

The Emperor's Finest

Melissa Cuevas

Smashwords edition

### copyright 2012 Melissa Cuevas

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## Chapter One
##

June 11, 1192

Persher Naval Base, Ghaldin II

The man stood facing the window of the observation lounge; his hands plunged deeply into his pockets as he pondered. He gazed across the marred expanse of the lift field dotted with hangars, dropships, and transports squatting beneath the broiling sun. Somewhere among those ships was what he was searching for. He'd come here to find a marine officer, which shouldn't be too difficult. Ghaldin was supposedly overflowing with them. He was here to find a great marine officer; again, something that scuttlebutt informed him that Ghaldin had a plethora of. He had been searching for nearly a month, and he still hadn't found exactly what he was looking for. He sighed in disgust, shaking his head. In his grandfather's day, this would have been easy. He would have requisitioned a marine officer when he'd left Capital, and there would have been one here waiting for him when he arrived.

He sighed, shaking his head yet again. That was old Navy, old Corps, and that was supposedly in the past. The marines of his grandfather's era had known their place before the uprising; the Corps had been part of the Department of the Navy, and had answered to it. Now they were an entirely different entity, headstrong with their independence and that was what he had to work with now. They weren't about to forget that they had paid for independence with blood, during an outright rebellion against the Navy, pitting the newly gathered Marine Fleets against the Imperial Navy's might. It had been a civil war of the worst kind, bloody, long, and an utter waste of Imperial resources. And it was all before his time, supposedly resolved before his birth. He'd never known a marine who had drawn a Navy paycheck. They served on the same vessels as he did, answered to the same ship's captain, but their promotions, pay, punishments and benefits were administered through the Department of the Marine Corps based on their headquarters world of Albemarle. They trained their own officers through their own academies; the tradition of marine officers attending the Naval Academy on Thackeray was dead and gone. The Corps Commandant answered to the Imperial Master at Arms, same as the Admiral of the Navy. Old news, or so he'd thought until he'd come here. Certainly, he knew there was a difference between Fleet and his new assignment of Carrier duty, he knew he'd be expected to impress a marine officer enough to have one of them agree to serve with him. He just didn't think it would be as difficult as it had turned out to be. All of those things that he took for granted as points in his favor, his branch, his Academy, his very name, were close to anathema here.

He was a Morrison, Daniel Morrison the fifth, to be more precise. Daniels one through four had been Admirals and four was a sitting Imperial senator. He was a top ten academy graduate, from the Naval Academy on Thackeray, of course. He was born from greatness, and destined to make his own greatness. The Navy leaned over backwards for his lineage.

To the Corps, however, he was a Morrison. He was the grandson of High Admiral Morrison, High Admiral of the Imperial Navy at the moment in history the Corps had declared enough to be enough and had risen in open revolt against the Navy. And with the distance that came from two generations, that man's grandson saw all too clearly that his ancestor's actions had rekindled the deep resentment against his namesake for conflict that never should have happened.

The official accounts matched his grandfather's dinner stories: stories that he listened to and adored when he was a child. Daniel Morrison the elder had reacted decisively when the Marine flag officers brazenly presented their demands of autonomy from the Navy, and the High Admiral had the generals summarily tried and executed for treason. Then the order went out that all Marine space assets were to be seized and recommissioned under Navy colors. His grandfather had intended to demonstrate that the Navy commanded and the Marines' only option was to obey. Once word of the executions and seizure orders got out, Marine squadrons throughout the Empire began firing on Navy vessels without prejudice. That had begun the months of fighting between the services, the war that took what previously had been inter service rivalry and escalated it to all out bloodshed. Dozens of vessels and tens of thousands of sailors and marines were lost. The High Admiralty had lost total control of the situation and the ensuing chaos exploited by the Empire's neighbors. System after system had stripped away while the Empire's space borne forces were busily fighting each other. The Emperor finally managed to quell the rebellion and stabilize the border worlds by acquiescing to the Marine demands, granting them complete autonomy from the Admiralty, answerable to the Imperial Master of Arms and the Emperor's grandfather had been allowed to retire with his record intact, still belligerently secure that he had done the right thing. The Morrison family name was not tarnished by the debacle but rather elevated with the Emperor's personal acknowledgments of his grandfather's faithful and honorable service. The Marines never forgave the actions of the High Admiral and the name Morrison was still held in disdain. And now, this, the first true stirrings of a conflict since that time, the first time Navy and Marines would need to come together again. So much bad blood, Niel wasn't sure it could truly be forgotten this quickly.

He sighed in disgust. It was the first time that he had to deal with the notion that his family name and connections might be a detriment. Certainly there had been marines interested in his appearance here on Ghaldin, but it had become quickly obvious that their interest was in a Morrison commanding Fleet vessel which would be kept safely in Capital's sector, far from the conflict heating up. Those marines out of the very same conflict that he wanted into. He needed a marine officer full of piss and vinegar, but those seemed to be the ones who were currently avoiding him, not flocking to him. How was he supposed to make a name for himself when his name kept getting in the way?

That was the question he didn't have an answer for. The longer he was forced to wait here, the more likely it was his father, working through the Navy, would pull him back to Capital, and he'd be right back where he had been headed, a navigator on a ship safely at Capital. Time was slipping away while he searched for his counterpart. For nearly a century the Empire and Drelanii had snarled and fought over the border worlds. The Empire was flexing its muscles once again and if he wanted to get into the fight, nowwas the time. