.”

William was escorted by the Marine back through the ship. The hallways had erupted with movement. Trails of soldiers, sailors, civilians, and Marines flowed around him. It was like he was a slow moving log in a river of activity.

He almost told the Marine that he could find his own way but didn’t want to be rude. The Aleutian was almost a clone of his first duty assignment, the Lawrence. It even smelled the same.

*

The Malta was, in a few short hours, completely different. The full bulk of the Aleutian’s maintenance drones swarmed on everything. Lights were still off in places and soot was tucked into every corner and crevice. But most importantly the smell was going away.

William inserted himself into the routine and helped where he could. The ship was bursting with activity. On the outside the hull glowed with nanite energy. Larger repairs were done with welding robots. The conduit was placed, tenderly, into position.

They discovered the dead while sweeping through the ship. The Commodore came across the umbilical with a full honor guard of Marines and gave a proper a burial. They did not bury the dead, but instead launched them into space.

William would miss Zinkov. The stuttering Lieutenant was an oddity, but he was still a friend.

The packet of orders came in the hands of a Naval lawyer. He had never received orders before but assumed it would be a basic packet or list of instructions. This was a good bit more complex. Every manner of contingency was noted, ranging from asteroid labor disputes to salvage rights.

He was now legally in command. It took him a moment for it to finally set in. On Redmond it was a stroke of luck, or fate. As the only Commisioned Officer alive, command fell to him, on this occasion the Commodore could have assigned someone else and he knew it

*

William, for the second time in his career, claimed a cabin filled with the debris of someone else’s life.

The door opened with a crunch and jammed. The outer office had a mass of plastic tubing spilled out like animal intestines. He pushed them aside and continued to the Captain’s chamber. The atmosphere light glowed bright green. Safe.

The light flickered as he entered. One entire wall of cabinets was spilled open with the contents laying on the floor. A bed was tucked against one wall with a small wooden desk against the other.

He stood a slender legged wooden chair upright and sat. Ribs still ached and the wound felt raw, even through the narcotic painkillers in the nanite patches.

Across the room lay the accumulation of a career. A pic frame flickered between shots of promotions, handshakes, crews, and ships. An alloy model of the Malta lay on the floor with the nose cracked off.

He felt like a voyeur. His eyes watched the photos as they flickered past one by one. A family portrait caught his eye. A happy family stood over a little girl. Behind was a hut and fields of green. He looked away—that was too personal.

“Mr. Reed, add a task for someone to package up Captain Khan’s cabin and offload it, please,” William said.

“Aye, aye, Captain,” Reed replied.

He tapped his fingers against the wooden desk as fatigue set in, and nodded off.

*

With the repairs nearly finished and the compliment loaded William made his way to the galley.

He found most of the crew waiting for the shift meal.

Avi, with his blunt nose and chopped ears, was manning the galley window. “Captain, what’ll it be?”

William smiled back at his old friend. “Funny,” he said. There was only one menu item today. He waited as Avi slid a giant spoonful of reddish pasta into his mouth. Calling it spaghetti would be a crime against the Italian provinces. He saw Reed sitting with Yamaguchi and dropped his plate down next to them.

“Gentlemen,” William said.

The tone of the table changed. William realized that he was no longer just the XO, or an Officer, but he was it. The Old Man.

“Captain.” The two nodded.

“Still on track Mr. Reed?”

“Close enough, you’ll have most of the critical systems by the deadline,” Reed glanced around the room as if looking for something he missed.

William looked to Yamaguchi. “And you?”

Yamaguchi nodded and sighed. “For the most part. I could use a full platoon, as it is I’ve got a jumbo sized squad. Sons-of-bitches didn’t want to part.”

William liked Yamaguchi. The Army Lieutenant was perpetually angry.

The elephant in the room was the Anabaptist giant. Everyone had taken a shine to the cast-off. At first it seemed like he would get in the way but after a very short time he proved himself skilled with tools. After that his hands, large enough to palm a pumpkin, were called in for delicate welds.

“How is Mr. Yoder getting along?” William asked.

“He wants to stay,” Reed said.

“What do you think, Gooch?” William said as he took a mouthful of food in.

“Not my responsibility. Though I could find a recruiter who could sell him ice cubes for an arctic deployment.” Yamaguchi looked around the table and stood with a half filled plate. “I’m off, I’ll be ready. Let’s see if Abe can cook, this shit is horrible. ”

William wanted to agree but ate placidly. He saw Avi hunched, watching proudly through the galley window. William raised his fork in a mock salute and forced more down.

“Can you use him, Mr. Reed?”

Reed sat back and bulged out his stomach. “Hmm, no.”

William nodded and looked around the room. Lieutenant Zinkov’s replacement was seated by himself shoveling in the spaghetti like it was his last supper. The Austrian Sergeant named Gruber wore an old world Mohawk half a centimeter high. He had a very serious look on his face. The look was especially comical seeing the red sauce speckled on his white scalp.

“Mr. Reed, send Sergeant Gruber with Mr. Yoder to the briefing room,” William said. He stood and shoved the rest of the noodles into the trash when Avi wasn’t looking.

“You’ll make a Marine out of him?” Reed asked, surprised.

“No, we’ll talk about it. That’ll be Sergeant Gruber’s job.” William walked out of the room with his eye on Abraham. He hoped his hunch wasn’t a mistake.

*

Abraham’s heart hammered nervously in his chest as he walked down the passage. The person who was a Lieutenant on the ground was now the Captain. An elder in his own way. This took him a moment to grasp—rank was a very different thing before.

He’d absorbed himself into his work. Exhaustion was the only way he could sleep. Every task was a new challenge with new materials and new tools. He enjoyed it, and found it to be his only release.

Violence was a foreign concept to him. He thought on his actions. It didn’t fit him, of that he was sure.

As he laid awake trying to sleep all he could think about was the maul—about the heavy steel head penetrating into that soldier as it punched through the armor. It seemed like a machine he struck not a man. Killing a machine he could handle, but a man was something different.

He paused and found his bearings. Everything seemed to look the same inside. On the ground he could trust his senses to sense North, South, and where the cow barns were. The smells of the galley anchored him in one axis, with the hum of the drive on another.

The door of the conference room slid aside with a slight corner askew. Inside the walls sagged slightly with a heat bulge on the back side. Lieutenant Grace sat with Sergeant Gruber across the table.

He still wasn’t sure how a Lieutenant could be a Captain, but he assumed it was one of those things he’d pick up.

“Come, please sit, Abraham.” Captain Grace beckoned to a chair.

Abraham nodded and sat on the slender chair. It squeaked underneath him and his arms hung oddly off the sides.

“This is Sergeant Gruber. He’s in command of the Marines on the Malta.”

Sergeant Gruber nodded sharply.

Abraham stole a quick glance at the Mohawk.

Captain Grace slid his hands across the alloy table. “We’ll be leaving soon. Abraham. I’m offering you a choice, you can stay on the Malta or we’ll get you back on the ground.”

A draft of air slid into the room, It smelled of garlic and the mustiness that still hadn’t disappeared.

Abraham knew this question would come but he dreaded it. He was running from that decision, from that moment of truth where he’d have to choose a path. If he stayed, he’d not be a Anabaptist, not in his father’s eyes. If he left the Malta he’d face the unknown on the ground.

Somehow facing the unknown on the stars haunted him less than what we he could live with on the ground. He wasn’t quite sure how he felt about vengeance, but something seemed righteous.

“In situations like this, we can impress men as needed into the crew. Normally they are experienced spacers. You would not be an impressed man, but a volunteer.” Captain Grace glanced at Sergeant Gruber. “Sergeant Gruber has volunteered to take you on as a Marine, until you can find a proper recruiter.”

Abraham darted his eyes back and forth and sat with a rigid back. He felt warm, very warm. Violence was not something he was comfortable with. “I, uh, Captain…”

Captain Grace sat back and looked over at Sergeant Gruber. “Sergeant, can you explain to Mr. Yoder what a Marine is?”

Sergeant Gruber snapped his chin up and nodded. The Mohawk seemed to float on top of his head.

“Yes sir. A Marine is responsible for the security of a starship and its crew. This includes defensive action and offensive action by boarding. In other duties we are deployed on the ground.,” Sergeant Gruber said in an accent of mixed Austrian and something else like a drawl.

The Sergeant was eying Abraham up as if he was buying a horse.

“The training for now would be basic. Once we arrive at a fleet transfer station we would send you to a recruiter.” Captain Grace nodded and leaned forward on the table. “What do you think Abraham?”

Abraham felt their eyes upon him. All they wanted was to help him, he knew that, but this wasn’t a path he could walk, not yet.

“May I speak freely, Captain?” Abraham asked. He heard others say the same phrase.

Captain Grace sat back and nodded.

Abraham glanced between the two. “I, uh, this is hard to talk about.” He cleared his throat and started again. “I did what I did on the ground in a moment of anger. Had I not brought the maul my father would be alive.”

Silence laid thick on the table.

“I don’t want to offend either of you.” Abraham snapped his eyes to both men. “But I’m not sure I could be a Marine.”

Captain Grace looked at Sergeant Gruber. “Thank you, Sergeant, send in the Maronites, please.”

Sergeant Gruber stood with a disappointed look on his face. “Yes, sir.”

Captain Grace waited until the door closed. “On a ship everyone has a purpose, everything has a purpose. There is no extra wire, pipe, conduit, or tubing unless there needs to be.”

Abraham nodded. It was much the same as he had known on the ground.

“Now if I can’t find a job for you, and the pickings are slim, you’ll have to go back to the ground.” Captain Grace looked at Abraham with serious eyes. “What can you do?”

“I, uh, I’m good with my hands.”

Captain Grace smiled with the corner of his mouth. “With those big paws? Go on.”

“Wood mostly, I’ve worked some iron, and spent time at a foundry.” Abraham was getting excited and his voice showed it. “Cabinets, frames, tables, nails, the foundry poured all sorts of things in bronze. Big beautiful castings that you’d bust open.” His eyes glowed

“Enough, you’ll not find that sort of technology on a starship,” William said. He looked down to the table and sighed.

Any skill Abraham had was out of date by three hundred years. If he couldn’t find work here he’d have to go on the ground and face his fate. He wasn’t ready for it, not yet.

“I—” Abraham began as Grace cut him off.

“Here’s the deal. Two parts. First, I’ll send you down to work with Engineering. Huron and Reed will do you well. Do you speak Aramaic?”

Abraham nodded slowly. “Yes, enough to get by at the market.”

“We have some asteroid miners coming on to supplement the crew. They won’t be happy. You’re my go-between.”

Abraham nodded and stifled a smile. He liked working with Huron and Reed. The two men from Mars were quirky, inquisitive, and constantly bantered when working. Translating with the Maronites wasn’t likely to be enjoyable, they were stubborn and difficult.

“What’s the second part?” Abraham asked.

“You’ll spend half your time with Sergeant Gruber. Not as a Marine, or a recruit, but as a helper. He’s understaffed.”

“That is acceptable.” Abraham extended a hand across the table.

Captain Grace smiled at the hand and grasped it. “Geez kid, you have some monster mitts.”

Abraham grew a slight smile and relaxed.

“Open the door please and invite the miners in,” Captain Grace said as he shuffled on his seat.

Abraham tripped a bit as he stood and caught himself before he hit the door. He turned to Grace and smiled sheepishly. “Excited a bit, sir.”

“Not for long.”

The door opened and Sergeant Gruber stood with a particularly unhappy look on his face. A half dozen men, red in the face and stomping mad, seethed with anger.

Abraham didn’t feel quite as good anymore.

*

The Malta departed with little fanfare. New heroes arrived from the Aleutian for a much longer stay. Faris was present, not to see them off, but to put forth one last protest. Seeing the crew of his prized asteroid miner impressed into service threw him into a fit.

That particular crew had, through sheer luck, delivered a deadly blow to the Sa’Ami dropship. As they came around Canaan they launched every bit of ore they had. Deep nodules of nickel, tungsten, niobium, and technetium punched through the dropship. They were heroes, to be lauded forever on Canaan. Though, for now, they were an unwilling crew on the understaffed Malta.

The dropship was a wounded beast limping off into the dark. The orders were simple: catch it, secure it, or kill it. Signatures of reactor failure were coupled with harmonics from Haydn drive seizures. It was trying to run. But with the equivalent of a pair of broken legs, it wasn’t going anywhere.

Everyone wondered what sort of teeth the beast had left. Word spread to prepare. They would do three blinks. Three short hops that went towards nowhere, a gravity well far out into deep space that could lead to anywhere.

The Maronites initially grumbled, gnashed teeth, gesticulated, and shouted. Once the Malta left dock they set their heads down and got to work. Huron and Reed spread out and supervised as they could with Abraham, always a step behind.

The giant Anabaptist made a bunk next to a series of hydraulic pumps and found himself awoken by Maronite and UC Navy at every occasion. The impressed men were of high quality, but used to a particularly lax routine.

Yamaguchi had a minimum squad. Barely enough to put into marching order. He pleaded. He begged. He was near to preparing a bribe when more troops were offered. Two more squads. One equipped with power armor and the other in traditional impact armor.

The power armor squad was clean, fresh, new. They were commanded by a thick faced Sergeant named Hull. His cheeks were a permanent ruddy red as if he’d spent an afternoon sunbathing on the hull.

The second squad came in the new style of impact armor. The armor was flowing, graceful, smooth. It was designed to deflect forces away. The outer coating was a near frictionless nanite layer. It lacked durability like the heavier panel armor, but was much preferred by the troops.

The new squads both had that new garrison feel. Shaved faces and plenty of sleep.

His original squad hadn’t seemed able to polish away the yellow that clung to every surface. The mud of Canaan was a permanent badge.

*

Yamaguchi posed with one leg on a suit of power armor. He was like a conqueror of old with a beast beneath. He ignored the maintenance bot crawling around it. “Here it is. PA suits are going in first. Once we determine the atmosphere, we’ll bring in the rest.”

Around him stood his three meager squads. He shifted men from the new squad to his own and was left with sixteen suits. The newcomers stood separate from the veterans.

A loud bang echoed from across the hall. He looked up from the group and watched a maintenance squad wrestle with a brace.

“We know someone is alive inside, or think so. But I’m not terribly interested in prisoners,” Yamaguchi said.

“I am,” Captain Grace said from the rear of the pack.

Heads turned.

Yamaguchi lifted a hand and nodded. “There it is, from the mouth of god.” His tone was a touch on the mocking side. “Get a prisoner if possible.” He paused. “Once we get the all clear from the Captain we’ll grapple with boarding lines. Inside expect striders, defense drones, and of course real people. We’re going in with full loads, puncturing the hull isn’t a worry here.” Yamaguchi scanned the crowd. “Questions?”

“Marines, sir?” Sergeant Hull asked.

“In reserve and covering the pipe if we find atmosphere.”

“Will the Malta soften ‘em up at all, LT?” Private Cling asked.

“Captain?” Yamaguchi asked.

“Once we start shooting, I don’t plan to stop,” Captain Grace said.

*

The soldiers were spread throughout the ship near different airlocks. Yamaguchi was at the center airlock with roughly half of his squad. One of the ship’s Engineers stood by in an EVA suit ready to pop the airlock.

“You getting the feed?” Captain Grace asked over the comms.

“Roger,” Yamaguchi replied.

Hovering on a screen just beyond his eye was a curved image showing the Sa’Ami dropship. The hull was raked and burned with streaks like gashes. The external turrets and missile panels were gouged and mangled. The entire ship looked like it was grasped by a giant and swung against a brick wall.

“Look at that thing,” a voice said softly over the comms.

“Big fucker.”

Letters flashed over the picture as one of the corporals overlaid a piece of text on it. “REKT.”

He snorted. Wrecked. That was a very precise way of putting it.

“Cut the shit.”

Yamaguchi watched the velocity drop to nearly zero.

“Grapples away,” Midshipman Lebeau called.

Thin lines snaked across the gap between the ships. They were now barely one hundred meters away. Two objects so close together on the edge of deep space seemed surreal.

The grapples landed. The pinpoints glowed red and then cooled as nanites bonded with the hull.

“On your call,” Yamaguchi said.

“One moment,” Midshipman Lebeau responded. “Captain says you’re clear.”

Yamaguchi nodded to the Engineer. “Secure suits. Check your pressure. We’re a go.”

He advanced into the airlock with the rest of the squad. The door closed behind him with a thud. Orange lights flashed alarms as the atmosphere pumped out. The door before them slid open silently.

“Latch and lock. Ten meter spacing,” Sergeant Hoffman ordered.

Before him spread the dark. The dropship looked even rougher with the dim starlight playing out along the hull. The steep angle made every gouge and puncture wound look horrible and deep. It was almost like the vids, a long lost hulk.

Private Herringbone latched his clutch mechanism onto the slender cable and moved slowly. He was jarred sideways and banged against the cable. “Whoa!”

“You left the edge of the artificial gravity, keep moving,” Yamaguchi said. He should have warned them. Though he knew he’d have done the same—he’d never done an operation like this before. No one had. It was a theoretical. He could picture the Marines grinning behind him.

He slapped his clutch onto the cable and felt it pulse under his grasp. Beneath him was nothing. A step into darkness.

Fear crept up like a tiny light. It was always there, he could feel it, but now he was alone in the suit. The depths below triggered it.

He closed his eyes and engaged the clutch. The mechanism jerked him forward and away. The line grew tight as the artificial gravity pulled him down. It was coming. He could feel it in his stomach. A pit of fear that was like heartburn rising.

The mechanism pulled and jerked and he was in zero-G. He opened his eyes and saw the pendulum motion. Felt it deep in his stomach. The nanite patch on his ankle was supplying an anti-nausea drug. If it hadn’t, he was sure the helmet would be filled with vomit.

The dropship grew closer and looked worse with every passing second. He grew doubtful they’d walk away with anything beyond some technology. The whole place must be dead.

Herringbone scrambled on the side and placed nanite anchors as he moved. There was an airlock, or what they thought was an airlock, a few meters away.

“How’s it look, Bone?” Yamaguchi asked as he came closer.

Heavy breathing sounded on the opposite edge.

Yamaguchi keyed his comms for just Herringbone. “Stop. Look at the hull. Take a deep breath with me.” He watched as Herringbone paused and latched on to an anchor with two hands. “Now one hand for you, and one hand for the suit. Move slow. Now breathe deep again.”

The pair continued the deep breathing until Yamaguchi was on the dropship. Herringbone nodded and clutched the grip tight.

Yamaguchi felt grit and roughness even through the gloves of the power armor. The outside of the hull reminded him of sharkskin. Raspy and tight.

Around him the infantry latched on to the exterior and moved to entry points. Chatter rang back and forth as the first entry point was blocked. Squads converged.

Yamaguchi tapped Herringbone on the shoulder and helped him set more of the nanite anchors. A spider web of cables grew on the outside.

“Want a hole, LT?” Corporal Desmond asked. The Corporal wore a large boxy pack containing a plasma cutter.

“Negative, we’re going to pop the airlock and see how it looks.” Yamaguchi slid his hand over the frosted window and activated a palm camera. Empty. “Pop it.”

Herringbone tugged a manual release and the hatch crept open just enough to get a grip on. The hatch was a perfect fit, like it was sheared out from the hull. Herringbone gripped and propped the hatch open slowly, carefully.

The squads were huddled up against the exterior like crabs. Weapons were unslung.

“C’mon Bone, move inside,” Corporal Desmond said.

Herringbone scrambled around the edge and into the darkness. Everyone saw his feed as he scanned around and peered through the plate view screen. The hallway beyond looked empty.

“Wait.” Yamaguchi leaned harder against the hull and closed his eyes. Heartbeats echoed in his ear as he held his breath and waited.

The squads around him tensed.

“First squad in, cycle it, then next through. Bingo?” Yamaguchi said.

“Bingo,” the squad replied.

Yamaguchi pushed his way next to the airlock door and into the dark space. The atmosphere light flickered between orange and green. Atmosphere, but not much. He felt a bit better knowing that anyone out of a suit wouldn’t be a threat. It’d be like walking on Everest.

The airlock filled.

“Hit it,” Yamaguchi ordered.

The FN Herstal rifles pointed forward. Rounds cycled in. Corporal Desmond closed the exterior hatch, followed by Herringbone twisting the inner release. A slight puff of air frosted upon entering the chamber. Dim crystals deposited themselves and melted.

Herringbone pulled out a stubby mass launcher and looked to Yamaguchi.

Yamaguchi nodded and clicked the safety off the rifle.

“Go.”

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

Reunion

The dull boom snapped Archie awake. Was he sleeping? He didn’t even know. Focus.

“Shit.” His tongue was like a leather slab in his mouth. Thirst like he never knew burned inside of him. His arms were weak, his stomach tight, his legs wobbled.

The boom sounded again followed by a dull roar of gunfire. The hull shuddered beneath him. A light flickered and flared. His only light.

Darkness, not again. He almost whimpered. His eyes locked onto the cream colored lightcell and watched. He willed it to stay on. The light pulsed once more and steadied.

Was this it? His chance, his escape. There was only one way out.

His eyes scanned the room. Broken wreckage was pushed through one wall. Heaps and bundles of wire, tubing, and pipe.

More gunshots fired. Fear began to rise. He worried that someone was coming to shoot him. They’d walk in, level a pistol, and goodbye Archie.

Stand. Stand.

He pushed himself up and rested a hand on the wall. His knees burned and ached. The thirst was deep. His eyes had a hard time focusing.

The wall lurched towards. He realized he was falling into it. He threw up his arms and braced against it. The impact was slight and the room began to spin again. Bile rose in his throat and he steadied himself. The nausea passed.

His fingers ran along the buckled edge of the wall. Sharp creases and crinkles caught every ripple on his finger tips. He pulled slightly and felt it flex.

The material was stiff. Stiff enough to crack and break? He pushed back and forth, testing the edges as he walked. One edge crackled and popped. He worked it further and further until the only thing holding it was a large nanite weld.

He stopped and listened. Something ran by the hallway. Gunfire resumed. Was it closer?

The nanite weld finally busted away from the panel. Near the edge, a ragged hole opened about the size of his hand.

He hefted it. It was odd, off balance, and burned his fingers. But it might deflect a low velocity round.

Gunshots neared. He could feel them in his bare feet. Full strength loads? That meant the dropship was almost dead.

His hands darted in and out of the wreckage. They searched and dug for the tiniest weapon. Everything was taut and rigid.

There, a slight buckle in a pipe with a tiny seam. He leaned closer and looked in the shadows. It had cracked and was slid aside slightly.

He gripped it and pushed. Nothing. The pipe seemed to be held tight.

His hands probed up and down, flexing and pushing. At a certain point he could gain purchase and really make it flex. It was moving. First a centimeter, then two. It creaked with every cycle.

His eyes closed and he pulled and pushed. The heat from the crack cycling and tempering was enough for him to feel it. He continued.

The joint pinged and popped loose.

Success! He scooted closer and looked up. The pipe was anchored above along with everything else.

“C’mon, shit.”

The pipe just flexed. He couldn’t move it far enough one way or another to make another crease.

He slid down the wall of wreckage. The floor was cool on his back. He was so tired, but he knew this was it. He needed something.

The heap was at an angle with an opening at the top. He laid the makeshift shield aside and climbed up slowly picking one hand over the other. At the top was a junction where many pipes converged and a plenum directed them all into one.

His hands gripped tight and tugged. His palms were raspy like old sandpaper. The pipe resisted every push and pull. But the whole plenum began to wobble.

The thought of dying alone in a dark room was enough to get the anger rising. He could picture his sons and that was enough. He’d not be lost in the darkness.

The anger rose into a red rage. The plenum bucked and shook as he heaved and thrashed against it. One edge popped. A second popped. The nanite welds lost strength and sheared away.

Pipes wobbled and sung as they struck one another. He continued the workout, grunting. Finally the last two welds gave way and the plenum shifted aside.

He fell onto the floor, out of breath. He pictured his sons, the only people actually worth anything.

The thoughts of home, the things he fought for was enough. He stood and finished off the pipe. It was a hair over a meter long. Both ends were ragged and rough. One pinched tight from the flexing while the other was open into a hollow.

He hefted it. It was too light but about all he could do. It jabbed well, just not much mass behind it.

The shield and spear would be enough, they had to be.

Gunfire sounded closer. He knew he had one chance. Either he’d take someone coming in or burst out when the fighting was near.

He laid a palm onto the door. The ship seemed more alive than ever. A grin spread across his face and he felt almost giddy. The time was here, his escape was so close.

Heavy footsteps came close and paused.

Archie slipped back and tucked himself against the wall, in the shadows.

The door opened slowly and the guard from earlier stood with a baton in one hand and a pistol in the other. His eyes, not adjusted to the dark, blinked and focused.

Archie aimed and struck.

The guard flinched at the last moment. Instead of entering his throat in the center, the ragged end of the spear caught on a tendon next to his throat and clipped his jugular. The pistol fired. He dropped the baton and clasped a hand to his throat. His eyes were wild with fear.

Archie thrust again and slammed his shield against the man’s body.

It was over as soon as the man hit the ground. His fingers, crimson red, slid away and rested on his chest.

Archie scanned the corridor. Panels were strewn out and showed the innards of the dropship spilled out and torn. A bluish smoke hung in the air and trembled in the weak air.

He knelt down and retrieved the pistol. A slender silver line ran along the trigger. He debated pitching it and instead stuck it into his trousers. It might fire. Or it might not.

The last thing he took off the dead man was a Sa’Ami emergency air kit. He tugged the pack from behind the man and strapped it around his waist. A slender water bottle poked out from his waist.

Archie snatched it up. His fingers fumbled to remove the cap. It burned his lips as the flat lukewarm water sat on his tongue.

Water seeped down his throat and a new energy came to him. He crouched and listened. The heaviest fighting was in front of him. He padded towards it with the spear at ready.

*

Yamaguchi felt the impact of slugs through his suit, heavy cracks like a hammer on a board. He lay tucked as tightly as he could against a slender strut. The Sa’Ami kept up the pace and fired any moment he moved.

“Can you see it?” Yamaguchi called. Whoever was shooting at him was precise. Too precise to be human.

“Negative, it’s behind that last door,” Herringbone replied. “Grenade?”

The last thing he wanted was another grenade. The first one had worked a bit too well. Now they had an unintentional, secondary, exit. “Negative, Third squad will be here shortly.”

Booming echoed from the direction of the third squad. A rattling reply came and more gunfire opened up.

“Got ‘em!” Herringbone yelled.

Yamaguchi slowly slid a hand around and engaged the camera.

A slender strider lay hunched over with a bullet hole just above the chest.

“Keep moving!” Yamaguchi said as he ran forward and tucked into the nook where the strider was hidden. He glanced down at the strider and wished he had a few. They seemed sluggish though, nothing like what he encountered on the ground.

He tucked his weapon tight and scanned the passage ahead. It opened up a bit further down but only a dim light poured through. His sights slid on the forms of the shadows.

“Go, Bone. Cover eight meters up, tuck and wait,” Yamaguchi said.

Herringbone broke out of his position and sprinted past Yamaguchi. He tucked in against another support and raised his weapon.

Yamaguchi took a breath and prepared to run. He could see Herringbone scanning with his weapon.

“Something looks funny, LT.”

The icon on his helmet winked from orange to red: ‘hold’. Behind him the other members of the squad crouched and waited.

“Whatcha got Bone?”

Yamaguchi heard comms click and then the open space flared white. A heavy strider stepped out from behind a large container. The bulk of the creature was bathed in a halo of light as the cannons on its arms flared out at Herringbone.

“Heavy!” Bone howled and tucked himself close to the deck.

“Gavin, bring the bean!” Yamaguchi called.

A suit sprinted up and slid next to Yamaguchi. Gavin unslung a short barreled weapon and nodded. The weapon had a wide barrel with a simple break open breach.

Gavin popped the weapon up and leveled it on Yamaguchi’s shoulder. “It’s live!”

The weapon popped and the barrel jumped. A small cartridge flew and skittered on the deck. It bounced twice and crashed into the container with a loud bang. It huddled and shook and leaped into the undercarriage of the strider.

The small charge, the ‘bean’, latched on and crawled upwards before detonating itself with a light thud.

The sound was barely audible over the firing of the cannons.

The squad tucked tight and waited.

The bean took a moment to reach critical mass. Nanites worked inside of the strider. One group of bots stripped usable elements while another group assembled them into an explosive matrix. A final group self-assembled into a moderately intelligent force sensor.

The legs exploded sideways. A skirt of white flame blossomed. The bulk of the strider hovered for a moment and toppled forward. The cannons continued firing an arc that impacted against the floor. Rounds sputtered and ricocheted throughout the hall.

Yamaguchi watched and felt a bit better. The Sa’Ami must have wanted to save the ship, otherwise they would be firing full loads. The thought of a reactor overload had been in the back of his mind.

“Bone?” Yamaguchi asked.

“Fuck.”

“Mullins, check him out!” Yamaguchi ordered. He scanned and ran. His legs pumped with nanite muscles expending most of the energy. The form of the heavy strider passed by and he slammed into the container.

He ran too far, got away from his cover fire, but the other squads were closing. “Third squad?”

“Bit of a party here, LT,” a voice replied quickly.

A motion sensor blinked on his display. He rolled sideways. A slender strider poked a head around the crate. From its angle it was hidden by the fallen heavy.

Yamaguchi laid the barrel of his weapon down and squeezed off a burst.

The strider slammed backwards with a shower of sparks cascading onto the ground.

Yamaguchi pushed up and poked around the corner. He wanted to slam a few more rounds into it while it was dazed.

He pulled back as soon as he edged around the corner. A few feet away the strider was hunched. Behind that was a squad wearing mixed power armor, panel armor, and manning a rotary cannon.

His heart raced and he hoped they didn’t notice him.

The rotary cannon opened fire, slamming rounds into the container.

Metal buckled under his back. The container was breached and it was just a few more seconds ‘til they slammed onto him. He pushed himself forward and dove right into the lap of the fallen heavy.

He hoped it had more armor than he did.

A suit of power armor sprinted past, it was Herringbone. A pair of grenades flickered past his eye and landed with a hollow sound.

Yamaguchi braced himself. The explosion was a hollow boom that resounded off of the container. The rotary cannon was silenced. He poked a camera around the corner and saw debris where men had once stood.

“Go, Bone! Now keep moving!” Yamaguchi ordered. He stood and looked down at the dimples where the rotary cannon had nearly punctured the container. It was going to be a long day.

*

William slid his left hand on the armrest of his chair. His palm felt dry, smooth, and subtly different. It was a habit he didn’t notice anymore. Something he did when nervous, feeling the augmetic, sensing nanite nerves, testing it to see if it was different.

The bridge crew watched the feeds from inside the Sa’Ami dropship. Windows into a world of violence. Just before them, so close they could touch it, were snapshots and clips: moments of terror, dodging moves, shuddering of impacts, and the finality of death. The infantry was making ground, but paying for it.

A good majority of the icons were bright green, but a handful showed red. The cameras on those feeds were motionless. One showed a hand curled on the ground. Another feed showed a pile of Sa’Ami bodies scattered and torn from a grenade. A pair of UC suits lay still nearby as if waiting. Some cameras still moved, slowly, painfully, with medical alerts blaring. Some wounded stood and moved on, but most did not. The thin atmosphere took those that the nanite enhanced weapons did not.

“Updates?” William asked. He didn’t have to ask, but he felt the need to say something. “All systems clear,” Lebeau said. She looked up at him. She still bore the wounds of her captivity.

“Scan is about thirty percent, camera drones are doing a second sweep. Will we get a chance to inspect her?” Reed asked. His voice cracked with excitement.

William sighed. “Doubtful.”

They were collecting every piece of data they could. Camera drones were swarming and mapping the entire ship. What sensors they had were tuned to collect anything and everything.

“Ping coming in,” Lebeau said.

“Scylla?” William asked. He felt silly asking, who else would be calling a few AU on the way to nowhere.

Lebeau nodded.

“Put it on,” William said. He straightened himself and tried to look like he thought a Captain should: calm collected and cool. He felt odd.

A man with puffy brown cheeks and dark brown eyes appeared. He squinted a moment and nodded. “Captain Grace.”

“Captain Martinez, are you getting the feed?”

Martinez nodded. His eyes snapped to the side. “Yes, are you prepared to depart?”

“I think that’s a bit early, don’t you?”

Martinez shook his head. “My orders are to blow it up if it so much as sneezes. Si, si, eh?”

William had been told that the Scylla would destroy the dropship regardless of his position. The Malta would survive. Any of her crew on board would not.

“Yes, Captain, but I see no reason to yet.”

Martinez nodded and leaned back. The angle of the camera made it appear that he was looking down. “I will give you notice before I fire.”

“Thank you, Captain, we’ll keep you appraised.” William didn’t much like the man and he’d just met him.

Martinez cut the feed.

“Yamaguchi says the entry is clear, but the target is losing atmosphere. No one comes over without an EVA suit,” Lebeau said.

“Mr. Reed, send out the umbilical please.”

“With pleasure!” The slender Engineer stood.

“Mr. Reed, one of your staff please. I need you here,” William said.

The smile dropped off of Reed’s face and he sat back down. “Aye, Captain.”

William scanned all of his displays. All systems were running clear. The air smelled normal. The soot stains were mostly gone. The feeds of the soldiers were hard to watch for more than a moment. The feeling of helplessness and voyeurism was overwhelming.

“I’ve got a hotspot, Captain.” Reed leaned over his panel. “They, uh, I’m not sure they can even access the reactor, but it’s getting hotter.”

“Self-destruct?” William’s fingers hovered on the comms key.

“Too slow. But if they can’t get to it, they might be trying to overload it. The entire engineering section is rough.” Reed punched more keys. His hands danced over the display as he slid screens aside and accessed more data.

“How long?” William asked.

Reed sighed. “If it’s like ours,” he rubbed his upper lip nervously as the numbers unfolded before him, “an hour.”

“Very well.” William slapped the comms key. “LT, you’ve got twenty minutes.”

The comms clicked once, Yamaguchi grunted.

“Ms. Lebeau, tell the Scylla that we’ll be wrapped up in thirty minutes or so.” William queued up a nav plot and watched the course head in system.

One of the display windows was a thermal display showing the heat rise in the midst of a mangled mess of alloy and wire.

“How confident are you of that number, Reed?” William asked.

Reed looked down to the display and back up again. “Well, I’m not sure entirely.”

William returned his gaze to the screens. Judging from the infantry feeds, they’d need every second. “Sergeant Gruber, are your Marines in place?”

Comms clicked and broke in. “Yes, Captain, I’ve got an EVA squad that will be going on the umbilical.”

“Carry on, Sergeant.” William wanted the infantry to have a pleasant welcome back to the Malta, not a pack of Sa’Ami striders holding the exit.

Above them all the feeds continued on in silence as men fought and died.

*

“Move, move!” Sergeant Gruber shouted.

The voice was louder than Abraham ever thought a voice could be. He stumbled and caught himself. His hands gripped either side of slender disc.

A pair of EVA suited maintenance techs stepped aside as he waddled into the airlock. The pair each took a side and steered it into place. Behind him two squads of Marines waited with an intense energy he had never seen.

One of the squads wore an almost skin-tight EVA suit with armor layered over it. The second squad wore heavier armor and was setting up bolo launchers.

Abraham stood back and felt the push of people entering into the airlock.

“Hey jumbo. Get out,” a Marine in an EVA suit said.

Abraham looked around and realized they were talking to him. He pushed through the crowd and stepped back onto the ship. The doors closed.

“They’re setting up the umbilical, gotta do it with the outer door open,” Huron said with a smile. “You sure are itching to get out there—eh, kid?”

“Yes sir,” Abraham said.

“Once we get the time to make you a suit that fits,” Huron said. The Engineer peered out the view port. “Not much to it—snap and fit. Once they start coming back just help out. They should have salvage, gear, who knows. Except prisoners, let the Marines take ‘em.”

Abraham stepped closer and leaned down. The Marines were out of sight. The Engineers had rotated and unfolded the disc, attaching it just outside the external airlock. The upper edge locked onto the boarding cable.

“How’s it get across?” Abraham asked.

Huron’s eyes lit up. “Watch!”

One of the maintenance techs attached a slender rod to the edge of the disc. It ambled outward and the disc unfolded like an accordion. After about ten meters it shot forward at a rapid pace, almost faster than could be seen.

“Oh my!” Abraham cried out.

Huron slapped him on the shoulder. “It’s something to see, no atmosphere out there, nothing to hold it back. Is good, eh?”

Abraham found a smile growing on his face. “Yes, it is good.”

“Now here, strap this onto your back.” Huron handed an emergency air pack.

Abraham took it and strapped it onto his back. “How do I—I”

“If we lose atmosphere it’ll deploy and you just grab the facepiece. It’ll do the rest,” Huron said as he tightened the straps. “If you do get blown out exhale, at least until the mask comes on.”

Abraham felt odd—the thought of a vacuum was a new thing to him. Just days before it was simply the sky, the stars that winked at night. The things God made early on. Now it was a concrete thing, or at least concrete enough to kill.

“Here they come.”

The inner hatch popped open and the two techs stepped in. The heavily armored Marines pushed the bolo launchers and boarding shields forward. Their faces were set.

Huron walked to the hatch and tilted his head. He cupped a hand against his ear. “They’re getting hell over there aren’t they?”

“Yes sir, it’s touch and go.”

“Ahh what I’d give to walk those halls with a maintenance drone. Quite the ship,” Huron said wistfully.

One of the Marines snorted.

“No imagination…” Huron said, dropping the words off.

Loud booms echoed down the umbilical.

Abraham could feel the intensity rising. He wanted to ask what was happening, but could tell from the looks on the Marines’ faces that now wasn’t the time.

Two of the Marines shook their heads and settled in tight to their weapons.

Abraham nodded. Now wasn’t the time.

*

The corridors were quiet except for the echoing blasts. The entire path was strewn with wreckage of an almost dead dropship. One section was lit and bright while the next was nothing but shadow and bits of rubble.

Archie slowed to a fast shuffle. His legs burned and the pit inside him hadn’t had nearly enough water to fill it. The rasping of his tongue seemed to go down, though he wouldn’t want to have a conversation just yet.

He stopped and listened. A mechanical scratching hissed before him. The hallway ended at an intersection and a stairwell. He tucked himself into the shadows and watched.

A maintenance drone crawled out of the shadows and began heading from where he came. Part of the carapace was ripped open exposing glittering wires and a wet slick of hydraulic fluid. Archie thought it looked sad.

So far all of the fighting seemed to be happening on one side. He was thankful that he hadn’t run into anyone else. Though he knew that soon enough he’d run into the firefight. If he was lucky he’d get past it without testing out his spear.

He shuffled to the corner and looked down the corridor. It sloped gently down. A mass of sheared cables hung limply in mid air. The sounds of gunfire rolled down the corridor. He recognized a path of cargo tracks on the floor. He was heading to the hold.

The next few meters were a mix of low gravity, partial gravity, and full gravity. His feet would lift and then drop down again. The worst part was when his stomach would lurch in the oddly wavering gravity field. He floated a few more meters before the gravity returned. He tightened his grip on the pipe and patted the pistol. The hold was just before him.

Around the edge of the bulkhead was a mass of containers and empty racking. Racking, he noted, that wasn’t empty when he watched the Commandant fight. A few containers were split open, gorging out gear and equipment. The ceiling was pocked with holes that were covered in yellow and orange vacuum patches.

No one was visible. He could hear the fighting, it was close. His knees shook slightly. He moved forward to the next piece of cover. He couldn’t cover all the angles, not in his state.

Gunfire increased, followed by a single crackling boom. Mechanical footsteps were coming.

He hugged the container tight. Adrenaline flared. His eyes darted from one side to the next. The spear felt cool in his palm.

Then she was on him.

Captain Asa leapt down from the container above. Her power armor streaked black. A hydraulic line wept yellow fluid down her chest. The bulk of the suit rolled onto him. She turned and kicked a leg out to stop the motion and drove a hand down hard.

Archie was crushed against the container. The spear dropped from his grip. The shield was crumbled against a broken arm. He tried to push away, but found his right arm useless.

She didn’t speak. Her arms lashed forward and slung him away from the container. He rolled and screamed as he came to a halt. Her motion wasn’t the smooth glide like before but shaky.

Her armor wore slender puncture holes. She was scarred by shrapnel. Her face mask was shattered. Her eyes burned with hatred. Through the look of hate was a simple animal fear.

The pistol came back to him. He scrambled and drew it out in a smooth motion. It felt small in his hand as he pulled the trigger.

She moved. Fast. The suit powered to the side, but it didn’t matter. The pistol didn’t do anything. The safety interlock prevented Archie from firing it.

He screamed with rage and tossed the pistol at her. It flipped end over end and clattered against her chest harmlessly.

Around him Sa’Ami suits moved and surged. He could sense it, hear it, pick up the motion. But he was focused on her eyes.

She stood and walked slowly. Her feet clacked with every step. The movements were graceful as if she found a purpose. She stood before him and looked down.

Archie wanted to say something sharp, something witty, something to knock her off balance. But all he could do was look up into her eyes. He’d not go quietly into the night.

She drew her own sidearm and pointed it at him. She cocked her head and raised the pistol slightly. The muzzle was squarely pointed at his face.

He took a single sharp breath.

She was blasted back and tossed half a dozen meters away. A new suit of power armor stood next to him. The dark sheen on the suit was new, something he’d only seen on the cameras watching Canaan. He could feel the heat from the smoking weapon on his face.

More UC suits rushed in and moved into cover.

Archie didn’t quite know what to do. He gave the suit a slight wave. The suit looked back blankly through the white stenciled skull and moved into cover.

Captain Asa was a crumbled wreck, twisted awkwardly and convulsing on the floor. Blood mixed with the hydraulic fluid in a speckled pool beneath her.

Archie crawled away and stood on shaky legs. He shuffled away from the fighting.

The armored suits passed and converged on the hall. Whatever was left of the defenders streamed back, away from the cargo hold.

Asa was trapped inside of a failed machine. The power armor shut down, she thrashed against the nano-muscular system that was now nothing but dead weight. The smell of meat rose upwards. She was burning inside.

Archie dug his fingers into the edges of the armor and fought to find something, anything, that would release the panels. He snatched up the makeshift spear and jammed it into a seam with one hand. The tube hummed and bent when the armor slammed open.

Cries of pain drifted out of the suit. The front panel of the armor smoldered. Bits of flame grew into a sheet as air kindled the fire.

One seam after the next folded away. She thrashed the entire time. Archie worked as quickly as he could until she finally threw herself out and lay in a ball clutching her chest.

Part of him wanted to let her burn, feel the pain. But another part knew she was a person, and no one needed to suffer like that. The Major in him knew she was an exceptional human intelligence asset. If they tore into her brain the way they tore into his… Well, he saw that as breaking even.

The UC power armor paused and stood before him. The facemask opened and an Asian man looked down with perspiration covering his face.

“I’m Lieutenant Yamaguchi, UC Army. Who are you?”

Archie cleared his throat and tried to wet his tongue. “Major Archibald Theodore, Marines,” he croaked. “We need her too, she’s a Captain in the Sa’Ami Army.”

Yamaguchi nudged her with his foot and nodded. “You’re with me, Major. First squad, get the crate. Bone, to me.”

Another suit of power armor rushed around a container and squatted in the light cover. Yamaguchi pointed at Captain Asa. The new suit holstered a mass driver and scooped her up.

“Major, stay close, time’s running short,” Yamaguchi said. His facemask slid back up, but not before Archie saw a strained face tired with tension. The mask above it was a dirty yellow skull that seemed to scowl.

Archie ran as best he could. His arm throbbed even more after helping Captain Asa out of the suit. With every step he could feel the joint jarring against itself. He knew time must be tight, no one had even offered him a nanite patch.

Small groups of power armor came together and covered the passage. Yamaguchi walked at a brisk pace with Archie trailing behind. Captain Asa’s eyes burned as she stared at Archie. A soldier clutched a case tight to his chest and ran with a wobble.

The slender black case was about the size of a child’s coffin. The writing on it wasn’t a language Archie had ever seen.

Any xeno tech was of extreme interest. He, as well as all officers, was tasked with knowing what was worth fighting for. The case, regardless of what it contained, was priceless. Worth more than him and he knew it. It wasn’t K162 Tech or Gracelle, this was something new.

Yamaguchi stopped and holstered his weapon. The rifle folded back and tucked itself against him. “Major, you’re getting a ride.” His voice didn’t carry any emotion—it was as much of an order as the Lieutenant could give a Major.

Archie found himself wrapped up in the arms of a Lieutenant. He tried to keep his broken arm from jarring but the pain made him moan.

It hit him as they ran. Through shoots of pain he realized he was rescued. He took particular pleasure in the fact that he’d gotten himself out, the Army simply helped him the rest of the way. Or at least that’s how he thought of it.

The Lieutenant stopped and turned. Sounds of something new, something large, something angry, pulsed down the hall. The suits sprang forward and ran. Something was coming.

*

“How big?” Yamaguchi asked loudly. The crackle grew in his ear followed by a booming explosion. The Major in his arms was nearly weightless. The suit had, thankfully, been smart enough to compensate for the load.

“Fuckin’ big,” Sergeant Hull radioed back through sounds of gunfire. “Quad, anti-armor, this thing’s big, LT.”

“Keep moving, it can’t catch you, blast holes if you have to, Sergeant. Get clear now.” Yamaguchi scanned his display: he was almost out. The dropship was a wreck. Hallways ended in sealed bulkheads with nothing but vacuum on the other side.

More explosions echoed behind him.

“Marines. I’ve got two wounded coming over, we need suits for both,” Yamaguchi called. The Major lolled in his arms with teeth showing white beneath the beginnings of a scraggly beard.

“Lieutenant, what is that?” Captain Grace asked.

Yamaguchi silenced the Navy feed for a moment and keyed up the camera on Sergeant Hull’s suit. The rear camera blinked onto the screen. A mechanical monstrosity ripped through the corridors. Heavy armored arms and legs pulled and ripped as it slammed itself onward.

Shit, he thought, that thing is fast. “Captain, can you punch through the hull?”

Yamaguchi kept moving without waiting for a reply. They dodged around a corner and came through the first point of heavy fighting. The bodies of the Sa’Ami defenders were cast aside with little reverence.

“We can.” Grace paused. “The ship is armored, it might take a few shots.”

His eyes danced on the display. The squads were still scattered, too scattered. If he stopped and tried to regroup the Sa’Ami heavy would hit them. Hard. Most of his platoon was streaming forward near him.

“Second squad, we’re holding the breach. Everyone else to the umbilical and reinforce the Marines,” Yamaguchi ordered. The icons of the suits paused, shifted, and continued towards the exit.

New sounds came across with fresh icons winking on. Red icons. The feeds in his helmet blinked and showed Sa’Ami suits tossing a last ditch effort. He looked down from the display and saw the suit emerge.

The power armor was charred and dark. It raised a blunt boarding driver and tracked onto Bone. The Private never even saw the Sa’Ami step out.

Yamaguchi tossed the Major aside and lunged for the Sa’Ami. The Major landed in a heap behind him and crumbled against the wall.

He powered forward with an animal intensity. The Sa’Ami paused and shifted its head just slightly and tried to pivot the blocky rifle.

Yamaguchi struck him in the chest. The Sa’Ami soldier blasted against the side of the bulkhead. Yamaguchi drove a fist into the neck joint while his other hand ripped the weapon free. The first punch was enough, the neck joint was already cracked. But the Sa’Ami wasn’t alone.

Yamaguchi tucked back and drew his FN rifle. He thrust it around the corner and opened fire. The group inside was caught in a slender maintenance passage with nowhere to go. He didn’t bother looking back in.

“Turtle up! Here they come!” someone called out over the comms.

Yamaguchi ran back and scooped up the Major. “You okay, sir?”

“Leave it to the Army,” Archie growled.

The pair sprinted forward and caught up with Bone. Yamaguchi scanned the display and took in what was happening. The Sa’Ami were pushing through maintenance shafts and trying to cut them off. The fighting was fierce. Icons winked away on his list. “Faster!”

The case clattered behind them as Corporal Shaw kept one hand on the case and the other on his assault shotgun.

“We’re pinned, LT! They’ve got a heavy platform, just came out the side,” Sergeant Hull said.

More icons appeared throughout the ship. The defenders were pushing not to defend, but to delay. Yamaguchi pivoted the display. The heavy strider was moving in and would hit Shaw in under a minute. He jogged the display and highlighted a section of hull.

“Captain, I need a hole, at zone five,” Yamaguchi said. “Sergeant, get ready to head outside.” He turned a corner and saw the Marines in EVA armor waiting. The small squad was sheltered behind boarding shields. It was a very welcome sight.

More Sa’Ami streamed out from a ceiling hatch behind him. The lead Sa’Ami dropped a portable boarding shield and crashed to the floor behind it. The Marines opened fire and helped Yamaguchi with the wounded.

“In ten,” a female voice called from the Malta.

“Sergeant, brace! Everyone get ready to lose atmosphere,” Yamaguchi called out to the platoon. He raised his weapon and snapped off a pair of rounds. The Marines had already torn apart nearly everything that dropped down. The rest of his men were pouring more fire down the hallway.

Behind the line the two wounded were being bundled into the lightweight suits. A slight whistle pierced the room as if a wind was rolling in.

“Umbilical is hit!” a Marine yelled.

Yamaguchi checked his display. Around him nearly all of his squads were in or coming in. He tucked a shoulder against a wall and waited for it.

The Malta fired a round from the mass driver batteries. A green glow erupted from the dropship as the nickel rounds vaporized. A few seconds later another barrage set in and slammed home. Vapor and frost cascaded out of the hole along with featureless debris.

“We’ve got a breach!” Sergeant Hull’s voice was almost frantic.

“Start crossing, people! Hull, get to the pipe and lock on to the top.” Yamaguchi stepped away from the barriers and felt the floor rumble.

The squads surged out of the dropship and into the umbilical. Yamaguchi stood with a hand on the wall and another with his weapon pointed down the hallway. He turned and nodded to the Marines waiting as silent sentinels with knowing eyes scanning the heavier barrels down the hall.

“LT. We’re breaking in one minute,” Captain Grace said.

The icons were behind him. All of his men had surged out of the hull and were either forming a line in the umbilical or scrambling over the scree-debris of the hull.

The Marines folded the shields up and to entered the bright light of the umbilical. Yamaguchi plucked a vector mine from his belt and tuned it to the frontal arc.

The umbilical shook for a moment and he thought it was just his weight. Then he saw it.

The heavy strider was scrambling outside of the hull. It crawled up onto a sheared point of armor and folded out a railgun. A slight orange glow illuminated its back followed by a gout of electric orange fire that shredded into the umbilical.

“We’re blowing it!” an accented voice called out over the comms.

Yamaguchi had enough of a moment to reach up and latch his hand onto the original boarding cable when everything separated from the dropship behind him. Had he waited a second longer he’d be stuck on the dropship.

The Malta began to roll with the umbilical drifting behind spraying out atmosphere and debris. It slung like a slow whip in the zero G. The heavy strider opened up with a rotary cannon. Jets of white gas pulsed around the Sa’Ami strider as the cannon tracked forward and back.

Yamaguchi leaned out and opened fire. His rounds impacted the heavily armored beast doing nothing. He trained his weapon once more and tapped the trigger.

A blast erupted into the strider. Two legs snapped sideways and tumbled into space. The railgun tumbled down and sent a final round parallel with the hull.

Yamaguchi looked at his weapon reverently and then realized the Malta had fired. He felt relieved for a moment until the comms chatter caught up with him.

“Move LT! She’s gonna blow,” Sergeant Hoffman called.

Yamaguchi tossed his weapon aside and turned with one hand locked onto the cable.

The full bulk of the xeno case tumbled through the umbilical like a loose cannon straight for him.

*

The cool sensation of moving air brushed against Abraham’s cheeks. It caught him for a second. He’d become used to the controlled climate of the starship.

The Marines shouted and leveled weapons through the umbilical. Abraham craned his head from side to side and peered inside. Marines, power armor, and two emergency suits were bouncing through the hatch.

Everyone around him was frantic. He wanted to ask someone what to do, he knew they all had things in their heads so they could communicate. One sided conversation was all he caught.

“Abe! Get ready, wounded coming in!” Huron shouted as he stood by the door controls.

Abraham shifted and looked. The tube changed before his eyes as the edges came closer and spiraled. He blinked as the emergency air pack popped open. The apparatus fit over most of his face. Except where his cheeks squeezed out.

The first of the suits came running through and passed by the Marines.

Around him men shouted and yelled. Tension was rising throughout. Abraham felt like he was walking above it, immune to the chatter. He almost smiled as he gently pushed an armored Marine aside and moved into the umbilical.

Further along they were floating, clinging to a line above. Abraham didn’t quite understand why they were floating and not moving until he came out of the ship’s artificial gravity. The Engineers explained it to him, but it didn’t sink in until his legs spun wildly and he smashed into a Marine.

The Marine grappled with Abraham and stopped him from spinning any further. The Marine gaped back as Abraham smiled sheepishly and grasped the cable. He pulled himself forward, hand over hand.

At each person he met he would nod, smile, and say “excuse me,” as he reached around and continued. His goal was a single Marine with two orange and white emergency suits. The Marine was unable to make any forward progress with the suits in his arms.

Abraham stopped his motion and saw nothing but emptiness. It stopped him, a darkness so pure and dense. The cable tightened under his fingers and dug into his joints. The Coriolis force was slinging them outward.

He snapped his head to the Marine. Inside of the suit was a face red with effort and coated in perspiration.

“Take him!” the Marine yelled. The sound was barely audible through the EVA facemask.

Abraham leaned an arm out and wrapped the suit tightly up against him.

He, and the Marine, both paused. Neither seemed exactly sure how to proceed with the suits.

Abraham squeezed the suit and slung it over his shoulder. This didn’t work so he spun himself around and dropped the suit and squeezed it between his legs.

The Marine nodded and did the same. He pulled himself along the line hand over hand. The suit hung limply between the Marine’s legs.

Abraham followed. The suit between his legs squirmed. He snatched glances up along the line and back down to the darkness. A fear grew as he saw himself being sucked out.

The line was cold in his hands. His fingers ached and his joints cracked and bled. The eighty meters he had first sailed through was now laboriously crossed one hand after the next.

What the hell was he doing? This wasn’t something he should have done, it wasn’t even his place to do something like this. He had no idea what he was doing. Everyone around him was coming out and he was going in.

A flash burst out followed by warmth spreading like a spring sun. Shouts and yells called out. The warmth felt strange, he hadn’t even realized his was skin was chilled.

“Move, dammit! We’re closing it up!” Huron shouted.

Abraham gritted his teeth and pulled with one hand over the next. The drop into gravity caught him off guard. He scrambled up, hefted the suit onto his shoulder and sprinted past Huron. He broke through a line of power armor and crashed to the floor.

The airlock hammered shut.

“I’m trying, sir! It won’t release,” Huron yelled.

Abraham assumed Huron was speaking about the umbilical.

A pair of corpsman descended on the suit and broke it open. Inside was a woman with blood streaking down her nostrils. Her eyes rolled up into her skull with nothing but ivory white glaring. Breathing came in spurts. They slapped a patch onto her, pushed her onto a cart, and rushed away.

Abraham stood slowly and looked around. He pulled the mask from his face and drew in a deep breath of warm air. His hands dripped blood, he raised them up and wasn’t sure what to do. Soiling his pants with blood didn’t seem right.

The room was somber. The Marines were tearing down the defenses in silence. The soldiers in power armor stood and faced the hatch, waiting. Huron stood next to the controls staring down at them, as if expecting something.

“Yes, Captain, we’ll get an EVA team out to break it loose.” Huron looked up to the soldiers and shook his head.

Abraham stepped back and made room as they marched out in silence. The Marines stood at attention until the final soldier walked out.

“C’mon, Yoder!” Sergeant Gruber bellowed. “Time to clear this shit.”

Abraham gave a final glance at the soldiers and ran across the room to help the Marines. He paused and looked out the hatch.

Outside the umbilical oscillated. The shimmering wreck of the dropship dimmed into darkness.

*

The Malta pulled away from the glowing hulk of the dropship. A pattern of dim orange icons showed where the dropship was. Wreckage shifted and rolled as chambers let loose atmosphere.

“Keep the overlay on, please, Ms. Lebeau, I’d like to know if any of those pieces are heading our way,” William said. He stood and clasped his hands behind his back. It went well enough, he thought. “Mr. Reed, status please.”

“All systems normal. The blast wasn’t severe enough to cause us any problems.”

William nodded. “Sergeant Gruber, Lieutenant Yamaguchi, to my office please.”

“Uh, sir?” Lebeau looked across the bridge. “The Lieutenant didn’t make it back.”

William took a step and stopped. He looked back to Lebeau. His mouth opened and closed. “Send his Platoon Sergeant then, please.”

Yamaguchi was gone. It took a second for it to set in. There was always that backdrop of loss, he knew it, they all knew it. The mission would carry on. They had a prisoner, and a survivor.

“Uh, Captain?” Lebeau said.

William turned from the edge of the door and looked up at the display. Icons blinked in on the edge of the system. Data tags showed the names of UC ships. The same UC ships that had jumped through earlier.

Damage indicators flared on the ships coming through. Maintenance readouts popped up and disappeared. From a brief glance he could tell the ships coming back were hurt.

“Get Captain Martinez.” William slid back into his chair and keyed up the nav console.

“Yes, sir,” Lebeau said. “The Erebus is broadcasting.”

Broadcasting? William leaned forward and placed his elbows on his knees. “Let’s hear it.”

Lebeau nodded. “Yes, sir.”

“Why would they broadcast and not ping us?” Reed asked.

“They must think they don’t have time,” William muttered.

“All UC forces, this is the Erebus. Get clear, rendezvous with the remainder of the fleet at point Delta Charlie. Sa’Ami fleet data to follow. The Fleet is lost.” The voice paused and everything repeated. The tone was sober, mechanical, detached.

“Sir!” Lebeau cried.

Red and orange icons winked into place near the UC ships. More icons appeared. A steady stream began to pop into place. The data tags overwhelmed the grouping.

“Oh my,” Reed said with a cough.

“Get me Martinez.” William traced routes through the nav screen and saw that leaving through the same route as they came was not an option.

“Captain.” Martinez shifted in his seat.

“Captain, I believe you have the command,” William said.

Captain Martinez was the ranking officer, even if missile boats weren’t typically command ships.

“We will go in and stand with the Erebus,” Martinez said.

William furrowed his brow. The orders from the Erebus were otherwise. Martinez was definitely in command of the two forlorn ships, but his order was wrong.

“Captain, the Erebus—”

“I know what they said. I estimate if we can assist at the jump point we can all get clear. The show of force will be enough.” Martinez shifted his gaze and focused on a screen next to him.

“I must disagree, Captain, we have our orders.” William felt a pit rising in his stomach. Disobey and leave, even when the Erebus ordered otherwise, or follow and die. He had a prisoner on top of a captive. Information that could prove priceless.

Captain Martinez leaned closer to the camera. The stress was evident in his eyes. An eyelid twitched and his breathing grew quicker. “Captain,” he spat. “We will go in with the Erebus. We make our stand.”

William shook his head. “I will not waste the lives of my crew.” He snapped his eyes to the list of ships that came into system. “Not against those odds. The Erebus is lost.”

The words hung between the two as syllables balanced in space. William knew it. The display showed a fight, already thirty minutes old, just beginning. The Erebus made the blink with Sa’Ami light cruisers chasing. A pair of UC frigates flared away as they withered under the fire. More Sa’Ami cruisers, frigates, and assault ships blinked in.

William knew Martinez was thinking, he hadn’t changed his vector yet. He was still accelerating parallel to the Malta. But what kept him? The old Spanish honor?

“We can blink. It’ll be two systems near K space and we’ll make the rendezvous.”

Martinez stared at something and nodded slowly. He spoke softly, as if grappling the words. “Send me the plot.”

“Lebeau, ship it!” William slapped at the nav console and spun the ship on its axis. The grav drives pushed on the edge of what the compensators could handle.

“I concur, Captain,” Martinez said. He looked at William with a raised chin. “We’ll take the fight to them another time.”

“You can count on it, Captain. I’ll contact you after the blink.” William nodded to Lebeau and the feed dropped.

A single icon peeled away from the main mass and headed in the direction of the Malta. Estimated times of arrival popped up with real time data next to it showing estimated positions. Icons fluttered in two places as the probable positions waited to agree.

Behind them the battle raged.

A trio of courier drones burst away from the Erebus. Each surged on a slightly different vector. The acceleration was so high that only a computer could withstand it.

“Couriers out,” Lebeau said. One of the couriers disintegrated and disappeared from the screen. “One down.”

“At least they’ll know,” Reed muttered.

The Erebus rolled and deployed the full bulk of her weaponry against the incoming frigates. Batteries of railguns pulsed out with the mass drivers shredding anything close. Missiles exploded just a hundred meters out.

The bridge crew watched in silence.

A pair of Sa’Ami cruisers burned past the Erebus. More fire pounded into the center of the ship. The maintenance alerts showed a ship that was nearly totally destroyed.

“How are they still firing?” Lebeau whispered.

“Each battery is firing automatically. She’ll continue until they hit the core,” William replied.

The Sa’Ami frigates fell back quickly. More cruisers surged in to take their place.

The Erebus cracked in two with the remains of the core burning bright in the center of the ship. With the most dangerous ship gone, the Sa’Ami finished off the rest of the UC fleet.

The Sa’Ami ships changed course. New projections placed them heading towards the Malta. The entire Sa’Ami fleet burned towards them. The nearest ship at a higher acceleration than those who had destroyed the Erebus.

“Captain, they’re waiting,” Lebeau said.

“You have the bridge, follow the program. If our friends come closer let me know,” William said as he nodded to the display.

He walked off the bridge with shoulders hunched. The ship hummed under his feet. He pictured the Malta shifting in an arc both away and along the course.

“Attention!” Sergeant Gruber barked. The Marine was rigid with dark eyes forward.

Opposite him was Sergeant Hoffman. His hair was matted down from sweat, a thin layer of salt caked it into a flap on his head.

“At ease,” William said as he sat.

Huron rushed in with a slate in his arm and slid in next to Hoffman. “Sorry! Had to get the techs set. We’ve got the EVA heading out as soon as the vector stabilizes.”

William nodded and poked the tablet on. That was one question he didn’t have to ask. “Is the Lieutenant gone?”

Sergeant Hoffman nodded with eyes that couldn’t seem to focus. “Yes sir, he was the last man in the umbilical.”

William shifted. He could sense the Sergeant didn’t want to speak more of it. “Prisoner?”

“We have one. Captain it seems, medtechs are still working on her.”

“What of this Major?”

Sergeant Hoffman looked to Gruber.

“Sir, he, well, it seems he was at the Sa’Ami Transfer Station. Captured when they took it. He is also with the medtechs.”

“Once he’s clear, let me know,” William said to Gruber. “We’re moving out of the system. The fleet was engaged and it didn’t go well. We have orders to leave the system and head for a rendezvous.”

William’s tablet pinged. He glanced down—the nearer Sa’Ami ship was coming in fast. It was a design that the ship’s computer couldn’t place. The mass seemed fairly low compared to what it should be.

The hum of the ship changed slightly.

“There we go,” Huron said. “Vector straightened out I think. EVA is a go. They’ll be cutting the umbilical if they can’t get it to stow.”

“We’ve got a hostile coming in behind us. Fast. The rest of the Sa’Ami fleet is behind them. We’re going to run a tight rotation, I want the ship battle ready in under ten minutes.” William looked to each of the men. “How do we stand?”

The men outlined the remnants of the fight. The Marines were full force, suffering only a few injuries. The soldiers however had suffered not only the loss of the Lieutenant, but more soldiers lost in the fight. Equipment failures plagued the power armor.

William was distracted as his eyes kept snapping to the tablet. They would be passing through a blink shortly.

Something seemed off. He kept waiting for it to blink closer.

How strange, he thought. To want to see it closer. What an odd thing to desire—to dance with the enemy.

“Captain?” Huron asked.

William snapped out of his thoughts and looked up. “Yes?”

Huron stammered and for a moment William feared that he’d caught the same trait Zinkov had. “He’s outside!”

“What?” William shook his head. “Who?”

“Yamaguchi!”

*

“Hey, jumbo!” Reed yelled.

Abraham turned from stacking crates and faced the skinny Engineer.

“C’mere!”

Lights cycled on the airlock. Abraham ran forward and stood next Reed. The view plate looking into the airlock was frosted as atmosphere pumped back inside.

“As soon as it opens, you get one side of the armor, we’ll pop him open here, and then get him to the med bay.” Reed’s voice was shaking as he rubbed his hands together before him. “Oh, gloves!”

Reed thrust a pair of gloves into Abraham’s chest. Abraham looked down and forced his fingers into the too-small gloves. “What’s happening?”

Reed rolled his eyes. “We need to get you an implant. They found him!”

Soldiers came racing down the hallway and stood together with eyes white and wide. All eyes watched the airlock indicator pulse to green.

The hatch slid open with a ka-chunk. Inside stood two maintenance techs in EVA suits. Between them was a suit of battered power armor locked tight as if dipped in concrete. Clutched in one hand was a strange looking case and the other the end ring of the umbilical.

Abraham rushed past the maintenance techs and gripped the suit of power armor in a bear hug. Muscles strained in his back. He could feel his hips click as he hefted the entire mass upwards.

Immediately he wished he had more than just gloves. A frigid burn conducted onto his chest like a frozen iron bar. The suit was cold as the vacuum outside.

The power armor pivoted slightly in his grasp. He shuffled out backwards until he was clear of the hatch. The case banged loudly against the edge of the door and dropped with a clatter. Abraham squatted slowly and deposited the frigid armor onto the deck.

Before he could step clear soldiers began to dismantle the armor. He stepped further away and stared down at his arms. The yellow gloves were coated in black. His arms and chest were soot-covered. A hard tang in his mouth clung to his teeth.

Reed helped the maintenance techs unsuit. The pair was coated in the same black that made them look like chimney sweeps of old. The helmets came off and the Aramaic began. “Abe! Translate!”

“They uh, they went to furl it back in. Once they got to the end they found him.” Abraham tried to focus on the words but his eyes were locked on the armor that folded away from the man inside.

Yamaguchi was limp inside of the suit. One panel after the next powered down. The body inside looked frail and small as the massive nanite muscles were removed.

A medtech rushed from the passageway and slid onto his knees. He slapped a nanite patch on Yamaguchi’s chest, then dropped a mask over his thin blue lips.

More panels tore away. The soldiers worked in silence. Even the Maronites stopped speaking as everyone strained and listened.

“Prep the table, heat infusion, hypothermic, low O2, possible radiation poisoning,” the medtech mumbled. His hands slid over Yamaguchi as each panel peeled back.

The lower belt was turned aside and the main structural brace removed. Herringbone stood on one shoulder and helped slide the Lieutenant out with teary eyes.

Abraham found himself holding onto a pair of legs and running as fast as he could behind the medtech. The skin felt icy beneath his hands. The face seemed so white and small.

They ran past the main hall with the medtech shouting for space. Captain Grace stood with his arms crossed next to Sergeant Gruber and Sergeant Hoffman.

The medbay was crowded with the wounded from the assault. Drop down bunks contained the worst of the wounded. Navy corpsman stood shoulder to shoulder with the army medics all waiting.

They set on him immediately, hooking IV patches onto his chest and swinging tubes into the base of the table.

Captain Grace stood in the doorway with his arms across his chest and his legs spread wide. Everyone watched as the medtechs worked.

They spoke in low tones as more patches were attached. Finally they stood back and stared down at tablets. A single corpsman with close cut white hair walked over to the Captain.

“He’s going to make it. Once the nanites take hold, they’ll get him warmed up,” the corpsman said. “I don’t think there was any oxygen deprivation, but there was some radiation poisoning.”

Captain Grace nodded. Behind him a pack of soldiers grew. He turned to the soldiers, “He’s gonna make it.”

Shouts and hoots erupted from the hall. A smile grew on Abraham’s face.

“Out, out!” the corpsman shouted.

The soldiers scattered and rushed away from the medbay. Sounds of jubilation grew quieter.

Abraham looked around the room. His smile melted away as the faces of the wounded looked onto the scene. Men and women with vacuum burns, third degree burns, bullet wounds and shrapnel looked on. He’d never seen anything like it before.

Before he knew it he was sitting on the floor. His head was dizzy and he felt like vomit would come up at any moment. He turned his head slowly and came face to face with a woman.

Pure anger and rage glared back at him. Her hands were shackled together and secured to the bunk above her. Her wounds looked severe enough, but she was drunk with hate. Abraham wanted to pull back and move away.

“Come with me, young man,” Captain Grace said. He placed his hands under Abraham’s arms and helped him up. “You need some fresh air.”

Abraham stumbled out the door and felt the cool air of the hallway.

“Keep me posted, Mr. Castro,” Captain Grace said. He turned to Abraham and motioned down the hallway.

The pair walked slowly down the hall. Captain Grace took slow, deliberate, steps with his hands clasped behind his back. Abraham felt his stomach continue to roll. He wanted to think of something else.

“You’re doing well, Mr. Yoder,” Captain Grace said. His pace was steady and he didn’t turn to look at Abraham.

“Thank you, sir.”

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

Wake

“You could’ve set me down,” Archie said. He pulled his finger back and released the thin elastic strap. It arced across the room and tumbled across Lieutenant Yamaguchi’s chest.

His arm was wrapped tightly in a synthetic weave of breathable materials. Archie liked how light it was, but the itching was nearly unbearable. His arm was warm, downright steamy. The weave wasn’t for his comfort, but to allow a higher nanite density.

Yamaguchi gingerly picked up the strap and flexed it between his hands. “Major, I should have thrown you at the hostile. You were heavy enough to do some damage.” He plucked the strap back and shot it at Archie. He grinned and plopped himself down.

Around them the residents of the medbay leaned out of bunks and craned necks to watch the banter between the two. Even the worst of the wounded smiled as the two poked back and forth.

“Toss me? I’m much too pretty for that, Lieutenant.” Archie replied reached down and grabbed the plastic strap. “You missed!”

“Missed? I aimed exactly where I wanted, you just weren’t in the right spot.”.

Archie drew back the strap and aimed it around the room. He squinted one eye tight and saw Captain Grace standing in the door with a face as serious as only a ship’s Captain can wear.

“Major Theodore. Care to join me?” Captain Grace said.

The questions were coming. Archie knew it. A little knot grew in his stomach. What was he nervous for? The nanites in his system. He kept telling himself they were gone, but what if they weren’t? Anger welled up and replaced the fear. The Commandant was going to pay.

“Absolutely.” Archie scooted from out of the bunk and stood slowly. His eyes caught the pale face of Captain Asa.

She looked up with her hands clasped together on her chest.

Captain Grace turned and walked out of the room. Archie hobbled after, turning and snapping the strap back and drilling Yamaguchi on the bridge of the nose. Laughter rose from around the room.

“Y’all don’t let him pick you up!” Archie said. He scooted out of the room before Yamaguchi had a chance to reply, or return fire.

The pair walked slowly through the hallway.

“How long have you had the Malta, Captain?” Archie asked.

Captain Grace smiled slightly. “A bit longer than we’ve had you.”

Archie wasn’t sure whether the answer was serious or not.

“Here we are,” Captain Grace said. He stood next to a slim door.

Archie entered the room. Inside stood a Captain with puffy cheeks and slick black hair. His waist swelled just slightly while his legs were almost too small. The Captain squinted.

“Captain,” Archie said cautiously.

“Major Theodore, this is Captain Martinez of the Scylla. Can I get you anything?” Captain Grace asked.

“Water, please,” Archie said. “Good to meetcha Captain.” He stuck out his good hand.

Captain Martinez smiled a slight crease and gave Archie’s hand a single squeeze.

“Major, can you tell us what happened? I read your brief, but I’d like to hear it from you,” Captain Martinez asked.

Captain Grace filled a slender aluminum tumbler and handed it to Archie. He sat at the small edge of the table.

“Well.” Archie took a sip and swished it around. His tongue still felt rough. “I was stationed at the Sa’Ami Transfer Station. We ran the usual routine. One Marine, one Naval Officer, both of us locked up until the Sa’Ami departed.” He set the tumbler down and sighed longingly.

Both of the Captains looked on in silence and waited.

“They brought in a single cargo ship, big one. Or we thought it was a cargo ship. A cargo loader came in, dropped a plate across the bulkhead, and then they came in hard.” Archie sat back and pictured the striders swarming in. “The striders en masse were impressive. The Marines on the cargo deck didn’t last long.”

“Then the courier was launched?” Captain Grace asked.

Archie nodded and took another sip. “Yes, at that point we were afraid they’d take it before we could launch it. We sent what data we had. Shortly after, more Sa’Ami ships blinked in. Commander Luis made his way and got onto a courier. They, well, they shot the courier.” The sound of Luis screaming still echoed in his mind.

Captain Martinez nodded and looked down at a slender tablet. “”I knew the Commander, served with him on Mars Orbital. Good man.”

“After that, I moved to detonate the core. Was met there and taken captive. I was interrogated by a Commandant named Nefoussi, I believe he has command over a significant portion of this operation. They showed him quite a bit of reverence.”

The thought of the nanite burn in his skull flared back. His hand slid up to his scalp and he itched furiously behind one ear.

Captain Grace squeezed his eyes tight and looked at Archie.

“Dry skin,” Archie explained.

Captain Martinez looked down again. “You said they had empty racks. Did you know what was in them?”

Archie shook his head. “Negative.”

“Did you see the case?”

“Negative. I never saw anything xeno.”

Captain Martinez slid his fingers along the tablet. “Then this Nefoussi left. Is that when you heard mention of the barrier?”

“I did, yes, from Captain Asa.”

Captain Martinez looked to Captain Grace.

“There are two systems away from Canaan. One is a binary star and the other a small blue. The binary, according to my Engineers, has more energy potential. So that’s where we are transiting.” Captain Grace slid a tablet forward.

Archie leaned over. It was a generic survey plot with a pair of stars notated and a collection of orbital bodies farther away from the star.

“Doesn’t look like much,” Archie muttered.

“The binaries scattered anything within a few AU, everything is in a far orbit. And,” Captain Grace slid the tablet and made a few taps, “if you go out further, it is the center point of a line across UC and Sa’Ami space.”

“We’re going to enter the system and see what is there, if we can harass it. We will,” Captain Martinez said with a finality in his voice.

Archie wasn’t sure he liked Captain Martinez, but he’d changed his mind. The Captain had a set of cojones.

“How long?” Archie asked.

“Well, that depends, Major. We’ve got a single Sa’Ami ship trailing us close with the Sa’Ami fleet behind. If we separate, that ship can pick us apart,” Captain Grace said.

“So far things haven’t gone well. The Sa’Ami have updated their fittings,” Captain Martinez said dryly.

Silence sat in the room as the three looked down at the tablets before them. Archie leaned closer and slid one tablet to the middle. A picture of the case, opened, was laid out. Inside was a lattice of white cradling an object devoid of features. It didn’t look like much, he thought, but neither did a Haydn drive.

“Has Captain Asa said anything?” Archie asked.

Captain Grace shook his head. “No, she’s not the talkative type.”

Captain Martinez snorted and sat back. His dark eyes stared down at the tablets.

“May I?” Archie asked.

Captain Grace shrugged and looked at Captain Martinez.

“As you wish, Major,” Captain Martinez said.

Archie left the meeting with a tablet tucked under his arm and thoughts on his mind. How to get her to talk? She had always maintained control, or at least tried to. The info about the barrier came when she was mad as hell. Time to push some buttons.

The medbay had grown silent after he left. Captain Asa lay in the same position with a Marine standing guard. Archie walked over to Castro.

“Corpsman.”

“Major,” Castro said softly. His eyes were worn and he looked like he’d been sleeping on a box of gravel.

“I need to speak with Captain Asa.”

Castro raised an eyebrow and glanced down. “Be my guest, Major.”

“Somewhere else.”

Darkness spread across the medic’s face. “Interrogation, Major? She’s fairly fragile right now.”

“I was her guest, it’s time for her to be mine.”

The slight hum of the grav drive shifted followed by a light bump. Archie glanced around and saw everyone shift and adjust slightly. The Malta blinked once again. It felt almost like that magic eleventh hour you just couldn’t put a finger on.

Castro turned and stepped over to the wall. His fingers slid open a screen. He tapped his fingers on the seam of his pants. With a sudden hard smack of the tip of his finger he turned back to Archie. “I’ve noted your visit on her records. I’ll move her into the surgery room.”

Archie nodded. “Thank you, Mr. Castro.”

Castro looked back with tight eyes and a suspicious glance. “I worked hard to save that one. Don’t fuck it up, Major.”

Archie turned back and saw Captain Asa staring back at him. Eyes locked and he saw a blankness in her that was so strange compared to how she had been. The fierce lioness was now caged, shackled, beaten. His heart almost felt it. Almost.

He entered after Castro and the Marine. Captain Asa was deposited onto the surgical table. Robotic arms and actuators retracted away like a stand of limbless trees. What nanites couldn’t do, scalpel and saw did.

Asa’s eyes opened a bit wider. Looming above her was a scene that triggered thoughts of barbarism. She raised her head up and glanced at Archie.

He flattened out his palms and smiled lightly. The sight of the surgical devices immediately triggered the memory of the nanites in his skull. He hadn’t meant to scare her. Or had he?

“Torture, Major?” Asa asked. She lowered herself back onto her pillow. Her eyes followed Castro and the Marine as they walked out. The door closed behind them with a pop.

“No Captain. I’ll leave that to you people.” Archie slid a stool near the Captain and plopped himself down.

She was silent. Her eyes looked straight up into the lights. A slight rasp came from her chest with every breath. A rumple of nanite patches and surgical tape wrinkled her gown.

“What do you want, Major?” Her voice was low, tired.

Archie sat back slightly and let out a deep, audible, breath. “A vacation to start with, I heard Haven is nice.”

She turned and narrowed her eyes. “Don’t jest with me.”

Archie shrugged. “Have it your way, but this is going to be a long ride. I doubt you find many others to speak with.”

The room was still except for a light air current.

“Where did you grow up, Captain?”

Her eyes drifted back to the ceiling. Eyelids fluttered a moment. “Atlas.” The words drifted from her lips and hung, as if part of a prayer.

He didn’t know much of Sa’Ami space. No one did. They had some data, basic charts. Most systems were alphanumeric.

“What is it like?”

She licked her lips and closed her eyes. “Like the sea on a warm spring night. It is always the sea, everywhere. Fish, scallops, crabs. The waters glow, but you normally can’t tell. There’s three moons…”

“Why did you leave?”

She opened her and sighed. “To see the stars.” She sniffed. A wire thin smile spread across her face.

Archie nodded. He knew the feeling, but he sensed she had changed her mind. “And it wasn’t what you thought?”

“The brighter the lantern, the greater the darkness. As I grew, my world seemed small, then my solar system, then space. Space was big, but you, I mean the UC, are so close.”

He watched and stayed silent.

She continued, “So, we always wake in the shadow of a big brother. A father maybe? And wonder what we would be on our own. As it is we will do nothing but quarrel until one is beat.”

“You can’t hope to win.” Archie knew it was the truth. The industrial output was too much for the Sa’Ami. Even with a technical advantage, it wouldn’t be enough.

“We don’t have to, Major. We just have to make it costly enough for you to lose. As I understand it, most people on Earth don’t much care about us.”

Archie wanted to nod but instead kept the same passive look on his face.

“They want to do what they do, and let the loonies in the stars do their own thing.” Asa almost spat out the words.

“So you do a little massacre, a little genocide, hit some military targets and make them wonder why they’re fighting at all.”

“Yes! And make them wonder why? Why do we fight these people? They’ve done nothing to us.”

“What about when we send the fleet, or a dozen fleets, and teach you a lesson, make you pay for that genocide? Claim our worlds?”

“Your worlds,” she sneered. “Are we ‘yours’? What right do you have? You and your covenant, nothing but a snare for fools.” She sat up slightly and rolled onto her side. “Your fleets, send as many as you want, they’ll find nothing.”

“Your barrier, eh? We’ll go around it.”

“It’ll be a line in the stars. It will take you months, maybe even years, to cross. If! If they can cross at all. Major, your fleets will be useless, you lack the technology to penetrate that barrier,” Asa said in a triumphant tone. Her eyes burned with fury. Her arms shook her entire body. She was buoyed with rage.

“Who did you buy it from? Gracelle? Meet someone new? You’re just scavengers.”

His mind raced as he took it in. How could anyone isolate space, create a barrier? It seemed preposterous. But still, she had a point. Why would they risk an attack unless they could change the paradigm.

She lowered herself down slowly until only her head was turned. Hard eyes shook as the anger, the inability to do anything, crept into her. The moment passed and she was silent once more.

A strange look came upon her. A knowing look. Her eyes softened and looked sad once again as she rested herself onto the pillow. “You walked me into that, didn’t you Major?”

“Yes, you’ve got a temper.”

“You could have asked.”

“And you would have lied.”

Archie stood slowly and walked to the door. He turned before opening it. “What’s in the case? The one with the strange writing.”

Asa’s head snapped to the side and her lips thinned out.

He had as much answer as he needed. The door opened and he walked out.

*

William and Martinez walked in silence from the dim professionalism of the bridge toward the hold.

Captain Martinez stopped and blinked.

“Captain?” William asked. He came to Martinez’s side and looked at him.

A look of relief spread across Martinez’s face.

“Captain, I could take command of the Malta. You could take the Scylla back,” Martinez said quickly as if excited and ashamed all at once.

“No sir,” William said simply. “If what the Major said is true, we might have a chance to disrupt something here. The Scylla needs to get the device out.”

Captain Martinez stood with his chin thrust out and clasped his hands behind his back. The same look of pride bordering on arrogance replaced the excitement he had worn. “Very well, Captain.”

“There’s the matter of our ‘escort’ that may decide things,” William said. The Sa’Ami ship had stayed just far enough away to be a worry, but not close enough to be a problem.

“Once we get into the system, we can deal with him,” Captain Martinez said.

After arriving at the bulkhead, they broke off into their own directions.

William found Corpsman Castro standing with his hands clasped behind his back.

“Captain,” Castro said. “May I have a word?”

“Of course, speak.”

Castro’s eyes slid over to the Marines next to them. “In private if we may, sir, it’s a medical matter.”

William beckoned the way he came from. “To my office, then?”

“That’d be fine, sir.”

The pair walked through the passage slowly. Castro spoke of the recent upset in the Army-Marine competitions. The Army had, contrary to the betting, taken a lead in the simulated combat. William kept his opinion silent, the soldiers weren’t the same soldiers as they were before the drop.

William liked the corpsman. Castro was a medical student on a colony before dropping out once nanite medicine spread. A respected trade became little more than a technical role, except for the most brilliant. But as a corpsman, he was exceptional.

He tried to listen to Castro, he nodded and smiled, commented on the Marines’ dissatisfaction. But he couldn’t stop digesting what the Major had come back with. It almost seemed preposterous. A barrier. He didn’t think it was possible, but both Huron and Reed, couldn’t disprove it. Though both were quick to point out they weren’t astrophysicists.

William entered and cleared away the tablets he had left on the table. Star charts were dotted with simulations. “Have a seat, Mr. Castro.”

Castro sat and turned himself sideways, relaxing against the back wall. He shrugged his shoulders high and settled in.

William wanted to smile. He hadn’t known the relationship Castro had with previous Captains but his demeanor seemed to be free from rank. William decided he didn’t mind, as long as Castro didn’t start referring to him as ‘Willy’ or ‘Bill’.

“I’ve, uh, found a few anomalies with the Major,” Castro said slowly. He placed each word carefully as if weighing the proper balance.

“Go on,” William said.

Castro leaned on the wall a bit and continued. He raised a hand, tapping on his fingers. “Beyond the dehydration, broken bones, and rib fractures, we ran a full screen. Transfer Station has some pretty strict quarantine requirements. So he uh, well, skipped quarantine.”

William licked his lips and felt his face grow warm. Sickness, the one great fear of every Captain. “What does he have?” he asked quickly.

Castro stammered a second. “Nothing! Well, nothing we know is harmful.”

“Corpsman, get to the point please.”

Castro nodded quickly and leaned forward. “So we’ve got our natural nanites, the stuff we pick up from all over the place. Not to mention the Naval inoculations. He just has a rather, hmm, well, robust variety.”

“Harmful?”

Castro sucked in air. “I’m not sure, Captain. It might just be something he picked up living with Sa’Ami. Who knows what sort of wild nanites they could have roaming about.”

“But it’s not harmful?”

“I don’t think so.”

“But you don’t know for sure?”

Castro shrugged. “Well, not for sure.”

“So he has some nanites in him—unidentified nanites—and we don’t know what they do? And we’re not sure if they’re harmful?”

Castro nodded. “About that.”

“Worst case?”

“Nanite weapon.”

William furrowed his brow. “As I understand it, they didn’t know we were coming, and prior to that had every intention of releasing him as a biographer or some such nonsense.”

“Just an observation, Captain.” Castro slid himself back up against the wall.

William brought his fingers to his temples and rubbed. “Thank you, Mr. Castro. Keep an eye on it, the Major has been through enough, I don’t want to subject him to anything unwarranted.”

“You got it, Captain.”

William smiled lightly and glanced to the door. The moments stretched on before Castro slid aside from his seat and walked to the door.

“Thank you, sir,” Castro said. His demeanor changed back to gruff professionalism and he stepped out.

*

The routine shifted. The initial adrenaline gave way to a slow drip of tension. Every screen in the Malta showed a window to the following Sa’Ami ship. Laughter was nervous, stilted, quick.

A dropped tool, slammed door, or loud noise would send people into sealed bulkheads. They were tense. Word had traveled about an unknown destination. At every blink point they went to full battle stations. Grav shields were online and weapons primed. The shift brought that first moment of excitement that passed into heightened boredom. The space in between was empty.

Eyes watched the display as they waited for the Sa’Ami ship to come in. It came, as always, and resumed the pace.

A camera drone snuck the first glances. They had deposited the reconnaissance package immediately after a blink and waited. If they were lucky, it would blink close and they would get a perfect look. The blink would vary, just slightly, even with the same vector.

They were lucky enough that it caught a brief snapshot but unlucky that it wasn’t close enough to gain much more detail. The crew poured over the handful of images greedily. It was something new. The ship had the same look as if it was grown, slabbed together, and birthed into space. It still looked too small.

The consensus was it had no crew. A hunter-killer, waiting for the proper moment. Only a single railgun fired on the camera drone. The slender barrel peeled away from the rusty brown of the hull and blapped a trio of rounds.

The three ships plied the silent void and edged closer to the growing binary stars. The stars winked and danced as one passed the other. As they grew closer they seemed to be more like a lighthouse warning of a dangerous shore than a beacon of safety.

*

Yamaguchi grasped the edge of a bulkhead and steadied himself. The walk took a toll. He snuck a glance at Mullins, who was looking down the hall.

“How’s it look?”

“Hmm. Better, but a good deal of repair still being done,” Mullins said. His fingers scanned the screen.

Inside, Yamaguchi nanites swarmed and sought out breaks, tears, fissures and failures. But with each repair came heat. If he thought it would help, Yamaguchi would sleep in a bath of ice. But the thought brought back memories of his time outside.

After the crate had smashed into him he had enough reserve power left to lock one arm onto the umbilical and the other to the crate.

The impact was immense, the seals barely held. The heat wicked away and the cold seeped in. Deep, dry, piercing cold.

As much as he raged against the suit he could not move. It had become a coffin. He knew it might get cut loose at any moment. The thought terrified him, to be floating forever in the void.

“After you, LT,” Mullins said.

Yamaguchi gritted his teeth and continued. The warmth in his legs spread slowly like he was sitting on the hot sand. Tingles danced up and down. He wanted to itch, jam his fingers tight and howl in joy. Instead he snuck a glance at Mullins and stood a bit straighter.

They came to the part of the cargo hold where the soldiers were setup. Suits were prostrated with men all about. Behind them a naval additive cell hummed and sang with every layer.

A Private saw him and fell off the side of a battered suit of power armor. “Platoon, attention!”

Yamaguchi cringed.

Around him men and women slid down and stood straight. Eyes locked forward with shoulders straight.

“Get back to fucking work,” Yamaguchi said. “And someone find me a damn chair.”

Smiles broke out among those who knew him. Yamaguchi sat down in a provided seat and scowled. A quick wink to the veterans let them all know where he stood.

Sergeant Hoffman walked up and stood with his hands clasped behind his back.

“Sergeant, are we on track?” Yamaguchi asked. He scanned the suits and saw progress, but not as much as he’d like.

“As well as can be, LT. We took a beating. We’re going to have, at best, a dozen suits.”

“Mine?” Yamaguchi asked.

Hoffman nodded slowly.

Yamaguchi saw the look, questioning. “I’ll be fine, Sergeant. A few more days.”

Mullins cleared his throat behind Yamaguchi.

“Hey now!” Yamaguchi said. He spun slowly and wagged a finger at Mullins.

“Sir, a few days, if you heal up faster than normal.”

Yamaguchi snorted and turned back to Sergeant Hoffman. “As you were, Sergeant. I’m going to relax here for a few.”

The additive cell stopped the incessant hum. A panel slid open and a strut exited the machine. The strut drifted a puff of steam as it met the cool air. Sergeant Hoffman walked over and kicked the strut aside.

“Eh? Where’d you go?” Hoffman bellowed. He turned his head around the side of the additive cell and unleashed a stream of obscenities.

A sailor, with hair that said he’d been sleeping, leapt to the front and began loading the next program. Sergeant Hoffman never stopped berating the man until the machine hummed again.

Suits that once held friends were now being cannibalized for spare parts. He recognized a flame red patch on the shoulder of one. Some suits were fresh, some still stained a dull yellow from the action on Canaan.

At least the suits are working better, he thought. Hated the damn things. Hated. Like a sluggish fucking toe frozen into molasses.

Now he saw it as something that was closer to being perfect. It still wasn’t an extension of his limbs, but it was damn close. A brief puff of fear rode his spine when he thought of suiting up once more.

“LT, time for your next dose,” Mullins said.

Yamaguchi stood slowly and placed his hands on his hips. He surveyed and scowled as best as he could. Long ago he’d seen a picture of General Patton, ever since he tried to emulate that same bravado and hardass attitude.

“Keep a rocking boys, we’re gonna need them suits soon enough,” Yamaguchi said. He meant it. Soon he’d be briefing them on the coming mission.

*

Abraham pressed his nose against the shield of the nanite welder and watched in awe as the bead laid down.

A shimmering coalescing pool of white sputtered and crackled. Behind the pool, metal cooled into red like a prairie sunset. Nanites edged the weld and isolated oxygen from alloy. Oxidation was nonexistent. A perfect weld.

“See? Now normally we program this sort, but it’s good to watch and see,” Reed said excitedly. He clutched a face shield in one hand and a bulky little gun in the other. Cords dragged behind and tucked into a slender canister.

Abraham looked up from the shield and smiled. He loved seeing how everything was grown from raw materials. It was so different from everything he’d ever known. But most of all it took his mind off of his Father.

Thoughts of his betrayal of faith still came to him at odd moments. His heart would suddenly grow heavy, followed by a dense sweat. He wanted to talk to someone about it, to tell someone, but no one seemed close.

“In a few minutes it’ll be damn near cool. Now watch!” Reed piped. The Engineer dropped the shield away. The reflection of the cooling bead glittered off his eyes.

Abraham leaned in closer and felt the heat on his cheeks. His fingers raised up and rubbed the bottom of his chin. The absence of his facial hair still struck him as odd.

Before his eyes the seam, lumpy and ragged, smoothed out and disappeared.

“The nanites push it all down, smooth it out,” Reed said.

“Abe. You done?” Huron called over the comms.

Abraham nearly jumped. He hadn’t gotten used to the implanted nanite communications system. He shifted his jaw slightly and talked. “Yes, sir!”

“No need to yell,” Huron said.

“You’ll get used to it, eh?” Reed said.

Abraham smiled sheepishly.

“Head on back, we need you to try on your suit,” Huron called.

“A graphene layer will keep it from oxidizing and we’re done,” Reed said as he packed up the equipment. “You know they first developed the self-healing graphene on condoms? Amazing, eh?”

“What’s a condom?” Abraham asked.

Reed stopped and stared down at the welding unit in silence. His cheeks grew a rosy red. “Well, let’s get you back to Mr. Huron and try on that suit.”

*

Abraham followed behind Reed through the passages. The Engineering section was small, well lit, and smelled vaguely of smoke and oil. At the edge of the room sat a wide bulkhead with a crystal glass window. Behind it lay the Haydn drive.

Abraham, as always, crept close and took a peek. He liked the way the slender chamber seemed to cradle to drive. It was an enigma to those around him. They all knew how it worked, but not quite why.

Reed told him that only a dozen or so humans actually knew why it worked. With the bravado of youth, Abraham set himself to the task and decided he too would learn. The Engineers nodded and smiled at the pronouncement and informed him that he’d have to start with algebra.

“Is it stable?” Reed asked.

Abraham snapped his eyes away from the Haydn drive and saw the suit sprawled onto the floor.

“Should be,” Huron replied. He hovered a hand over the chest. “Yup.”

The suit was large enough to fully encapsulate an ape. The edges were utilitarian, spartan, almost bordering on rugged. It reminded Abraham of a toddler’s one piece winter suit. His heart beat faster as he smiled down. He could go into space!

“Let’s give it a try, eh?” Reed said.

The two Engineers hefted the suit up and Abraham slowly pulled himself into it. The suit was like a sun-warmed blanket. It felt oddly heavy in the joints while still supple.

“It feels tight in the elbows and knees.” Abraham flexed and tested his range of motion.

“No worries, Jumbo, it’ll break in once you use it,” Reed said.

“That’s gots to be the biggest damned suit I’ve ever seen,” Huron said.

Abraham beamed with pride and walked back and forth across the room. “Can I try it out?”

“Soon. You’ll be heading out to help Samir, or at least I think he needs help.”

Abraham nodded. Samir was a decidedly unhappy crewman. “How does it work?”

“Stand up straight,” Reed ordered.

Abraham straightened his shoulders and set his chin. The Engineers descended on the suit and went back and forth explaining features and details. The pair broke into an argument about the joint compounds but eventually got back onto track.

One of them tapped his wrist and a slight hiss of air pulsed from behind his neck. A moment later the face shield slid up and encircled his head. Sounds dulled. The hiss of air turned into a roar before it stopped.

Huron and Reed checked everything and nodded between themselves. Abraham watched as they ran down each function on his wrist panel. The suit was one step above an emergency suit and nothing compared to a full blown maintenance suit.

“Like it?” Reed asked.

Abraham nodded and bumped his head on the face shield. Reed tapped the control on his wrist and the shield slid down. Sounds came back and the air felt cool on his face.

“Whatcha think of that barrier, Huron?” Reed asked.

Huron shrugged and began to strip the suit away from Abraham. “Seems a bit farfetched. I’ve thought quite a bit, but eh, who knows?”

Abraham looked between the two. “What are you talking about?”

Reed looked to Huron.

“It seems the Sa’Ami have some sort of xeno tech that is going to allow them to make a barrier to the Haydn drive,” Reed said with a sigh.

“But well, like we said, we just keep the drive running. I don’t know enough about ‘em to know if it’s a threat,” Huron added.

“What’s xeno? What about Canaan?” Abraham asked. His heart felt heavy once more as thoughts of his father came back to him.

“Depends on which side of the line it’s on. On one side it’d be on Sa’Ami and the other it’d be on UC,” Reed said.

Abraham didn’t like the sound of that.

Huron shook his head. “But the energy involved, immense!”

“Xeno is latin for stranger, it caught on to describe aliens,” Reed said.

The two men finished peeling the suit and hung it gently along with the other suits. It looked like a gallery of orange and gray clown suits. The engineers seemed to be in thought.

“Is that why they’re using the binary?” Reed said.

Huron wrinkled his nose and tapped his chin. “Maybe?”

“Lots of energy in a binary.”

Abraham looked between the two. The thought and calculations going on in their heads was obvious. His eyes caught a maintenance drone climbing out of a duct and tucking itself into a charging cocoon.

Reed shook his head as if clearing his thoughts. “Abe! Any more thoughts about getting rated?”

Abraham shifted in the cool air and shook his head. “No sir.”

Huron laid an arm onto Abraham’s shoulder and beckoned to the Haydn drive. “It’s the path to being a real spacer. We were both rated running ice out of the Oort cloud. Eventually, if you do well, they’ll send you to one of the technical universities.”

“MIT, Sorbonne, Luna, MTU,” Reed droned.

“Tokyo, Texas, Nairobi,” Huron added with a sharp nod.

Abraham smiled as he watched the two list off more places he’d never heard of.

“But anyhow, your shift starts shortly. Go grab a bite. We’ll be coming up to a blink here in the next few hours.” Reed turned to Huron and began to speak of prepping the Haydn.

Abraham turned and stooped his head to exit the maintenance hall. A pair of Marines walked by with chests out and eyes locked forward.

He waited ‘til they were past and set off for the galley. His stomach rumbled even as his taste buds rebelled.

*

“Mr. Grace, it’s time,” Lebeau said. She watched the display with her hands hovering on her console.

William nodded to Lebeau. “You’ve got it—blink in ten.”

Before him the displays showed ready signals. Grav shields were online. Nanites at full charge. Maintenance drones scattered and ready. He glanced to the hallway and saw the Marines in full armor.

“Weapons hot. Engineering is green. Haydn primed.” Lebeau watched the clock with a steady hand. “Go.”

The starscape shifted on the visual. Readouts winked to white and edged back into normal as data came in.

The screens showed nothing.

“Where are they?” William mumbled. “Weapons back to manual.” Had a hostile been in place, human reaction time would be too slow to properly respond.

A tone sang out and a new contact appeared. The Scylla blinked through a few hundred kilometers from the Malta. Data streams linked up.

“Contact,” Lebeau said. The screen before her shifted and turned.

A hulk of a ship sat a thousand kilometers away. The icon showed zero acceleration with a slight random spin.

“It’s cold,” Lebeau said. Her eyes looked tired as she turned to William.

He nodded back. Gone was the quaint Midshipman he’d first served with. She’d been replaced by a combat veteran that was taking on a hard flinty edge.

William itched his augmetic hand and watched the data streams filter in. They were close now. Close enough to see what the course would be. “Lock it, prime the rails, and get me a visual.”

The screen shifted away from the system view and slid a star field back and forth. Only the star side of the derelict was visible with the rest hidden in shadow. The display blinked to a thermal view and few details emerged. It looked like a cargo freighter that had been disemboweled.

“Ping it, go live,” William ordered.

The Malta sent out a stream of laser energy and received back the results. The blocky wreck changed to that of a definable shape. Wounds and battle scars jutted out from the containers clamped beneath.

“Someone smacked it hard,” William said.

“No sir,” Lebeau said quickly. She zoomed the display on a container. The hull was peeled outward.

“Well done, Ms. Lebeau, something came from the inside.”

Lebeau let out a slight smile.

William looked down at his augmetic hand and flexed the fingers. The nerves still worked, the control was still there. He smiled and made a fist. “Get Captain Martinez, please. I’ve got an idea. How long ‘til we see our friend?”

“About an hour, give or take,” Lebeau said.

“Set course for that hulk, full burn.” William slid a hand onto the console. “Mr. Reed, get an EVA team ready. I’ll be down to Engineering in five.”

The display blinked and the haggard face of Captain Martinez looked down. His puffy cheeks looked red with spider webs of wrinkles spreading from his eyes.

“Captain,” Martinez said.

“Captain. I’d like your permission to latch onto that wreck and get a tow drone on it, send it towards the nearest planet.” William sent a data packet with a rough chart attached.

Martinez’s eyes glanced over. He nodded slowly. A slight clicking noise came as he clenched his jaw back and forth. “We engage there?”

“Yes, sir, we’ll use the hulk as a decoy, at least something to confuse them.”

“Very well, Mr. Grace. We’ll halt the blink and make course for that planet.” Martinez slid back in his chair.

William smiled back and punched in the course. “I’ll send over a plan of action for you.”

“Did you see the structure?”

Structure? William shook his head. He’d been too focused on the derelict.

Martinez sniffed and looked to his side. “Not much detail, but it’s big. I’m sending the scan your way.”

William watched as the blurry scan unfolded. They used reflected x-rays from the binary star to paint a rough picture of the structure. It was big like a girdered building with no skin. The structure was massive, bulbous, raw.

“Mr. Grace. Once we have the situation in hand with the ship we’ll transfer the device and the prisoner over.” Martinez’s eyes looked hurt just saying the phrase. “After that you will head to the structure and destroy it. I’m sending over your orders.”

The words hung between them as it was all laid out.

“We could transfer now. Use the decoy and let you get some distance. They’d have to come after me,” William said.

Martinez shook his head slowly. “And if you fail, then they come after me. Better the two of us.”

“Very well, sir.”

*

William ran as fast as he could manage through the passages. Calls of ‘Make way!’ echoed before him as the meager crew stepped into doorways. Sergeant Gruber caught up with him at Engineering and the pair entered together.

Inside two standard EVA suits stood next to the largest EVA suit William had ever seen. He gawked for a moment and marveled at the size. Huron and Reed stood nearby with arms crossed. Both men looked smug.

“Well that was quick,” William said. He hadn’t expected them to have a team together so quickly.

Huron winked at Reed. “Well, we are Engineers.”

“Actually, we were about to do an EVA anyhow,” Reed added.

“There’s a wreck, I need a tow drone on it. Right now.” William slammed his fist into his hand. “And I mean now.”

“I’ve got a squad coming up, Mr. Grace.” Sergeant Gruber scanned a tablet in his hand and nodded.

William returned to the bridge and watched the camera feeds as the suits wrangled the drone into place.

The hulk was bearing closer. The panels were shadows of black tinted with ruddy smudges. It was like every ship plying space, all cargo container and small living quarters. It came back as the ‘Ceres Storm’. Registered to some random Inner Belt conglomerate.

“Captain, where’s the Sa’Ami defense force ?” Lebeau asked.

William had wondered the same thing. He scanned the charts and saw precious little in the system. The large structure near the pulsing stars was it.

“Good question, Ms. Lebeau.” He leaned over his console and paged Major Theodore. “Major, could you come to the bridge, please.”

A grunt sounded with a yawning “Yes.”

Lebeau arrayed the cameras and put the audio on for the EVA team. The voices that rang out were in Aramaic, a language none of them spoke. She looked annoyed and cut the sound.

They watched as the cameras spun and shifted with the three suits holding tight onto the drone. The hulk came closer. Names appeared on the containers: Mitsubishi, Chang-Shen, Norske, Walmart. It had every appearance of running consumer goods to the colonies.

“Captain?” Major Theodore asked. He stepped onto the bridge and stood with his chin thrust out.

William turned. He liked the Major, but the man knew how to paint himself as a hardass. He wore a cast on one arm and looked like he was a few kilos light. “Major, I’d like you to speak with our guest. There’s no one here, no defense fleet, nothing. Where is everyone? See what she knows. She must know about it, she hinted you’d see that Commandant again, right?”

Major Theodore nodded. “You got it, Captain.”

The Major turned crisply and strutted off the bridge.

“The Major has quite a presence,” Midshipman Lebeau said in passing.

“Yes.” William smiled. “Yes, he does.”

*

The closeness of the suit caught him off guard. He’d never felt anything that was so omnipresent. Every square millimeter was pressed against his body. The odd looking suit felt even odder.

He reached out and touched the edge of the grav field. When they first emerged, up was up and down was down. But once they slid further back on the hull they entered a zone where there was no gravity. It was like stepping off of a cliff with nothing beneath. Except he didn’t fall.

Once his stomach recovered he heard the laughter from Samir and Youssef. The Marines emerged further up and came closer in a wedge formation. They stood immobile like statues and watched.

“You okay?” Reed asked over the comms.

Abraham caught himself. “Yes sir.”

It still felt like he was falling even though he wasn’t moving. The taste of bile and noodles was right on the edge of his mouth.

The Maronites surged onto the edge of the cargo panel and slid it off. Underneath a yellow and orange capsule was locked down. Bulbous canisters were tucked onto either edge. The capsule hovered upwards and remained stationary.

“It is ready!” Samir said in Aramaic.

“It’s ready,” Abraham called.

The derelict came closer. The panels were torn and ripped. A cloud of debris was scattered and visible as it rotated into the light of the distant binary star.

Abraham looked away from the derelict and focused his eyes on the planet. It appeared like a smoky grape hovering in the distance. The brighter edge of the planet almost took his breath away.

They told him it was nothing but unstable gases changing phase, but it was the first planet he’d ever seen that wasn’t his own. The first one! He was excited and forgot the sickness, but just for a moment.

“One hundred meters,” Midshipman Lebeau said in a hard tone.

Abraham repeated the phrase in rough Aramaic. The Marines spread out and took position around the hull. A bulky squat launcher was anchored to the hull. He watched it as the Marines edged away.

“Stick with Samir,” Huron called. “We’ll steer it over, latch on to the safety line and just hold on.”

“How do I get back?” Abraham asked with quick glance from side to side.

“Unclip the line from the tug and we’ll pull you in,” Huron said in a level tone. “Easy as mud pie.”

Abraham uttered a prayer and latched the large clip onto the line. Samir and Youssef latched on in silence and waited. The Marines fired their own lines and streamed over.

“Don’t leave the drone,” Sergeant Gruber called.

“Yes sir,” Abraham replied quickly. The only thing he feared more than getting lost was incurring the wrath of Sergeant Gruber.

The feeling of nausea changed phases as the tug rose. The Marines latched onto the derelict with weapons at ready. The ship grew larger and the damage more pronounced. Whatever hit it had gotten inside and destroyed everything it could.

Abraham looked up at names he’d never heard. Large blocky letters spelled out ‘Coke!’ just above him. They’d be anchoring next to the bottom of the K.

The nausea hit again as the tug matched up with the slow spin of the derelict. The Malta was disappearing just behind them. Darkness came quickly. His breath came in ragged bursts.

A light blinked on, and another. Samir and Youssef turned on the shoulder mounted light strips. Abraham locked his eyes onto the pool of white before him and felt his heart rate slow. The hull was close and the letters huge.

The tug nudged into the container.

He could feel the impact in his glove but heard nothing. Of course, he thought, no sound out here.

Samir climbed onto one side while Youssef went to the other. The pair each peeled away the side of the canister and pulled out a length of gray and white cable. They attached a blinking orange ball and tossed it against the hull.

Abraham blinked and looked closer. The ball flattened slowly and disappeared into the hull until the rope looked to be one with the alloy.

Samir came close and nodded. Samir told him it was done. He also said that he wanted a nap and he was sick of this bullshit but Abraham wasn’t about to transmit that.

“They’re done, sir,” Abraham said.

“Good job, latch on,” Huron replied.

Abraham scrambled over to the heavy safety clip and took the slack out of his safety line. The internals seemed caught and wouldn’t retract the full length.

Samir made a joke about it being too big but Abraham ignored it.

“Clear, clear! Contacts!” Sergeant Gruber shouted over the comms.

Abraham snapped his head from side to side. He couldn’t see anything around him. He told Samir and Youssef there was something out there.

Around him lights blinked in bursts. He realized he was seeing weapons fire from the Marines. The curvature of the container was enough that whatever they were shooting at was out of his view.

The wreck rolled further and the Malta came into view. The squat launcher locked onto the hull deployed a stream of missiles that spread out above and below Abraham.

“Blow the line, get out Abe,” Reed said quickly.

Abraham reached forward and slapped at the latch. It broke free and they drifted away from the wreck. His eyes locked on a ragged gouge. He could picture it, whatever it was, crawling out.

The gouge spun past slowly. Samir’s lights shone into the opening and showed a mass of jumbled goods and wrecked equipment.

And then it was out.

The thing that came out was like the soldier Abraham had seen on Canaan. But it was thinner than a man could be with a wasp thin waist. The way it moved was graceful.

The thing pushed off from the gouge and landed squarely onto Samir. In a moment it plunged one hand into the Engineer and spun backwards towards the tug drone.

Blood sprayed out for a split second and then stopped. His body tugged and bounced on the safety line. Abraham couldn’t move away as the corpse plunged against him, knocking him askew. His line slipped and he felt himself spinning.

The thing from the darkness landed on the drone and bashed one arm against the orange hull while the second arm tracked and fired at Youssef. A red sheet expanded from the engineer and drifted away.

Abraham could see the blood sailing through space like a wall. The oscillations passed him through it but it fell off like snow on a cold morning. He screamed in fear. The safety line pulled him away from the thing and closer to safety.

Vomit filled his helmet as the nausea overwhelmed him. Only the spinning kept him from breathing it back in. The face shield was covered in fluorescent yellow bile.

“Out, out!” Abraham howled. He couldn’t see. He couldn’t feel. Only the tug of the safety line and the random impacts of the bodies let him know that he was still connected.

Abraham pictured his father and took one quick shallow breath. His rock. His anchor. God was with him in that moment and he knew it, could feel it.

He opened his eyes and pushed his face against the vomit. He had to see, if he couldn’t see he couldn’t stop the corpses from battering him. The sickness came again but only saliva drifted out.

A smudged window to space opened up. He braced himself as he impacted with Samir, or was it Youssef? He gripped and missed. He tried with the next oscillation and clutched tightly to the dead man.

Above him the thing beat on the drone until it stopped mid-swing and drifted off. A pair of Marines advanced on it, firing a stream of silent projectiles. In a moment it drifted away and was gone.

“Abraham! Abe!” He became aware of the voices. Words wouldn’t come. His mouth was locked to keep more vomit from spilling out.

The derelict ceased rotation and struggled forward. Names slipped past until the tail of the ship blinked to black.

“Almost, Abe, Reed is coming out,” Huron said slowly.

Abraham looked around and saw the Marines coming closer. He ignored the corpses and focused on keeping still. The only thing he had to hold onto was a dead man.

*

Archie stood in a narrow passage and watched a squad of heavily armored Marines pass. He wanted, more than anything, to be strapped into a suit with a weapon in his hands. It pained him deeply to watch Marines go where he couldn’t.

The last of the squad passed. The smell of sweat mixed with the banana-like scent of nanite lubricants. He wrinkled his nose and continued down the passage.

Castro stood in the doorway with one foot flat against the bulkhead with his knee out across the opening. “Major.”

Archie glanced inside and saw a bored looking Marine standing next to the bunk. Only a rumpled blanket peaked out. “I need to speak with Captain Asa.”

Castro slid his glance slowly and turned his head. “She’s not doing all that well, Major.”

“What do you mean?”

Castro shrugged. “Something is going wrong inside, I’m not sure what it is. She’s filled with a nanite cocktail that’d put a geriatric to shame.”

Archie felt something—not sadness, but a regret. Fuck this. She was going to have someone shoot me in the head.

“I need to talk to her, Castro. Is she awake? What are the symptoms?”

Castro sighed through his nose and looked up at Archie. “Fever, a touch of delirium, bruising on her chest. All my scans give me gibberish. One says her adrenaline is spiked while another says her ribs are falling apart.” He shrugged and stepped into the room.

The room smelled of antiseptic and a hint of piss.

“I’m not going to move her. You do it here.” Castro walked to the main med station and sat with his elbows on his knees. “Major, how are you feeling?”

“Why?” Archie asked in the midst of the room.

“You were exposed to the same environment, no quarantine.”

“Fine.” Archie turned to where Captain Asa lay. “Marine,” Archie said to the guard.

He was taken back for a second. The Marine’s nose and ears were scarred and ragged. His name badge read: ‘Avinash’.

“Sir,” Private Avinash said with dimples that spread on gray tinted cheeks. His tone was the same tone that every private had used since Alexander the Great.

“I’m going to have a talk with the prisoner, mind taking a walk?”

“Apologies, sir, but this is my post.”

Archie nodded once. Couldn’t argue with that.

He leaned down and sat on the floor. Inside of the bunk the blankets were cast aside and a single leg poked out. Blotchy bruising spread along the ankle and foot.

The blankets rolled and turned. A face that was thinner, lighter, and missing the heavy cheeks looked back at him. Her eyes seemed pressed into her skull. Sweat beaded on her brow.

“Archie,” she whispered.

He wanted to feel bad for her, just for a moment.

“Captain, I have a question.” He didn’t have the heart to banter.

“Marjorie,” she said.

He blinked.

“My name is Marjorie.”

Archie nodded slowly. “Where are your fleets?”

She cracked a smile that split lines in her dry lips. “Pursuing your fleets.”

“You left no one behind?”

She looked at him with questioning eyes. “Where are you, Major? Running home?”

“Somewhere that we should have found Sa’Ami starships.”

“You’re going to see the Commandant,” she said.

Archie was silent.

Her eyes peered at his. A bead of sweat rolled along her brow and dropped into the corner of her eye. She raised a hand up and rubbed her face. Bruising and sickly purple blotches covered her wrists.

“There’s nothing you can do to stop the Commandant.”

He thought quickly. Why? “You don’t have enough ships,” Archie said. “Your fleets are buying time to get this barrier working. That’s it, isn’t it?”

Captain Asa ran a finger along her brow and pushed away the rivulets of sweat. “It won’t matter then. All we need to do is keep you away until it is up, then you will leave us alone.”

Her words were like a prayer, a whispered nothing that came at night.

“Good god, you’re sacrificing them? All of them?”

She shook her head softly. “It’s a price we are willing to pay. Now go home, there is nothing you can do here, it is already set.”

He ran through his thoughts. The crate. “What’s in the crate?”

She croaked out a laugh, followed by a wheeze. “I’m dying, Major, but I’m not a traitor.”

Something seemed different about her and he couldn’t place it. She wasn’t his friend, or even someone he respected. Did she deserve some words? No. He stood and stretched his back.

Cries and moans echoed through the hall. Castro was prepping a set of tables while the other Medics and Corpsman were scrubbing down and laying out nanite kits. He looked to Avinash.

“Trouble outside, sir,” Avinash said quietly.

He didn’t have time to leave before the casualties streamed in. Puncture wounds. Vacuum. The price paid to fight in space. Castro was too busy to pay him any mind.

He walked out with Private Avinash following behind.

“Private?” he asked.

“Relieved sir,” Avinash said. “Pardon me, Major, I’ve got some friends to check on.”

Archie nodded and watched the Marine sprint away. He felt a tug of humanity. He, of all people, knew how she felt. Alone, dying.

He walked away and left the thoughts behind him.

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

Rotation

The Malta burned closer to the smoky blue marble that was the outermost planet of the Bosporus System. A trio of squat moons, like blistered potatoes, soared around the unnamed planet. Behind them the Sa’Ami ship blinked in and followed. The rest of the enemy fleet was light years behind, but following.

William looked up at the display and wondered what his pursuer was thinking. Three ships moving behind the planet where there were only two before. The Sa’Ami would have no visual. He wasn’t worried about the structure closer in, they’d know if a laser painted them.

The watch bell rang with a dull tone. The sounds of armored Marines shifting verified the change of guards.

He looked up at the shared data link between the Malta and the Scylla. In thirty seconds they’d pass where the Sa’Ami ship couldn’t see them.

“Prepare to launch eyes,” William said.

“Eyes prepped,” Huron replied.

The display shifted and the ships passed out of the view of the pursuer.

“Drop it,” William said. “Second probe in thirty seconds.”

The bridge was crisp, tight, taut. In under an hour the Sa’Ami would either pass by and head to the inner system, or engage. Either way, they’d get a fight soon enough.

“Execute pulse,” Captain Martinez called.

William slapped at the console. Icons shifted, rolled, and blurred. An audible groan shuddered through the hull.

Midshipman Lebeau whistled. “Oh, baby.”

The Malta spun on her axis at the same moment as the Scylla did. Both ships arced tightly around a moon that was dirty brown and pocked with craters. Velocity burned off as they pushed as much thrust as they could.

The bridge was silent. Everyone focused on the display. The feed from the probes showed nothing but darkness.

“How long?” William asked.

“Eighteen minutes if it follows our side, twenty-two if it comes on the other side,” Lebeau said, her head turned towards her display.

“Give me a diagnostics on all weapons, I don’t want any surprises.” The ship had enough repairs to make a fully equipped shop nervous, let alone the repairs they’d done on the fly.

“Captain, there’s something happening with the binary,” Huron said.

“Define something, Mr. Huron,” William said. He keyed up the Engineering console and scanned the readouts.

“I, uh, well, I’m not sure, but something is happening. The gravity is varying, the orbit is starting to deviate, I’m showing a massive transfer of energy between the two stars.”

“We’ll worry about that once we’ve sorted this. How are my weapons?”

“Running,” Huron said as his hands flew over the console.

Displays winked green one after the next. Every system was checked, loaded, and prepped. A flurry of orange danced on a mass driver before shifting to green.

“What was that?” William asked.

“Nanites priming. That one might run hot,” Huron replied. The Martian Engineer leaned closure and punched keys rapidly. “Is good I think, Captain.”

William didn’t like the thought of being down one mass driver. He’d seen the recording of the Malta’s first engagement. Repeating that was not an option. He needed to intercept those missiles.

The Malta shifted apart from the Scylla and both plowed around the oval moon. A dim shadow slid across the blue face of the planet as the moon orbited. The clock counted down.

“Engaging in three,” William called over the ship’s comms. The sounds of the Marines shifting in the hall was reassuring. He pictured the entire crew snapping a bit more aware.

His hand itched. Fingers danced on his palm and he tried to calm it, sooth it, get rid of it. The itch wouldn’t stop. He’d never felt comfortable with the augmetic, though he’d heard that even a missing limb would itch.

“Comms request from the Scylla,” Lebeau said.

William nodded. Captain Martinez’s face filled the screen.

“Good luck, Captain, give them hell,” Captain Martinez said. He nodded quickly, like a matador.

The comms dropped and a few moments later the first engagement point passed. Nothing.

“Coming on the backside,” William said. He cued up the secondary nav program. The Malta moved closer to the icy blue planet and waited. The Scylla pushed further out.

The mass drivers began firing before William even registered the contact. The weapons program cycled and shifted plunging one mass driver into the red. The program he’d spent so long tinkering with leaped into action.

The Malta rolled on the center line and sprayed out mass driver slugs. Sa’Ami missiles were over the horizon and coming in tight. Green flashes followed by yellow explosions marked where the mass drivers had succeeded.

In a flash of fury the derelict lit up and disappeared into a cloud of plasma and debris. It had served its purpose and bought them another barrage. The plan was to smash the Sa’Ami before it could bring the full weight of the missile batteries to bear.

The Sa’Ami ship appeared in a white flash as it passed into view. The ruddy brown hull was speckled with black as missile ports were visible. More flames shattered along the edge. Another barrage was coming.

William felt helpless as the rest of the program cycled. Railguns pumped more rounds and the ship continued to spin. Impact alarms sounded. The Sa’Ami missiles struggled closer. The rate of fire from the mass drivers dropped.

“Override thermals!” William yelled.

Huron shifted the panels silently and the rate increased.

Missiles arced out and away before slamming in tight directly for the Malta. The mass drivers paused and turned to catch the barrage. Grav shields spiked and the slightest pulse of force pushed through the hull.

The Sa’ami ship spun and bared a new side. Mass driver slugs bore into the hull as the grav shields were overwhelmed by the nickel-cobalt slugs. Then the missiles from the Scylla crashed into the leading edge. Sparks and flames gushed out as the missiles exploded upon the nose.

William cheered and slammed his augmetic hand down on the chair. The cue for the second weapon program triggered.

Missiles shook the entire hull of the Malta as both launchers fired. The stream pushed through the screen of the Sa’Ami ship. Half of the missiles were destroyed by the Sa’Ami defenses and most of the rest clashed against the shield.

The nose of the Sa’Ami ship was dimpled and ragged, but the armor hadn’t been penetrated.

“Shit,” William said.

The next barrage drove the grav shields into the red. Armor indicators pulsed as the nanites surged out to heal the craters.

“Scylla is moving up,” Lebeau said quickly.

“What?” William asked. That wasn’t the plan.

The Malta might take another blow, but she might not. The Sa’Ami had focused most of the shots on the Malta, ignoring the Scylla.

William leaned forward and watched, it seemed like it was in slow motion. The railguns fired and penetrated through the hull of the Sa’Ami. Thermal indicators turned red on the edge of the target.

“Ping the Scylla!” William yelled. The missile cruiser didn’t have nearly the defenses. The plan was to have the Malta be the missile magnet, not the Scylla.

“Rejected,” Lebeau said.

The Malta’s railguns rattled off another salvo. Rounds burned through the weakened shields with an incandescent flash of green. Nickel burned and nanites sheared.

William could taste it, feel it, the Sa’Ami was hit hard. Hard enough to know it.

The barrage that leapt from the Sa’Ami ship bore entirely onto the Scylla. The hostile missiles darted out and away, before pausing a moment and seeking the target.

“She’s not firing,” William whispered. The words were barely out of his mouth when the Scylla erupted in a full barrage.

Instead of the missiles heading out to intercept the Sa’Ami missiles they burned at the hostile. The one thing they had that could stop the incoming barrage was heading directly for the Sa’Ami ship.

William leaned forward and watched the missiles blossom on the Scylla. His eyes snapped away from the screen and watched as his weapons program engaged the mass drivers once more.

“Override now!” William shouted.

Huron glanced back quickly with a worried look and keyed it up.

The mass drivers burned into the red. Thermal alarms blared and every single battery began to blink maintenance alerts.

It was enough. The Scylla’s barrage deposited nearly an entire payload of missiles on the damaged nose. The mass driver slugs arrived a moment later and disappeared into the expanding cloud of green plasma around the Sa’Ami ship.

The Sa’Ami ship broke apart like a crumbled stone and began a slow descent towards the frigid surface of the inky blue planet.

“They’ve launched something!” Lebeau said. The screen zoomed and tried to resolve the image.

A grainy image of three circular balls, brownish and ruddy, appeared for a moment before they were lost.

“Shoot it,” William said.

“Mass drivers are down, missiles are loading, rails can’t resolve it,” Huron said.

“The Scylla?” William asked. He darted his eyes to the shared stream. Some systems were gone, but others still seemed alive.

“They’ve got damage control alerts all over, but the bridge has atmosphere,” Lebeau said. “Sir, there’s three of those things heading towards us and three towards the Scylla.”

The screen wavered and zoomed as the camera tried to lock onto the incoming projectiles. They decelerated just enough for the camera to latch on.

“Prepare to repel striders!” William sounded over the comms.

The Sa’Ami ship had launched the last weapon it had available, striders.

“And set course for the Scylla,” William said.

He knew the Scylla didn’t have the Marines to fend off an attack. For that matter he didn’t know if the Malta did either.

*

The fear found Yamaguchi when the suit powered up. There was a click, a push in his ear, and a flicker of the screens. Nanite muscles pushed, pulsed, tensed, and relaxed. Every joint and muscle proved itself to the controller and displayed results on the screen.

The fear continued to grow as the suit stepped forward and leaned a touch. He felt it in his stomach, in his eyes, in his mouth. The taste was like bad ketchup mixed with copper shavings. He could almost chew it.

He caught himself as it continued to well up and stopped. Comms chatter bellowed in his ear.

Click.

Off.

Only his heartbeat was audible and the roar of silent space.

The suit was tight around him. He was sore through to the bones. It felt like it did before the battle and he liked it, just for a moment, then the fear crawled back.

“Son of a bitch!” Yamaguchi yelled.

No sound came from the suit.

Focus.

Stop.

Breathe.

The fear came in a wave and broke slowly, softly, like waves on a sandy shore. His eyes snapped open and he keyed the comms back on. Time to get this shit on.

The fear was on the edge, like it always was. Right where it belonged, a guardian angel to keep him out of trouble.

“LT! You reading me?” Hoffman called.

“I gotcha, Sergeant,” Yamaguchi replied. “Just took a moment to get in touch with my feminine side.”

Laughter rang out from across the squad. Nervous laughter.

“Split it. Follow the drill, Alpha squad heads down to maintenance, Beta squad to the nose. These sons of bitches are smooth in tight quarters, burn ‘em before they get close, and if they get close, pin ‘em. You’ve got more mass.” Yamaguchi drilled icons on his display to positions throughout the ship.

“Alpha on me!” Hoffman ordered. Suits sprinted out of the hold.

“Sergeant Gruber, status please?” Yamaguchi asked.

“Marines in position,” Sergeant Gruber said. “The Army is late to the party.”

“Plenty of time to dance, Sergeant, we’re splitting into two squads. Your Marines outside have any luck?”

There was a pause. “Negative.”

“Let’s go!” Yamaguchi moved towards the aft of the ship.

Bulkheads slammed open to admit the soldiers before slamming closed again. The passages were silent. Every door was closed with a yellow security light burning brightly.

The first group of Marines they met were crouched tight to a set of boarding shields with a bolo launcher splitting the middle. They were silent as the soldiers pushed past. Each face was set and focused on the long passage.

Yamaguchi snapped his Herstal rifle up and fired before he realized he was doing it.

The strider erupted out of a ceiling panel and rebounded off the floor. In the split second it was visible, a cluster of rounds blistered on its armor. The invader didn’t bother to stick around and respond—instead it disappeared back where it came from.

“They’re in the ventilation!” Yamaguchi sounded on all channels. He edged against the back wall and crept up to the gaping hole in the ceiling. Behind him the remainder of the squad fanned out with weapons pointed to all points.

“There!” Corporal Haas shouted.

Yamaguchi spun as the sounds of gunfire filled his ears. He snapped his weapon out and fired a burst. Rounds impacted a strut before he adjusted and clipped the shoulder of the strider.

The strider was smoky brown—subtle, graceful, almost organic. The limbs were overly long, but not so much as to interrupt motion. If anything the long limbs accentuated the crawling motion it used to move. It was different, just slightly, than the ones he’d fought on the ground.

There wasn’t time to issue orders, only instinct and training saved the small squad.

Yamaguchi tracked his weapon and fired once again. He closed on the strider focusing on blocking the return path back into the walls.

The strider jammed a slender fist into the throat of one soldier while pivoting and sweeping the legs out from another. Almost every shot that was poured at it landed, but the strider powered through.

Yamaguchi felt the fear rising again.

Corporal Haas fell backwards and crashed into the bulkhead. Yamaguchi saw his moment and kicked off of the wall and wrapped both arms around the slender chest of the strider. He grinned as the strider fought underneath him.

Force sensors rippled upwards. The strider pushed back and slammed him into the wall with a dull thud. Sounds echoed off the inside of his suit.

Fear mixed with anger. Then the realization came that he didn’t know what to do next. Corporal Haas stood on shaky legs and leveled his weapon. The muzzle was black and hollow.

Yamaguchi followed the muzzle. A suit rolled on the floor, clutching its throat.

“Haas! On three!” Yamaguchi yelled. He counted to two inside his head and on three slammed both of his arms upwards, cracking the skull of the strider upright.

The weapon roared. Haas punched out a full slab of caseless ammunition into the strider. Most impacted the chest and arms but a select few burrowed into the underside of the slender head and silenced the beast.

Yamaguchi fell back and sat for a moment. His suit registered multiple impacts but nothing that was critical. “Good shooting! Check wounded, secure the corridor,” Yamaguchi said and realized his squad was already doing it.

The suit felt tight against him, tighter than it should but the fear was gone. He quit fighting the suit and settled back into it. The nanite muscles slowly released as if they reached an understanding.

He checked the display and saw that Alpha squad was having better luck than they were. One strider down in the nose, one in the center—that left a single strider somewhere.

“Engineering!” Captain Grace called.

Yamaguchi keyed the suit and sprinted with the remainder of his squad behind him.

*

The barricade was a scant dozen meters from the Haydn drive. Marines fired wildly as the strider leapt over it and into them. The strider was a blur of limbs and violence. Limbs would pulse and pump, indistinguishable from arms, legs, or even head. The blur was impressive.

Abraham snatched glances around. Tools were at hand and not much more. Reed was huddled behind a cabinet with a carbine tucked tight. A dim yellow muzzle blast barked. That meant one thing: the Marines were dead.

On the edge of his reach was a long alloy wrench. His eyes darted back to Reed and the rapidly approaching strider. It diverted for a split second and punched a wicked blow at a Maronite conscript. The man thudded into the wall. His weapon clattered to the floor.

The scent of violence was thick with the tint of nanite propellant and oil.

“We need help!” Reed shouted. The Engineer sidestepped and walked slowly backwards. The firing continued. He shifted his aim as the strider tucked and rolled into the room.

It came close enough that Abraham could almost swat at it. At least if he had a weapon. He tensed and waited for the blow.

The head turned and regarded him as it slid past. Crystalline lenses that reminded him of a dragonfly flickered in the harsh light. It didn’t strike but continued towards Reed.

Abraham felt the fear rise in his throat as the metallic burn of adrenaline seared. His hands grew heavy and before he knew it the wrench was in his hand. It was cool, almost cold.

The strider was on Reed in a moment after and knocked away the weapon. The carbine skittered across the room and smacked into the corpse of the Maronite.

Limbs slung forward and wracked against Reed as a single cry echoed out. It hurled him against the wall leading to the Haydn. It stopped and turned its head at Abraham. The crystalline eye held him, burned at him, overpowered him.

He was helpless in the moment. Reed looked up, blood running from his nose, one eye swelling shut. His mouth moved, but no sound came out.

Abraham felt the anger mixing with the fear. The wrench was heavy in his hands. He couldn’t move. Something deep inside of him stopped him.

Gunfire rang out from behind. The strider snapped his glance away from Abraham and pushed Reed up against the door. A thick mechanical voice said, “Open.”

Reed shook his head. Blood ran in a thin stream out of one ear. His eyes pleaded to Abraham.

The wrench was cold, heavy, and totally useless. It was as if his limbs would not work. He willed the wrench to move. But he couldn’t do it. The fear was all he could feel. He turned his eyes away from Reed and stared at the floor.

In that moment he wondered why. Why him? Why now, and not before? Once it was his father, a figure that abhorred violence and he’d used violence to avenge him. Now it was a friend, someone who’d defended him and now needed his help. But he couldn’t do it.

The strider slammed Reed against the wall leading to the Haydn once. Twice. Three times. The Martian Engineer let out a wheeze after the third strike. It stopped the beating and tossed his body aside. In one leap it was next to Abraham. It snatched the wrench away and leaped back to the bulkhead.

Strikes hammered against the heavy wall. The Haydn drive was silent behind it.

Abraham rolled onto his side and saw the weapon that the Maronite had held. It lay but a meter away, muzzle pointing straight at him. It was dark inside of the barrel.

He glanced once more at Reed and saw that his friend was totally limp. Anger rose, but nothing like what he felt before. Hands crept forward and he willed himself to move silently. Fear gripped him as he pictured the strider slamming the wrench into his spine.

Boom. Boom. Boom.

The strider smashed the wrench against the wall.

Boom. Boom. Boom.

With every strike Abraham tried to move closer, but he was nearly paralyzed with fear. With every strike he felt his heart near to bursting. Then his fingers were on the weapon.

He rolled onto his back. The crystalline eyes glared. The wrench hung in mid-air as if about to strike. Puncture marks and dimples showed the force of the strider.

The moment was ripe. He watched and it stared back.

The strider shifted a fraction of an inch. He pulled the trigger. Explosive gunfire filled the confined space as rounds burst forth and slammed into the strider. He looked down at the weapon and saw that nothing was happening.

A bolo spun over his head and wrapped around the waist of the strider. It howled in agony as the rounds penetrated.

Abraham rolled onto his side and looked behind him. A group of Marines braced on the door and fired. The faces that stared back were grim, angry, intense. A second later a suit of power armor leapt over him and slammed the strider down.

“Clear!” the suit bellowed.

“Corpsman!” Major Theodore bellowed. The Major crossed the room and knelt next to Reed. He held a finger on the neck of the Engineer and turned to Abraham. He shook his head slowly.

“No,” Abraham whispered. The weapon was in his hands, but he was powerless.

Major Theodore crossed the room and took the weapon from Abraham. “Clip was empty, see?”

A line of red lights blinked on the side of the weapon.

Abraham nodded and felt the bile rise in his mouth. He rolled again and vomited.

“Took balls though, to even try. Did the best you could kid,” the Major said behind him.

Abraham felt nothing but regret, embarrassment, and hate. Hate for himself and the cowardice that none knew but himself and a dead man.

*

The alarm that sounded on the bridge was almost drowned out by the cacophony of sirens and whistles. Each told a story of impacts, shredded lines, crimped hoses, punctures to vacuum, and every sort of mayhem that a boarded ship incurred. The new alarm was different—it was from the Scylla.

“Captain!” Lebeau said as she cleared the screen and displayed only the Scylla’s feed.

Above the line of offline and damaged systems was a single bold blinking line: Reactor Overload.

William slapped down on the console and opened a channel to the Scylla. “Martinez! We’re almost there, shut it down, we’ve got the Marines to clear the Scylla.”

The countdown continued. Only the sound of random white noise crackled. The air smelled of violence and burnt wires.

“Mr. Huron!” William yelled.

Huron focused his gaze on the edge of the console. He looked lost in the moment.

“Huron!”

The Engineer snapped his head to the side and blinked. His eyes were ruddy and red. “Sir,” Huron croaked.

“Log into the Scylla, see if it’s them or something else,” William said. “And Huron, they’ll pay for Reed, that I promise.”

Lebeau regarded William with dark eyes before returning her view to the screen.

“It’s a command code, either the XO or Captain Martinez set it,” Huron said.

William leaned against the back of his chair and changed the nav course. He stared forward as the display changed and the projected arc moved away from the wreck of the Scylla.

Lebeau and Huron both watched as William stared down at his console.

The reactor of the Scylla overloaded in a momentary flash of titanium white brightness. Debris scattered but most of the hull remained together.

“Mr. Huron, what’s the status of that star?” William asked, forcing himself to focus on the task at hand.

Huron leaned over his console. “It’s accelerating, Captain, it uh, the station has a Haydn signature but it’s not moving.”

“What do you mean?” William asked.

“I don’t know!” Huron snapped. He gripped his hands tightly on the edges of the console. His head shook slowly from side to side.

“Mr. Huron, we can focus on our losses later—for now we have a problem to solve and you’re the only one who can give me answers,” William said.

Lebeau looked up to William and back down to Huron. “Suck it up for fuck’s sake, we’ve all lost friends here.”

“Ms. Lebeau,” William said. It was enough. She turned back to her display.

Huron took a deep breath and nodded to himself. “They need to propagate it, to shift it out, if they just opened a black hole it’d take decades to spread the gravity waves.” He pointed up at the screen and zoomed it back. “They’re using the binary to power it, and once the singularity forms the Haydn will go live and send it.”

“Then what happens?” William asked.

“Then you’ve got something you can’t blink through. It really is a barrier.”

William felt the adrenaline rising. “Can we stop it?”

“Fuck if I know, Captain.”

“Ms. Lebeau, give me a course to that station,” William ordered. He stood and smoothed his shirt. The itching in the palm of his augmetic hand was almost unbearable. “And page the command elements to my office.”

*

William waited until they all sat and settled in. He knew what was going to happen, now he needed them all on the same wavelength. “We’re going in to hit the station.”

Sergeant Gruber nodded. Yamaguchi flashed a thin grin while Major Theodore was silent.

“Why not destroy it with railguns and missiles?” Major Theodore asked.

William shook his head. “It’s too big. We have to get inside.”

Archie sighed and looked down to the table.

“Get your people suited up and ready. Sergeant Gruber I’m heading in with the Marines,” William said.

Sergeant Gruber sat up straighter than normal and shook his head. “Captain, I don’t think—”

“It’s not up for debate,” William said. “Gooch, how many suits?”

Yamaguchi licked his lips. “Not as many as I’d like, but as many as I’ll need.”

William smiled slightly and nodded.

“Ten suits. Two of ‘em are bashed right hard, but they can still shoot. Or should be able to,” Yamaguchi said as the words trailed off.

“It’s going to take us a few hours to come in. I’ll pass word once we know more.”

“Captain, what’s the backup plan?” Major Theodore asked. He looked at William with hard eyes.

William looked to each of the men around him. “Ms. Lebeau will impact the Malta on the station.”

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

Purchase

The bridge stank of plastic and burning metal. A slight haze hung in front of the displays like a dingy tavern. Ventilators hummed at an accelerated rate with the clank of repair drones bounding through them.

“What’s the damage, Mr. Huron?” William asked. He stared at a long list of offline systems.

Huron’s voice clicked over the comms. He sounded tired, detached. “She took a beating. The strider that came in the center tore it up on the way in.”

“Anything critical?” William asked. He knew it was a foolish question, but it was mechanical triage.

“Half the shields are offline for now, the drones are welding the worst of it. Antun and Abe are working on replacements.”

William scanned the quick roster and saw a short list of able bodied ratings. He’d left Canaan understaffed and was now in a bind. “Supervise and get everything online.”

“I’m coming with, Captain,” Huron said.

William expected that. “We need you here, this is our ride back.”

“Antun and Abe can handle this. You’ll need someone on the inside that knows reactors.”

“If this is about vengeance…” William waited for a reply but heard only silence.

Lebeau watched the displays and keyed up the deceleration program. “Decel burn starting now, radiation levels are climbing.”

“Keep the grav shields facing the star,” William said. He looked at Lebeau and saw a face empty of emotion. “You’ll have command.”

Lebeau nodded.

“Once we’ve boarded, take the Malta out and orbit the station. If we’re lost, bring her in.” William heard himself say the words but didn’t feel them. It dawned on him that he might have ordered his own suicide.

“What about the case?” Lebeau asked.

“It’s already in a lifepod. Deploy it along with a data dump.”

“And the prisoner?”

“She has a Marine guard. Castro doesn’t think she’ll last another day,” William replied. It wasn’t an execution but there wasn’t anything he could do.

“Anyone else that can handle a weapon is coming out. You’ll be on your own until we’re done.” He sighed. “Helluva first command.”

“Helluva first post,” Lebeau replied.

Radiation alarms sounded before halting. A scan of oscillations appeared, the binary star was pulsing, growing, seething.

“Fucker looks pissed,” Lebeau commented about the binaries.

*

Hours passed and the final blinks were made. The Malta bounded in and slid up to the station. Blocky sides and open structure showed construction that looked hasty, simple, utilitarian.

It was a mass of girders, posts, and supports all meshed together like an iron fishing net. Inside were pillars and monoliths of strange purpose. A stream of plasma danced from the nose of the structure. The entire front side was almost too bright to look at.

“Scans show atmosphere on this side. Shall we head in?” Lebeau asked.

William snugged the body armor tight and tucked the edges in. “Any movement on the docked ships?”

“Negative, still attached.”

A single Sa’Ami shuttle was hugged to the station.

“Why wouldn’t they stick weapons on this thing?” Lebeau stood and cracked her back.

“I don’t think it’s supposed to live long enough to need them.” William gestured to the display.

Already the leading edges of the structure were glowing and dancing with plasma.

He snapped up his rifle and walked to the edge of the bridge. “Midshipman, you have command.”

“Give them my regards,” Lebeau said.

William walked off the bridge and made his way to the hold.

Around him stood Marines, soldiers in power armor, most of his crew. Huron stood in a yellow and orange maintenance suit with a high powered single-shot Browning cradled in his arm.

“I’m not here to give a speech. Do your jobs, don’t get shot, and find that reactor.”

A Marine replied, “Oorah!”

A moment later, the rest followed. “Oorah!”

The boarding umbilical snaked out and latched onto a flat plate near the mooring area.

“Atmosphere on the other side,” Huron said.

Sergeant Gruber advanced and tucked into the zero gravity of the umbilical. Near the opposite end he took footing again but this time standing on the ceiling.

Magnesium white burns appeared on the plate followed a second later by a whooshing sound. The Marines huddled behind the boarding shields and waited for the cutter to finish. The edges cooled and the plate dropped with a kick.

Inside was a wide open space that disappeared into darkness.

The soldiers pushed through the umbilical somewhat awkwardly and disappeared into the breach. Marines followed behind with the naval ratings in the rear.

William kicked off into the zero gravity and spun himself over. A moment of vertigo came and was gone once his feet found the floor. He keyed on his enhanced vision and caught his breath.

The room expanded as far as he could see. Pillars of alloy punched through the floor far in the distance. Each glowed with a ghostly light. The entire structure seemed to hum and resonate.

A light caught his eye as he passed the threshold. It took him a moment to understand what it was. Then the sound wave hit him. Gunfire.

“Contact!” Sergeant Gruber sounded.

William tucked close to the wall and watched as a Marine sealed the entry with a shimmering nanite cloth. The center dimpled and hardened. Through the frosty glaze the umbilical pulled back and the Malta powered away.

“There’s an opening,” Sergeant Gruber said between breaths. “Strider peeked up.”

Gunfire sounded again. Flashes lit the structure further down.

William checked his carbine, seated a round, and ran towards the breach.

The armored infantry disappeared into a cluster of machinery. He’d have thought them gone if he didn’t hear the comms chatter. They were heading around, sprinting far and wide before quartering at the opening.

The armor felt heavy as he sprinted forward. He started to get warm even though it felt cool inside of the structure. The lack of cover was painfully obvious as his eyes darted around for anything. Pillars loomed up, but no one wanted to get close.

He passed a Marine sprawled on the deck. His face was down with a gaping hole through the side of his chest.

William followed closer to a Marine who huffed with a boarding shield. Around him more of the naval ratings followed. The lead Marines had slowed with weapons at ready.

The strider burst upwards and fired off a rapid stream. The muzzle blast roared through the cavernous space. Rounds impacted on the boarding shields with a loud clang. The strider bounced off the ceiling and rebounded down.

Fire opened from the opposite side and caught the strider in the shoulders. It tumbled and smashed against the edge of the opening. A loud bang sounded from beneath.

“Keep moving!” Sergeant Gruber yelled.

The powered infantry leaped and disappeared into the chasm.

William passed a pair of dead Marines before reaching the edge with his weapon raised. Below was a mass of wiring, conduit, and piping. A ramp of perforated alloy led down. “Shit,” he whispered.

“Wouldn’t be any fun if it was easy—eh, Captain?” Avi said as he slid on his bottom down the ramp.

The sounds of war came with confused voices.

William snapped his weapon up and realized it was coming from behind him.

A flock of mechanical drones flew through the air and seized upon those still standing.

“Get into the pipes!” he yelled. He turned and let loose a pulse of rounds, but missed the nimble creatures. He sprinted down the ramp expecting to feel the burn of the drones.

“He’s here,” Major Theodore said over the comms.

“Who?” William asked. He found a passage into the conduit and turned to see that the birds weren’t pursuing.

“The Commandant,” the Major replied with a detached voice.

The conduit was slightly warm while the entire area smelled of ozone. The air felt static, tight, almost electric.

“Hey, hey!” Huron said. “This way! Reactor is this way!”

William scooted under a beam and followed Huron’s voice.

Then the striders blitzed.

*

Proximity alarms fired as a red icon exploded into his view screen. Yamaguchi tucked and propelled himself underneath a thick brace and crashed against a pillar. Force alarms sounded, along with a maintenance alert. He snapped the weapon up and watched.

The striders came from every angle except where they expected them. Two of his soldiers had been shredded in the initial assault. The Sa’Ami constructs worked to separate, corral, and destroy like a pack of wolves. Now he was almost out of ammo and couldn’t reload, not with one right in front of him.

Movement flashed with an overlay of a ghost before it was gone.

The communication grid blasted in and out. Data would flood in before clamping shut. The fear returned. For all he knew there was another soldier a meter away and he wouldn’t know it until he saw him.

The strider flashed through shadows on the other side. Or was it a different one? He propped himself up when the first strider came in over the brace.

His weapon flared with a gout of fire that bowled the Sa’Ami construct back into brace where it flopped and shuddered. A mechanical arm spun away and clattered to the floor.

Alarms blared in his suit, the strider managed to put one helluva dent in his chest armor.

The strider, wounded as it was, clambered under the beam and disappeared into the shadow beyond. Scattered armor plate drifted gray smoke. He slammed in another clip and sprinted again. The pulsing conduits all led somewhere.

“LT! Move right thirty meters,” Sergeant Hoffman called.

“Moving,” Yamaguchi replied. He scanned his display and saw icons wink in and out. Half his troops were rallied with Hoffman, the other half dead or scattered.

Hoffman’s suit was battered with a raw gash from groin to shoulder. The atmospheric layer was visible showing how close he came to being eviscerated. In one hand was a piece of alloy beam and in the other his stubby Glock carbine. Around him a defensive position of four more suits huddled with weapons raised.

“Marines?”

“With the sailors, they were hit from behind.”

“Striders?”

“Aerial drones.”

Yamaguchi grunted. He scanned the ceiling. They were in an area tight with pipes and wiring. No aerial drone was going to risk that mess.

“Gruber? Captain?” Yamaguchi sounded on the comms.

Clipped voices and ghostly echoes responded.

“Is this it?”

Hoffman turned his suit and scanned the soldiers around him. “I get an occasional ping from one other suit. Someone with the Marines maybe?”

Yamaguchi started to grow angry. “Keep moving! We’re going to draw the bastards away from the Navy. If those sons of bitches can’t fight for themselves, we’ll do it for ‘em.”

A cluster. A cluster of shit, he thought. A giant steaming turd. But he knew there wasn’t much to be done differently, not with the close quarters and difference in capabilities.

“—open space below——not sure—down—down,” a voice crackled over.

Hoffman reached down and pulled a slender tube from a pack strapped on his leg. He slung it underhand beneath the beams and tubing. A moment later a great white flare burned brightly. It continued to slide until the light dropped away.

“There we go!” Yamaguchi slapped Hoffman on the shoulder and leapt over a beam following the path the flare took.

It was claustrophobic as the tubing meshed closer, tighter, denser. The pulsing grew in intensity. It wasn’t heard, or even seen, but felt right in the stomach. He began to sweat even though he wasn’t warm.

“Feels weird, man,” Corporal Amal whispered.

REKT flashed from Herringbone.

“Cut it,” Yamaguchi said. He could sense the fear in them. They were losing the edge—the adrenaline was taking its toll.

Hoffman opened fire with a short burst. “No arm on that one.”

“Hey, hey! Call out features as you see ‘em,” Yamaguchi shouted.

The infantry advanced from one cover point to the next in the thick mass of piping, calling out features they saw on the striders.

Yamaguchi felt proud that they’d found a way to work without the tactical overlay. The pride turned to disappointment when he discovered it was only three striders causing them so much grief.

A massive circular construction routed all of the piping into a pillar which disappeared into the floor. They leapt down and crouched behind it when Herringbone leaned against it and was thrown thirty meters.

“Bone!” Yamaguchi yelled. He went to sprint when he caught himself. Diagnostics showed massive electrical overload with catastrophic internal damage. Private Herringbone was dead. “Keep moving!”

“Is that you?” Captain Grace’s voice crackled.

“Lieutenant!” Yamaguchi yelled. Green icons blinked onto his display.

The infantry ran and took cover against a heavy double wall. The rest of the crew was lined up on either side of the opening. Massive nanite welds linked the two together as if both halves were constructed somewhere else and linked in space.

On the opposite side stood a single heavy strider. A rotary cannon was primed in one arm with a boarding shield in the other.

Behind it stood the focal point of all the conduit. A pair of xeno devices, like those in the case, hung in the air. Lines of energy rippled and sung from each one. Below them a reactor was cradled in a heavy alloy sling.

“So, uh, Lieutenant. Mind clearing out that strider?” William asked as he rested his head against the bulkhead.

“That’s it?” Yamaguchi asked. He racked in a fresh slab of caseless ammo and laid out a plan of attack on the tactical overlay. “All right squad, on three.”

The four suits erupted from cover and spread out. Thudding explosions sounded as the rotary cannon opened fire.

*

Archie stepped out from behind the bulkhead and hammered fire at the strider. Marines surged around him along with naval ratings. Captain Grace leapt into cover with Huron right behind.

“There it is!” Huron yelled. The Engineer stood with a hand outstretched pointing at the reactor.

Comms crackled in his ears as the energy rebounded off the walls.

“Behind us!” Private Avi said. “Striders and drones!”

Archie snapped around and took cover on the edge of the bulkhead. On the other side, the striders bounded in, followed closely by the avian drones.

“Cover the entrance, stop the bastards here!” Archie ordered.

Marines and sailors slung weapons around the corner and opened fire. A burly Marine propped up the bolo launcher and grinned widely as he was finally able to use the hefty weapon.

“Hello, Major,” Commandant Nefoussi said.

Archie snapped around, weapon raised. A single suit of Sa’Ami power armor stood next to the reactor. A suit with a single red diamond. The same suit that had knocked him unconscious.

“Shit.”

“Go!” Captain Grace yelled and the pair sprinted across the open space, Huron following behind.

Archie focused his aim and let loose a burst from the heavy rifle. A cluster of caseless shells formed into a blunt nose and passed right through the space where the Commandant no longer stood.

“Keep him occupied,” Huron said as he slid up next to the reactor. The Engineer pulled out a tool roll and opened the side of the reactor.

Captain Grace took position next to Huron and opened fire. His stubby carbine barked burst after burst.

The Commandant moved at a speed that seemed almost beyond human. He had hardly landed when he would translate the direction and bounce into a new vector. With a flick of his wrist he launched a grenade canister towards the door. The explosion popped followed by a stream of shrapnel tearing into the Marines and sailors.

Archie gritted his teeth and continued forward. He sidestepped and waited for the next burst, waited for the Commandant to make the next shift. A split second more.

“Almost! Lock him down!” Huron yelled.

The entire space was filled with the sounds of explosions, screams and violence. The striders on the other side of the bulkhead pushed closer while the avian drones swooped in and attacked.

Archie took a single breath as he stood. He expected the Commandant to fell him with a single shot but the suit of power armor laid fire everywhere but on him.

Instead of slamming a set of rounds into the Commandant, he found himself mentally assaulted. A white hot fury raced into his skull, pushing out any sense of control. He was an observer inside of his own head.

He turned, changed the focus of the weapon, and opened fire on Huron and Captain Grace.

Heavy rounds thumped and slammed the Engineer aside while the last rounds ricocheted off the body armor of Captain Grace.

Captain Grace dropped behind the backside of the reactor. “Major!”

Archie couldn’t respond. His body was not his to control. He loaded another slap, leveled the stubby nose of the rifle, and opened fire on his own Marines.

*

The Malta was silent except for the clanging sound of maintenance drones. Abraham held a panel open as Antun guided a pipe wrench inside. The position was awkward for both men.

Abraham stared up and down the passage. The Malta had always felt vibrant, alive, full of energy. Now it felt as lonely as the vacuum outside. Even the comms chatter had ceased.

Antun spouted a string of Aramaic curses. His feet stomped on the deck and a thin stream of coolant ran between his legs.

“One second.” Abraham pulled the panel back further.

“Abraham.” Lebeau’s voice was loud in his ear.

“Ms. Lebeau.” Abraham wasn’t sure if she was Captain Lebeau, or Midshipman Lebeau, or how to call her now that the Captain was off the ship.

“Get armed and head to the medbay. I can’t raise Castro.”

Abraham looked down at Antun who had a questioning look on his face. He told Antun.

The Maronite sighed and stood. Yellowish coolant dripped from his pants. Antun shook his head and shrugged. He stuck out the wrench and pushed it into Abraham’s chest.

The wrench hung heavy in his hand as the pair stalked down the passage. Antun paused at each corner and peeked around. Then the two would move again silently. The only weapon Antun could find was a long range fire extinguisher.

Abraham wanted to speak to Antun about this but his grasp of Aramaic wasn’t sufficient.

Antun stalked ahead by a step and kept the nozzle pointed in front of him. He stopped a dozen paces from the entrance and crept slowly up to the door. Abraham stepped as lightly as he could behind him.

Abraham’s heart beat faster and faster. He half expected to see a Marine step out and explain a problem but there was no sound. A maintenance drone plodded out of one duct and regarded them with lazy eyes.

Antun peaked around the corner.

His body was blasted backwards as the shape of a woman slammed into him driving two reddish black blades into his neck. The fire extinguisher streamed out a spray of orange and white foam that splattered all over the walls.

Her face was gaunt, tight, like a skull with skin painted on. Bloodstains spread across her shirt just beneath her breasts. Her eyes burned with anger. She held one blade over her shoulder and the other before her.

Antun squirmed on the floor and gurgled.

“Ms. Lebeau!” Abraham yelled out.

Asa leapt out and planted a kick onto Abraham’s leg. He howled and flung the wrench outward, batting aside one of the blades. The second blade drove in and stuck into his thigh before she ripped it out.

Pain shot up from his leg. The leading edge of the knife was dull, it didn’t penetrate far but it burned. He looked at her in surprise and found himself unable to swing the wrench.

She glared and feinted with one hand while the other shot in and caught him on the arm. He was too slow and she was too fast. The dagger punctured a ragged hole.

“Ms. Lebeau!” he yelled again and held the wrench out.

“You’re as big as a goddamn gorilla, just grab her,” Lebeau said.

Abraham looked down at the pair of blades. They weren’t blades of steel or alloy. In each of her hands was a rib. Her ribs. Fear rose inside of him. Ribs did not just come out—God took ribs out.

She stabbed in once more. The second rib punctured his opposite thigh. He was ready for that blow and laid out a heavy hand to slam her down. She was already gone by the time his fist passed.

He thought, just for a moment, that he might be able to handle it. Then he was proved quite wrong when she leapt out and kicked off the wall. He had just enough time to kneel and roll and avoid the blades going into his shoulder. She landed behind him with a light thud and caught him off guard.

A single gunshot rang out and Asa was off. A thin trail of blood ran down her back.

Abraham stood quickly and turned to see Lebeau holding a slender pistol.

“Get the fuck down!”

Abraham dropped to the floor. Lebeau cracked off a few more shots.

Asa was gone.

“C’mon!” Lebeau yelled.

The pair ran after her. They caught nothing but glimpses as Asa sprinted away.

“Almost dead, they said,” Lebeau growled.

Lebeau ran into the cargo hold with Abraham close behind. He clutched the wrench tightly to his chest like some sort of shield. Lebeau’s pistol tracked around.

Asa propelled herself from behind a container and tackled Lebeau in the waist. The two women dropped to the ground and both scrambled. The pistol was trapped between the pair.

Abraham stood and felt absolutely and totally useless. He had a flash back to when Reed was killed. He’d done nothing. Nothing. The wrench felt heavy. Heavy enough to smash something.

Not now. Not again.

The wrench crashed down onto Asa’s shoulder with a crunching sound like broken wood. Abraham stood with his legs wide and brought the wrench back up for another blow.

He stepped forward, closer, and prepared to strike once more.

Asa thrust the pistol out. Her eyes dark, detached, burning with intensity. Sweat poured down her face. A tint of fear and sadness ran on her cheeks.

She pulled the trigger and a dull beep sounded.

“Get her!” Lebeau yelled.

Abraham rushed forward and latched both hands onto Asa. She had dropped the ribs while wrestling with Lebeau. Each of his heavy hands gripped like vises and tossed her into an open panel.

A high pitched crackling sound blasted out. The smell of burnt meat and torched hair filled the air. Abraham rushed forward and stared into the cabinet.

Asa’s broken body lay crumbled on the floor. Three burnt patches on her back matched three breaker terminals on an electrical panel.

Abe looked down to his hands and felt an intense urge to vomit.

“Quit fucking off, I’ve been stabbed for fuck’s sake,” Lebeau yelled.

Abraham shook the sense of dread and ran back to Lebeau.

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

Razor

William tucked behind the reactor and felt it hum gently against his back. It was warm, even through the panels of his armor. The sounds of the violence around him was deafening.

Huron moaned. A pair of nanite patches were clad to his neck. Blood stained the maintenance suit an odd shade of orange.

Major Theodore stood on the opposite side of the reactor with his weapon slung over the top. Behind him the powered suit of the Commandant shot at the Marines and sailors taking cover in the bulkhead.

The cover was light. On one side a pack of striders dove in with avian drones pecking away. On the other side the combined fire from the Commandant and the Major added to the chaos.

“Gooch! We could use some help here,” William called over the comms.

“It’s going to be a few,” Yamaguchi replied quickly.

“Major! What the hell are you doing?” William shouted.

Major Theodore answered with a three round burst.

“He shouldn’t have come,” Commandant Nefoussi said.

The sounds of violence dropped a tone and everything seemed to shift. Light flowed differently and sounds ebbed and flowed. It was like listening underwater.

The alien devices shuddered and sang. A single point opened between the pair. In the midst a gem of light and plasma swirled and circled before cementing into a point of intense energy. Each of the alien devices locked onto it and slung the energy aside.

“And it is done,” the Commandant said. He stepped behind the reactor, just a corner away from William.

“Peace is now at hand, Captain, peace like we’ve never known.” His voice was almost pleading.

William tucked close to Huron and kept his weapon pointed at the corner where the Commandant would emerge. “Hold on, Huron.”

The reactor shuddered as the plasma streams heading to the xeno devices expanded and contracted.

“Would you like a truce Captain? We both go our separate ways? Nothing more either of us can do here.”

William looked down to Huron and across the room to where his crew was withering under horrible attack. Marines and sailors were using tattered bodies as cover from the assault. Another blast came from Major Theodore.

He tried to figure out what had happened. A sleeper agent? The stalwart Major seemed like the last person he’d ever expect to turn.

A guttural roar echoed out from the Commandant. He staggered back and clutched his armored hands to his skull. Interference and feedback shuddered through his suit speakers. He fell to one knee and braced himself on the floor.

William snapped the weapon up and stood. He’d blast the Commandant and hope that the Major didn’t notice. He popped up and turned.

On the other side of the reactor, Major Theodore stood, legs wide apart, with the bulky mass of his heavy assault rifle. Instead of pointing at the Marines it was boring down on the Commandant.

The Major took three quick steps, braced the barrel against the Commandants face shield, and fired. The three round burst puckered the armored shield before the expanding nanite gases pushed through the shield. The Commandant’s body fell backward and was still.

Major Theodore dropped the weapon and fell to his knees. Tears streamed down his face as he turned and looked to William. “I’m sorry,” he repeated over and over.

Gunfire ceased at the bulkhead. Confused cries were followed by an all clear. Even the sounds of the heavy strider died away.

Marines ran forward with weapons raised.

“Hold, hold!” William cried out. “Someone grab Huron.” He pointed behind the reactor. He stood next to Major Theodore and helped him up.

Major Theodore’s eyes were ringed with tears. Sobs racked his chest. He shook his head from side to side, pleading.

“We need to move!” Corporal Ishmael shouted.

Further down the passage the plasma was eroding the structure rapidly. Groans pulsed through the hull. The temporary nature of the structure became obvious as fittings shook loose. The stress added as the harmonics focused and hummed.

An enormous beam broke loose. It passed through one line of the singularity beam only to fall in shards.

“That’s enough for me,” Yamaguchi yelled as three suits of power armor ran up. “Damn thing just stopped.”

“C’mon, back to the entrance, we’ll raise the Malta there,” William said.

William grabbed Major Theodore by the arm and hauled him away. The Major kept his gaze focused on the body of the Commandant until they were out of sight.

The remaining crew followed the path of destruction back up to the vast hall. Vacuum alarms sounded on the suits. The entire structure was being torn apart from the inside.

William raced to the nanite sheath entrance. “Malta! Bring ‘er in!”

More Marines came up with the naval ratings close behind. The last line of Marines followed with weapons still at ready. Major Theodore stood without aim.

“What the hell happened” Yamaguchi asked.

William shook his head. “I have no idea.”

Major Theodore wiped his eyes. “He controlled them all. I could feel it, see it, taste it. The big one, the little ones, the wispy fliers. Even Asa.”

“Asa? Captain Asa?” William cried. “Malta! Report!”

“Uh Captain, this is the, uh, Malta. Am I saying that right? Well you don’t have to swear at me,” a voice crackled over the comms.

William looked to Yamaguchi with questioning glance. “Malta, we need a pick up. Who is this?”

“This is Abraham. Lebeau says she’ll bring it in.”

“Make it quick!”

“She says we have company,” Abraham said over the diminishing comms.

“I don’t care! Pick us up!”

Behind them the plasma crawled off the pillars before lapping against the ceiling and walls. Far off in the distance the floor began to glow. Static electricity crackled closer.

“Faster!” William didn’t know why Lebeau wasn’t talking, but he wanted the urgency to be felt.

The umbilical crossed the gap and slapped clumsily against the outer wall. It retracted before coming closer and finally sealing. The nanite sheath bounced back and the dimpling disappeared.

“Move it in!” William ordered.

Wounded Marines, sailors and soldiers streamed past and propelled themselves through the zero-gravity tunnel. Only Major Theodore stood with his back to the opening. He stared out at the incoming plasma creeping closer.

“Major, I’m not leaving without you,” William said.

Major Theodore turned. His eyes were red with a frown framed across his face. One foot moved, then the next, and he was into the tunnel.

*

The adrenaline had dropped to nothing but flooded back in when Yamaguchi saw the body laying on the floor of the hold. The woman was laid out gently with cargo fabric pulled over her face. He squinted at a reddish object on the floor and looked to Sergeant Hoffman. “The fuck is that?”

“Looks like a rib,” Sergeant Hoffman said.

Behind them the hatch sealed and the crew scattered away to duty stations. In a few short moments, only the soldiers were left.

He keyed the release and felt the suit drop away in chunks and pieces. Scarred armor peeled off and the chill air of the hold blasted against his sweat drenched shirt. He stepped out and felt the floor cold on his feet.

“Well, Lieutenant,” Sergeant Hoffman said. He sat on the edge of his suit and lay his head in his hands.

Yamaguchi didn’t have any words to offer support. The moment was beyond it. He stared down at the suit and nodded at it. You done well, he thought. Damn well.

*

Archie ran after the corpsman and kept his eyes locked on Huron. The Engineer smiled back weakly with a pale face. A body lay in the hallway at the entrance to the medbay. He slowed the run and entered behind the medics.

Corpsman Castro lay against the edge of his medical console. Raw stab wounds peppered his back. A Marine was facedown nearby. Asa was nowhere to be seen.

The body he passed in the hold came back to him.

Asa.

The medical staff rushed Huron into the surgical room and more men and women streamed in.

He rushed out and ran back down to the hold.

She still lay near an open electrical access with the gray cargo fabric draped over. He peeled it back and saw a body beaten and bruised. One edge of her gown was pulled up and horrible black lines ran where her lower rib was.

Sobs came again. In her he saw a common horror. His brain was a fog of transmitted memories. When the Commandant had him, he saw other things. The displays of the heavy strider. The eyes of Asa stabbing a man. The technical readout of a device. A device just like the one on the Malta.

“Captain!” Archie called out hoarsely. He stood quickly and ran to the entrance of the lifepod.

“Major, can it wait?” Captain Grace replied in a quick voice.

“I know what the device does.” He licked his lips and squatted. The case fell open. The device was just like the pair hovering above the reactor. The device channeling the singularity away.

“Major…”

“You need to trust me, Captain. Please, I saw what it was doing.” His hands traced the edge until he felt a click. A hum. Then a small screen popped out. His fingers danced along it in a way he didn’t quite understand.

He stopped and looked down. Was he really doing this? Was this him? The Commandant was dead and he knew it.

“There isn’t time, but you need to trust me.” Archie finished sliding the guide and stepped out. The sound of footsteps rushing closer echoed through the hold.

“Please, Captain,” he pleaded again. “Launch it, we can punch a hole through the singularity wall.”

He moved one foot forward. Inside the lifepod was a manual release. He could put a quick end to the war. To hell with the Commandant’s wall.

The door snapped shut before he could step inside. In a burst of frost, the lifepod was gone.

The Marines ran, tension on their faces, but with weapons lowered.

“I need you to come with me, sir,” Private Avinash said.

*

William rushed onto the bridge and found Lebeau slumped over her chair. A nanite patch was plastered onto the side of her neck.

“Captain,” she said in a drowsy voice. “We’ve got company.”

The display showed a horrible chaos of changing gravitational fields. Most stunning of all was the zero velocity of the binary stars. The pair was no longer orbiting but instead locked together. An enormous stream of plasma writhed like a yellow snake to the station.

Panels disintegrated as the heat and gravity pulled the station. The energy was overwhelming the local scan. Sensors on the hull shut down and slid away from the blistering heat.

The Malta burned away. The course was away and towards UC space. The main problem was the rapidly growing list of Sa’Ami ships coming in near the inky blue planet.

“Shit,” William whispered. He grasped Lebeau and slid her onto the floor. He keyed open comms, “I need a medic or corpsman on the bridge.”

“I shouldn’t have doubted you,” Lebeau whispered.

William looked away from the console and paused his course correction for a second. “I didn’t know you did.”

Lebeau smiled weakly.

A bandaged and patched Abraham stepped onto the bridge and scooped up Lebeau. “I’ve got her, Captain.”

William nodded and focused on the task at hand. The lifepod spun away and blinked loudly on the display. He trusted his gut and hoped he wasn’t wrong. If not, he was in for one helluva court martial. He let the first sign of a new race out of his ship, on the word of a man who was under the control of the enemy minutes before. He felt a touch lightheaded.

Crew filed onto the bridge and took stations. Weary looks and despair draped heavily on their faces.

The lifepod stopped blinking the fierce alarms and then everything changed again. A third axis erupted through the singularity and bored away, straight between the binary stars, directly towards Sa’Ami space. A clear lane of black space tunneled through the chaos of the binary pair.

“Look at that…” Engineer Mate Howard whispered.

The bridge was silent as the visual display was buffeted by turbulence and the violence of space.

“Hold on now,” William said to the crew around him. “We’re almost clear.”

Course projections filled his screen. Anomalous readings pulsed back and forth. Range tolerances spiked far from the normal. The computer pushed back a question mark. The line where the Haydn drive would engage wavered and shook.

“Weapons? Weapons! What have we got?” William said to Seaman Mahindrahti.

She turned and replied quickly. “Half the mass drivers online, sir. Everything else primed and loaded.”

“Divert maintenance to grav shields and mass drivers.”

He scanned the display quickly. They’d be down to one side of defensive shields, no ability to roll and deflect the damage. Not acceptable.

Four hours. Four hours ‘til contact. The Sa’Ami had to burn through one gravity well and push across the gap. They had a pair of blinks. He had three blinks. Odd blinks, too steep, too short. The star was wreaking havoc and it was only getting worse.

William glanced to the door of the bridge. A single Marine snapped to attention. Private Avinash stepped onto the bridge. Major Theodore walked in behind him.

“Did it work?” Major Theodore asked. His eyes searched the displays.

“It worked.” William scanned his face. Archie was totally drained and worn beyond emotion.

The Major collapsed into a chair. Everything flowed out. Sobs and cries came in waves. Private Avinash took a step closer and stopped when William raised a hand.

“Will he live?”

“I don’t know.”

Major Theodore wiped away tears with the back of his hand. “I’m going to see him. I owe that man an apology.”

The Major stood, straightened his spine, and strutted off the bridge.

“Major?” William called behind him.

“Captain?” Major Theodore stopped in the doorway.

“I owe you an apology, too. I was going to shoot you.”

Major Theodore looked back at William with a haunted look on his face. “I prayed you would.”

*

Orders were short. Options even shorter. William focused on what could be done with what they had. A fight was out of the question. They just had to hold out long enough to reach the Haydn point.

The list of Sa’Ami ships finally stabilized. Nearly every ship he’d seen in Canaan was streaming towards him.

The station finally slid into nothingness. Pin pricks of energy displayed all that remained as the xeno devices continued to transmit energy through the Haydn field.

He scanned through the list of remaining crew. The ship had lost a majority of the naval ratings on the station. The Marines were ravaged and the soldiers even worse. They would be down to skeleton rotations.

He wanted to laugh, here he was worrying about rotations when in a matter of hours the Sa’Ami would be on him.

The Malta burned in a straight line to the next blink and one step closer to home. The computer recalibrated and shifted the Haydn point. The wall of the singularity steepened the gravity well into a ravine.

It would take more blinks to get through than he first thought. The computer showed an odd line where, once they were past it, the blinks would take them further.

He double checked the numbers. It wouldn’t matter. The Sa’Ami would be on him a few minutes before the grav point.

“Mahi,” William said to Seaman Mahindrahti. “Full data dump into the courier, full burn, send it out in ten minutes.”

She nodded. Around the bridge, faces turned to him. He’d kept the nav station display off the main screens. Now they knew that the Malta wouldn’t blink in time.

The ship wide comm system clicked on. “Ten minutes ‘til courier deployment. If you, uh, have a message to send home, get it in queue now.”

William sat back and watched as the bridge crew recorded words and typed last messages.

He felt a tug at his heart. He had no one to send a message too. No one on Earth who gave a damn. The planet of his birth was a burnt rock. For the first time in a long time he questioned why he was fighting at all.

A touch of faith. Faith that things would get better, that mankind would atone for the sins of the fathers. He feared this war was just the beginning. The split was worse than just Sa’Ami, Hun and UC. It was Them verse Us on all sides.

Everything he stood for was on the line. Tyrants on either side. Fear in the middle. Where did he stand?

“It’s off, Captain,” Mahi said.

He looked around the room and knew. He stood with those around him for a chance to make things right.

“All right. Let’s get ready for a fight. If we can keep them off for a few minutes, the courier will get through.” It almost felt like a lie, but he knew it might be true.

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

Precipice

The Malta passed through another wave of expanding plasma. The orbital bodies of the star system were departing to be lost in the depths of space. Vector lines showed where the planets would end up. A particularly brown planet was due to arrive in the next system in a few hundred thousand years.

Only a single barren rock, barely large enough to call a moon, had found a stable orbit. The violence that spread through the system was rippling through space as the Haydn fields expanded the barrier outwards. It was like an island in a sea of destruction.

William sat back in the chair and waited. The courier was accelerating at an exceptional pace. The drone was packed with nothing but a Haydn, a grav drive, and a data package. But in it was all that the United Colonies needed. If that blinked through it’d all be worth it. They’d know of the breach.

He scanned the program once more. The priority would be on survival, keeping the fire focused on him and away from the drone. It was small, wickedly fast, but fragile.

Von Hess popped into his head. He wished he had a truly talented pilot. The connectedness of a linked pilot was amazing. Especially as half of his ship was without any grav shields.

“Engineering, what’s the status?” William called out.

Howard whistled and looked back. “About the same, Captain, the additive cell is cranking but it’ll be some time. The shield generators were slagged, they gots to make new ones. I think we’ll run out of rhenium by then too.”

William nodded. He’d seen the inventory and rhenium, the critical base for all the grav systems, was running thin. “Keep them at it, even partial shields is better than none.”

“Mass drivers are almost in place, they’ll be ready.”

Around him the faces looked scared. Hell, he felt scared. A sense of duty hung on him like a cloak of old. But a cloak wouldn’t keep the vacuum out.

He keyed up a full transmit. “Malta.” He paused and looked around. They were watching. “We have passed through the forges of hell. First to escape certain doom, and then to try and destroy the Sa’Ami wall. Now the wall stands, but a hole has wedged it open.”

He cleared his throat and continued. “Our courier drone holds that information. If we can keep it from being destroyed our fleets can use this and punch right through where the Sa’Ami least expect it.”

The crew was silent.

“We’ll not spend our lives cheaply, the Sa’Ami will pay dearly.”

Heads nodded around the bridge. He wished he could walk through the ship and see his crew, reassure them, inspire them. Instead he sat back and watched the Sa’Ami come closer.

Lebeau limped back onto the bridge with Abraham grasping an elbow. She sat down at an auxiliary console. “Captain.”

William nodded. “Ms. Lebeau, you up to this?”

“Be damned if I’m going out in the medbay.”

“My thoughts exactly.”

“Uh, Captain?” Abraham asked in a voice that was soft for one so large.

“Yes, Abraham?” .

“Where does that line go?”

William looked back the nav console and plotted out the line that ran from the binary. He hadn’t paid much attention beyond the current system. The nav console pulled back to show neighboring stars. The red line of the barrier snapped past Canaan. The colony was on the Sa’Ami side.

Abraham squinted and leaned forward. “I’m, uh, I don’t know how to read that.”

William felt for the young man. “Canaan is on the Sa’Ami side of the barrier, Abraham.”

Faces turned around the bridge and looked at Abraham. He raised his chin and swallowed hard. “I’ll be in Engineering, Captain.”

William nodded.

“Here we go. Seal it up, start defensive maneuvers.” William stretched his hands before him and smoothed out his shirt. With a quick tap he called up the medbay, Huron was listed as stable.

“Ms. Lebeau, send a barrage of railgun slugs at the big one please. Let ‘em know we’ve got some fight in us yet.”

Lebeau smiled and nodded.

Railgun slugs burst away from the Malta and pinged onto the grav shields of the nearest Sa’Ami cruiser. The forward velocities were too high for much maneuvering. Only the smaller ships could dodge them, though the railgun slugs couldn’t do much to the larger ships.

“They’ve launched!” Mahi reported.

A blossom of missiles expanded from the nearest Sa’Ami ships. They formed into a tight pattern and burned hard towards the Malta. Icons winked into patterns with projected impact times just behind.

The mass drivers opened up in a steady rapid pulse. Slugs passed through the cloud, some impacted, others didn’t. The efficiency of the strikes rose higher, a number that made William feel a bit better. A number that would only get worse as the Sa’Ami came closer.

“Save the missiles for any strider capsules. I do not want any of those bastards on us.”

Thoughts of surrender came suddenly. Would they even acknowledge it? They hadn’t taken prisoners, or even requested terms. He doubted he had anything that would make a difference, only the courier drone and that was already gone. But if he could confuse them a bit…

“Open a channel, emergency band, quick!” William snapped.

“On it,” Howard replied quickly. “On keybind zeta.”

William pushed it down and flashed a grin across the bridge. “Sa’Ami forces, I’d like to propose a deal. We’ll send out Commandant Nefoussi if you cease hostilities.”

His heart rate cranked up and he continued the bluff. “We’ll place the Commandant into a lifepod and drop it off at the transition point.”

His eyes lit up and he found the smile growing wider. Subterfuge was a naval trick that was old when the ships had steel hulls.

“They’ve paused,” Mahi said with a laugh. “They’re still coming in, but no weapons have fired.”

Seconds passed, crucial seconds. William watched as the courier drone burned closer to that imaginary line. And then it was gone.

“Malta, this is the Djelba,” A heavy voice with a thick Tunisian accent called. “We need to verify that you have the Commandant.”

“Djelba, he is unable to speak. He suffered grievous wounds in the assault.”

“They’re getting close, Captain, too close,” Mahi said.

The leading group of Sa’Ami droneships, like the one they’d faced before, were close enough to end him in a single barrage.

“Malta. You will be considered legal prisoners of war. Your ship will be secured,” the voice from the Djelba said.

“Striders, coming in!” Mahi said. The display above her followed the hazy track of the incoming orbs.

“Shit. Missiles loaded. We’re going to launch when they’re one kilometer out,” William said as he shifted the weapons program to engage the incoming striders.

“That’s cutting it close, Captain,” Lebeau said.

“Yes, but we need to buy some time, we’re almost there.” William panned the screen and showed the line where the courier drone had blinked.

He felt triumphant but also detached. They’d make it, but even if they did the Sa’Ami droneships would blink too. And then what? He did the only thing he could and kept moving forward.

The display above counted down as the striders zipped in closer. The orbs decelerated as rapidly as they could. The Malta shook as all the batteries opened fire. Missiles coursed out and away.

The striders maneuvered weakly but they spent all there energy stopping and didn’t have enough velocity left to do any good. The missiles impacted vaporizing the striders.

“Roll!” William called out.

The Malta pivoted on the centerline showing the toughest quarter she had. A second after railgun rounds began to splatter against the shield in clouds of green plasma. The nickel ablatives were coming hard and fast from the closest drone ships.

“Energy spike from the big bastard!” Howard called out.

The forward prow battery of the Sa’Ami battleship glowed briefly followed by a wave of particles.

Alarms fired and the entire mass of the Malta shifted. Maintenance screens flickered red. Power winked and faded before kicking back in.

“The hell was that?” William cried out. “Hudson?”

Hudson fumbled with the console and seemed to be at a loss for words. “The uh, a chunk of the ship is gone.”

“Can we blink? Do we have power?” William asked. He squeezed his augmetic hand tight to silence the itching.

Displays showed contradictory readings. The only thing clear was the fact that the Malta was faltering.

“We have the power,” Hudson said.

“All powers to the grav shields. Can we blink?” William yelled.

“I, uh, I think so, Captain,” Abraham said slowly over the comms.

“He’s gonna have to go manual with it, we’ve lost the connection. The nav profile will be loaded, we just need to tell him when,” Hudson said.

“You get that, Abe?”

“I think so, Captain.”

The next barrage of railgun rounds stung with pinpoint accuracy. Vacuum alarms sounded throughout the Malta. Requests for assistance appeared throughout the ship.

William snapped his eyes from one display to the next. More missiles were inbound. The Sa’Ami droneships were closing. The line for the Haydn drive seemed to hover close, but not close enough.

“Thirty seconds till impact,” Lebeau said.

Mass drivers fired sporadically before halting completely. The thermal damage was too much. The missiles were coming and they had nothing to stop them.

“Contacts, contacts!” Mahi cried out.

At the boundary of the Haydn line a pair of Aleutian class light frigates appeared. Each blinked within ten kilometers of the Malta. They hung for a moment. Then flared with mass drivers.

The bridge erupted in celebration. The wall of incoming Sa’Ami missiles were struck by nickel slugs from each of the frigates. Names appeared on the display: the Cape and the Dover.

“Get me a link!” William ordered.

The newcomers pushed forward towards the Sa’Ami ships. Each of the light frigates was half the size of the Malta. The leading edges of the pair was already glowing with the impact of railgun rounds and nickel slugs.

Tactical data streamed in.

“What are they doing?” Lebeau asked. The course for both took them directly through the Sa’Ami fleet.

William shook his head slowly. The two light frigates bore the brunt of the entire Sa’Ami fleet. The leading edge of the Sa’Ami passed the Malta.

“Get ready!” William called to Abraham. The line for the blink approached. Gravity flickered.

Four more ships blinked in. A line of heavy assault cruisers, sister ships of the Erebus. The Terror, the Franklin, the Shackleton, and the Perry. The four bore a line on the edge to the side of the Sa’Ami fleet.

William looked from screen to screen. Did he stay or go? The light frigates seemed crazy, and even with the heavies they were still outgunned. The Sa’Ami continued closer to the grav point.

“Captain?” Lebeau said excitedly. “Grace?”

“Not yet!” He snapped out of it. “Railguns open fire. Ping tactical, coordinate fire with the heavies.”

“Uh, Captain?” Abraham called from Engineering.

“Hold on, Abe! Stay ready!”

The Sa’Ami were committed. Either they continued on, blinked through, or burned to a stop and gave chase. The accumulated velocity was too much to stop in a reasonable time.

Railgun fire thrashed across space as the light frigates continued to bear the onslaught. Fire ebbed away from the Malta.

In a flash the Sa’Ami battleship battered the Terror with the unknown weapon. The nose of the Terror disintegrated into shards of glowing armor and magnetized alloy. The other three broke course and aimed for the battleship.

“Sweet fucking Jesus,” Lebeau said.

William squeezed the armrests. His weapons program shifted and coordinated with the cruisers. All weapons fire focused on the battleship.

“What is it?” Mahi asked as the strike on the Terror replayed.

“Incoming missiles,” Hudson said quickly.

“Mass drivers functional?” William asked. He knew the answer but hoped Hudson would have better news.

Hudson turned and shook his head quickly.

Mass drivers fired from the cruisers but the angle was odd. They were firing behind at the droneships that had passed the Malta.

“Blink?” Lebeau asked.

“Not yet,” William said. “Wait ‘til we see how those slugs do. We’re not running out of this fight. Not while we’ve got a chance to make a difference.”

Missiles, nickel slugs, and railguns punctured the vacuum in a silent dance. Starships spread and moved, slaves to acceleration and momentum. Shields flared, armor reacted, and nanites sealed what they could.

The Malta rolled gently and showed her better side to the incoming Sa’Ami missiles. William watched the screen and pegged his eyes to the shield strength. Every few seconds it would ping up and down as mass driver slugs impacted it.

Too many missiles would get through. He’d do no one any good as a dead ship on the field.

“Abe. Blink,” William ordered.

The reactor panel surged into the red and dropped back down to normal.

William watched the starscape, waiting for it to change.

Nothing.

“Blink failed!” Hudson yelled.

“Abe?” William said in an urgent voice.

“It, uh. Huh. It doesn’t work.”

“Shit.”

The missiles exploded in a staccato burst. The hull shuddered as the combined force easily pierced through the weakened grav shields. Plasma and alloy shrapnel pierced the hull.

“Breaches. Uh, all over.” Hudson scrambled fingers over the keys. “Grav shields gone, armor compromised on that flank. Sealant is flowing.”

William sniffed and could smell that subtle cinnamon tang. Vacuum sealant.

“Hudson, can you help Abe?” William asked.

Hudson shook his head. “Negative, Captain. Not my area of expertise.”

William looked back up to the displays. His railguns fired as quickly as the charging systems allowed. The projectiles continued to sling towards the Sa’Ami battleship. The big bastard glowed intensely. The Terror drifted behind the other heavies, but she too continued to pour weaponry onto it.

“More missiles,” Lebeau said in barely a whisper.

“Abe, listen, check the console. Look for any alerts or errors. Try to reset it,” William said as quickly as he could. Sweat formed on his brow. The missiles were coming.

The line of missiles was pecked at by the mass drivers but the force wasn’t enough. They continued closer.

The bulk of the Sa’Ami fleet was focusing on the line of UC cruisers. All hostile railguns, mass drivers, and missiles, smashed against the UC heavies. The nimble light frigates passed through the last of the Sa’Ami ships and turned.

Tones sounded.

William snapped his eyes up to the damage indicator. Nothing. The missiles were still thirty seconds out.

“Contacts!” Lebeau cheered and slapped at her console.

The screen expanded out. A line of six Caribbean class battlecruisers appeared a handful of kilometers away. On the opposite of them a trio of Bastogne class battleships blinked.

“One more!” Lebeau yelled gleefully.

The bulk of the carrier Everest dropped onto the field. The majority of the UC Third fleet was engaged.

“Ping tacnet, priority on the missiles!” William yelled.

Before Lebeau could reply, the UC ships around them spoke for her. A wall of mass driver slugs destroyed the Sa’Ami missiles in droves. The expanding wall of plasma surged against the Malta, just enough to scorch her armor.

William’s heart surged and raced. Around him a battle raged like nothing anyone had ever planned for. Complete fleet engagements were unheard of. The Bastogne battleships opened up and focused on their Sa’Ami counterpart. The Sa’Ami fired the devastating cannon once more and took a glowing chunk out of the nose of the battleship, Italy.

“They’re blinking,” Lebeau called out.

The lead of the Sa’Ami fleet blinked away. Droneships, a pair of battered cruisers, and a single heavy cruiser. Those further back, including the Sa’Ami battleship, received a savage rain of projectiles.

This could be it. The end of the war, right here, William thought. The Sa’Ami went all in, and lost.

Triumph spread through him. His railguns added a small stream of fire. The most urgent threat was gone. They would survive.

“Got it!” Abraham yelled over the comms. “Here we go!”

William looked up in horror as the starscape shifted.

The Malta blinked.

The starscape changed. The remnants of the Sa’Ami fleet was scattered around them. A pair of the droneships were a few hundred meters off.

“Burn away from ‘em, down!” William yelled. The only imperative was velocity, enough velocity to trigger another blink back to the fleet.

Lebeau broke out into laughter.

William snapped his head to the side and looked at Lebeau with unbelieving eyes.

“Look!” She cried out, pointing to her screen.

The Sa’Ami ships were trapped in the midst of the rest of the Third fleet. Arrayed in a semi-circle was a pair of Bastogne class battleships supported by a pack of Serengeti class frigates. Just like the Malta.

*

The Malta maneuvered with the remainder of the fleet and blinked to the other side. The Bosporus system was littered with starship wreckage. The trio of xeno devices stood like sentinels. The Sa’Ami fleet had fallen, but the barrier stood.

*

“Comms request from the Everest,” Mahi stated. She placed the feed onto the center display.

William stood and straightened himself. “Put it on.”

A man, small of stature with thin shoulders, stood before him. His eyes were narrowed and framed by a thin pair of augmented glasses. The pips of an Admiral rested on his shoulders.

“Lieutenant Grace,” he said in a heavy Dutch accent.

“Admiral Mesman,” William said.

“We received your courier.” The Admiral looked down as only a senior officer could.

“How did you know we’d be at the Bosporus system?” William asked.

“The Erebus sent a courier, you were on the scan moving away. We knew there were two routes to the rendezvous. Quite simply luck.”

William felt himself at a loss for words. Luck.

“Your presence is requested on the Everest. After this action I’m going to recommend you for your own command.”

“Yes, sir!” William replied. “May I transfer my wounded?”

“Absolutely Mr. Grace, and Major Theodore as well.”

“The infantry?” William asked.

Admiral Mesman cast his eyes aside to someone off the display. He wrinkled his nose and stiffened himself up. “Yes, we’ll reform them into another unit. The remainder of that unit is, inaccessible.”

“Who will have command of the Malta, Admiral?”

“Captain Khan has convinced me that she is well enough to take the Malta again,” Admiral Mesman said with a thin smile.

“Yes, sir,” William said. Khan. It was still her ship, but it hurt. He felt a touch of relief that he wasn’t facing a court martial.

A bright smile broke the Admiral’s hard face. “A damned fine day for a victory, be sure you bring a jacket for this evening’s dinner. We have an exceptional meal planned for this victory.”

The screen blinked to dark.

William felt like he was standing somewhere else. He had everything he’d hoped for. His eyes took in the bridge. The Malta, his first real command. It was bitter, so much laid down to achieve one victory. He wondered how much more would be paid to win the war.

He took a few steps and stood next to the door. “Ms. Lebeau, you have command.” The door opened and he marched off the bridge.

End

Hello Reader,

I hope you enjoyed Edge of Solace. I’ve had many of you write me and ask what’s next for William Grace. Well, we set him on the path to war in Edge of Solace, now the trilogy is done, Edge of Redemption comes out on August 22nd. Will we find William living happily ever after? Not quite, not in this universe. You’ll find a sample of the next book in a couple of pages.

When I wrote Trial by Ice I got so many letters asking about the book, the characters, the universe. Some had opinions about the Navy, the characters, and the plot. So I made sure to incorporate some details and questions into Edge of Solace.

As an author I love honest feedback. You are the reason I’ve explored William as a character. So, tell me what you loved or hated. You can write me at casey@caseycalouette.com or find me at http://caseycalouette.com

Finally I need to ask a favor. If you’re so inclined, I’d love an honest review of Edge of Solace. Loved it, hated it, - I’d just enjoy your feedback.

As you may notice on my books reviews are hard to come by. You, the reader, have the power to make or break a book. If you have the time, here’s a link to my author page at Amazon. You can find a list of all of my books here : http://www.amazon.com/-/e/B004IWHH8O

Thank you so much for reading Edge of Solace and for spending your time with me.

Graciously,

Casey

On the next page is the exciting beginning of the third book in the series, Edge of Redemption

Get it, August 22nd, 2014 - http://www.amazon.com/CaseyCalouette/e/B004IWHH8O

CHAPTER ONE

The star burned a deep abyssal blue. It had a name but no one cared. The system was a ponderous place. A place of little value. Without resources, development was nonexistent. It was visited only because it was on the way to places that were worthwhile.

Belts of rock drifted. Rocks of stone, iron, and just enough nickel to make a miner dream. The remnants of dreams littered the system. Abandoned mining platforms, drone probes, even a refinery. All testaments to failure.

Mao Chen was not interested in failure. But it seemed quite interested in him.

“Dammit,” he whispered.

His mind kept playing the conversation he would have with his family. The family who invested everything in his shipping operation. The family who would be left with nothing. Well, not nothing, just a cargohold filled with goods that no one would want besides the Harmony Worlds or a newly founded colony.

Across the room, his nephew, Wei, squatted next to a battered console. “Shit, junk!”

“I thought you were good at this?” Mao asked.

“I am, this is just—” He stopped and hissed. “Shit!” Wei looked up to his uncle. Rings grew under his eyes like an eighty year-old man.

“Enough!” Mao said.

Wei glared across the room. He straightened himself out and plopped down. The chair was a relic of an age before gravity generators. An age when straps were necessary. He settled himself in and crossed his arms across his chest. “You said—”

“I said if you fix it. If it’s not fixed, nothing.”

Wei leaned forward and sighed. Above him the displays flickered and blinked. Seemingly at random the screens would shatter into a wall of white static. Only the center of the screens was visible—the edges and corners blurred with two generations of wiping and accumulated grime.

Mao would have cast him out if he wasn’t family. He was cheap—of that, he was thankful. But he was an addict—of that, he was not.

“Hey?” Mao held out a slender data packet with an orange stencil of a garish girl on the side.

Wei perked up. His eyes squinted. “Season seven, episode nine, I’ve got it.”

“Here?” Mao dangled it from side to side.

Wei licked his lips. “No.”

“Then fix it!” Mao screamed across the bridge. “See? Greed is good. It motivates you.”

The screen leveled out before Wei could try again. The flickering disappeared. Mao hissed at his nephew and studied the display.

Halfway across the system the rest of the convoy was burning towards Earth. Or, at least, in the same direction. A line of comms requests was scattered on another screen. They all said the same thing in different words. Hurry up, we’re not waiting.

“Look! You cheap bastard, they blinked. Greed is good you say. I told you,” Wei yelled through a screwdriver crimped in his brown teeth.

Mao waved him off. “How was I supposed to know? We saved fuel on the way out.”

“You’ll get us killed, they’ll come from behind and slit our throats because you’re too damned cheap.”

Mao ignored him and sat up in the chair. His ship, the Greater Prosperity of the Rising Ocean, was on a gentle fuel saving plot. It’d take longer, much longer, but it was also much less expensive. Every time they blinked, it cut five percent from his profits.

The screen danced and settled.

“Hey, hey! Don’t touch!” Mao yelled.

“Give it to me. It’s working, right? Give it to me?” Wei backed away from the console.

“Gah.” Mao tossed the chip across the bridge and sent it ricocheting down the slender hall.

Wei chased after with the look of glee only an addict could wear. He disappeared down a hallway along the spine of the freighter. Cargo locks dotted the way. The ship was surrounded with wedge-shaped containers with a Haydn drive on one end.

The ship groaned as gravity generators compensated for Wei. With every step, more generators fired and surged new stresses. Alloy bent, steel moaned, and the weight settled.

Mao cringed. He could picture the fuel rods burning away like a candle guttering in the wind.

The screen flickered. Mao prayed. A new message appeared. His reed thin fingers danced on the yellowed console. “Shit, bastards,” Mao whispered.

The message was a simple set of blink coordinates. They were effectively abandoning them. He could catch up, if he wasn’t flying in an ancient relic patched together with dreams and prayers.

It all started so well, he thought. A contact in the Harmony Worlds followed by a trading voucher. The other merchants looked down on him in their fancy ships. All he’d need was one run. One run to buy that fancy ship, fire his nephew, pay off his family and he was on his own.

Instead, the war started. Two blinks out and the scattered remnants of the UC fleet told the story. The Harmony Worlds had dealt a deadly blow. So much for my tax dollars, he thought.

He felt lucky that the Hun—god, he hated that word—hit the planets first and let them flee. Why bother with a ship when an entire world was open to plunder?

The metallic groans stopped. The reactor settled back into the same groove it had occupied for a century and a half. Mao pulled out a small tablet and started to plot his way home.

Digits danced on his mind, and not kilometers, but dollars. With every blink, he winced. Not only would he lose money getting back to Earth, but also travelling out once more to sell. He groaned. The profit kept falling.

Mao’s stomach started to roll. Anything that reduced the profit had a tendency to make him ill.

The screen flickered and settled once more. A horizontal gray line burned a bar across the center of the nav display. A white dot appeared in the middle.

Mao squinted and laid the tablet down with a trembling hand. It was a blink signature. A blink almost on top of the convoy.

“Wei!” Mao boomed. “You useless son of a goat! Get up here!”

A second white dot appeared. The green icons of the convoy hovered and continued moving. They were at a point where they could only burn forward, burn back, or blink to a celestial even farther away from safety.

Groans echoed from the hull as the gravity generators announced Wei’s passage. The addict stood with relaxed eyes and a dazed look on his face.

“Warm the Haydn up,” Mao said.

Wei rolled his eyes. The rings around his eyes were gone but the tension of an addict remained. “Can it wait?”

Mao pointed.

Wei followed Mao’s fingers. His face drooped as his jaw hung down. He turned and scurried down the corridor.

The groan of the hull announced Wei’s departure back to where the Haydn drive resided. The groans spread even faster than before.

The white dots turned to red. The convoy data stream updated the newcomers: Harmony World raiders. Light corvettes blinked in and were approaching the convoy. He didn’t expect a message warning him—the stream of information was more than enough. He knew the ships across the system had enough troubles that they weren’t worried about him.

His orbit slung them out and away from the hostilities. The red icons burned closer to the rest of the convoy. Burning away from him. He was watching dead men. His heart skipped a beat and he felt the doom of bad luck. He was as superstitious as he needed to be.

The light from the ships was nearly thirty minutes old. In less than thirty minutes the red icons would reach the green of the convoy. The fancy ships filled with fancy goods wielded no weapons.

A gray faced speaker crackled on the bulkhead. “One hour.”

Mao stood slowly. He set the tablet down onto the wood paneled table and began to pace. His knees popped with each step. He pondered the course he was on. He ignored the fact that there was a battle going on. Quite one-sided, of that he was sure. If anything, it bought him time, and time was what he needed. If he used the Haydn, they’d see it, but where would it take him? He was still inside the system, maybe a few astronomical units.

Icons winked out and were replaced with question marks. Finally the last icon disappeared and the pair of hostile icons dimmed. The display showed the last bits of data. Zero acceleration. Vector and velocity matched the wrecks. The raiders were pacing with the wrecks.

Below him the paint on the open strip of bridge was worn away, showing the glint of steel. Real steel, not alloy. Someone else had paced the same place. Mao felt a connection to the past. More of a connection to some long dead Captain than to the dead souls half a solar system away. It bothered him for a split second. Then he saw how he would survive where they wouldn’t.

Open communications crackled. Men called for help. Men pleaded, begged, cried. Then silence.

He felt particularly lucky. If he had blinked with the rest, he’d be dead. He was running silent, still, with hardly a blip from his reactor. The only way they’d find him was if they went active and scanned for him.

The thought of the dead men didn’t bother him. He was sure they’d not shed any tears for an old Chinese trader if the roles were reversed.

The groan in the hull announced Wei’s return.

“Well?”

“We continue on,” Mao said.

Wei looked back with wide eyes. A nervous tic fired in his cheek.

“Look.” Mao nodded to the display.

The display flickered and pulsed. The icons were gray question marks showing last known positions.

“We need to blink,” Wei said.

“We’ll do nothing.”

“You fool!”

“If we blink, they will see and follow. Be patient, you idiot.”

Wei ran his hands over his oily face and moaned.

“Anyway, they are busy,” Mao said. “Greed, my nephew, greed delivered us. They are too busy looting to worry about this poor ship. Being frugal saved us: they never even knew we were here.”

Wei sat down hard and watched his uncle smile a thin smile. The old man looked back up to the screen and saw the same thing that was happening across a dozen solar systems.

Generations of deprivation suddenly erupted.

CHAPTER TWO

Lieutenant William Grace stepped out of the transport and sucked in the recycled air of the shipyard. For two months he’d paced and watched space pass by. One blink after the next brought him closer to Earth. Closer to his first command. Closer to a planet that wasn’t his own. The lights in the hall were too bright, too close, like carbon arcing in the darkness.

It wasn’t the open spaces of a real station. Or, god forbid, an actual planet. He’d visited Earth on the last trip and found it claustrophobic. The raw crush of humanity was almost too much. He’d seen the requisite sites. Tampa crater was blossoming into a tourist locale, all with polite images to the tragedy that really did create ocean front property in Florida.

Montreal, where he was raised, still felt the same. He passed that trip just walking the streets and staring into windows that were old centuries before. He’d heard Paris was nice, but Montreal was always in his heart.

Home. It hit him and he felt a tug in his heart. Farshore, burned, gone. He suddenly felt lonely. It was an odd feeling, the Navy had seemed to be a good fit for a man with no roots. Now though, he wanted something more. He wanted a ship of his own, a place to call home.

A stocky Marine Lieutenant pushed past and stomped down the passage. William watched him go and felt the sadness replaced by anger. He’d not gotten along with the bullheaded son-of-a-bitch. Few things worse than a disagreeable shipmate.

The rift was widening between those born on Earth and those from elsewhere. He’d had his fill of glances, insinuations, and outright snubs.

He slung his small bag over his shoulder, looped his dress jacket over the other shoulder, and walked slowly out of the airlock. He’d have enough time to grab a quick bite.

At the end of the hall a slender passage was filled with personnel. Naval uniforms blended with Marine armor with an occasional civilian. The air smelled of crushed stone and a hint of resin.

William’s stomach rumbled. Ever since the starship crash on Redmond, he’d been unable to stop eating. His hands drifted down and patted the expanding bulge that was his stomach. Then he patted his bag: protein bars, a wheat biscuit, two packets of strawberry jam, and a slightly funky piece of yeast protein. He needed to make sure. Starvation was always on his mind.

A ding sounded that his tablet had connected to the local data stream. He pulled it out and saw the command ping. The message was simple: report to Admiral Sanjhi. He thought for a second and shrugged. Just another Admiral he didn’t know.

He passed through the crush and found a VeggieBit stand. He nommed a quick bite of noodles and saturated vegetables. Topped off and full, he dabbed a wet spot off his uniform and made his way to the Naval quarter.

The entire station looked like it was carved out of an unwilling asteroid. Gantries and passages linked dark nodules of iron and chondrite. The walls were spackled in light gray foam. A chill seemed to creep everywhere like a frigid winter day.

He found the core of the Naval section and passed in slowly. Men and women rushed away from the main assembly area. William’s eyes darted to the Marines standing at rapt attention. An anxious feeling rose in his full stomach.

“Marine?” William asked in a low voice. “What’s going on?”

The Marine cleared his throat and pressed himself tighter against the wall. He looked across the passage to the other Marine. “Clear?”

The opposite Marine snuck a glance and nodded.

“The Admirals are at it again,” the Marine said.

“At what?” William asked. Again?

Loud voices and shouts boomed from the passage. The Marines snapped even tighter to the walls and looked forward. William wanted nothing more than to turn around and come back later. But orders were orders.

He shouldered his bag and walked through the portal. The passages, still rough from cutters and grinders, were almost totally empty. Closed doors and unlit spaces bracketed the passage.

A wide area opened before him. An area filled with more Admirals than he’d ever seen in one spot. They scowled and glared at each other. They stood in three groups. One group stood against a rough carved wall, another group off to the side, with a third group holding the center of the room.

He turned and looked behind him. On one hand he wanted to run, find a place where he could get a nanite patch and zone out. On the other, he wanted to watch…and his orders did require him to report.

William saw Admiral “Gruffalo” Dover, posturing in the middle of the room. The man was intimidating when he was friendly, William couldn’t imagine being on the receiving end. Behind him a dozen Admirals stood.

Opposite from him paced Admiral Hollins, known for giving the recorded speech that every cadet watched upon receiving a commission. In the recording his face was paternal, warm, welcoming.

Admiral Hollins snarled and spat onto the floor. “You have your orders, now follow them!”

“I’ll be damned, you son-of-a-bitch,” the Gruffalo said.

William looked up and saw other spectators on a mezzanine. Commanders, Captains, Lieutenants and officers of other flavors watched as if spectators at an arena.

“Going to run us out? Push! Push, you weasel!” Admiral Dover stepped closer, his hands balled into fists.

Admiral Hollins crossed his arms. His eyes snapped up and took in the crowd. A cautious look spread across his face. “Resign.”

Admiral Dover stopped. Neither man said a word. Stillness settled across the hall as if there was not a molecule of atmosphere to transmit sound. Both Admirals were locked in the moment.

William looked from one to the other. Who was bluffing? He’d seen posturing before, dancing around the bulls. But this was something else, it wasn’t jockeying for command or even a promotion. This was something beyond insubordination. Hollins had left an out for Dover—the Gruffalo could walk. But at what price?

Admiral Dover’s shoulders dropped and his body relaxed. The fight drifted away in the silence. He turned and glanced to the others behind him. Wooden faces stared back.

“I resign,” the Gruffalo said in a low voice, barely a whisper.

William felt a chill run through him. A dozen Admirals? Resigning? Then it dawned on him: the Admirals standing with the Gruffalo were all born off Earth.

Memories of his last Captain came back to him. Khan, a bigot who despised him because he wasn’t born on Earth. She implied that he’d not stand with Earth but join with the attacking Colonists. It still pained him to think of it. He bore the scars of where she’d shot him for disobeying an order. Later he’d take possession of her ship after she lost it to the Sa’Ami. Then his crew held the Sa’Ami, held them against all odds… And now it was all falling apart.

Now it was happening again, except now it was Flag Officers.

Admiral Dover turned and walked through the crowd. Pain was etched across his face. Sweat ran down his cheeks and stained the collar on his working uniform, the steel gray cloth turned black.

He passed William and looked up in surprise. A look of shame spread across his face as he dropped his eyes and walked down the passage. Behind him the dozen Admirals he stood with repeated the same words: “I resign.” Each walked out silently.

Admiral Hollins watched. His face had a surprised look, like he’d bluffed a hand of cards and still lost the pot. He glanced up and noticed the crowd. The surprise drifted away and was replaced by a calm professionalism of a man who’d made a decision.

William watched Admiral Hollins walk out. The room had the feel of a boxing ring. Of a bout where it ended in a technical knockout in the second round. No one wanted to leave, still expecting the fighters to keep going. Voices drummed up and the crowd dispersed. Marines walked back into the room and took up posts.

He stood in stunned silence. It took a moment to process what he’d just seen. The faces he saw were all men and women who’d served a lifetime in the name of the colonies, not just Earth. And now they were being tossed aside. He felt cut loose, adrift from everything he’d ever believed in.

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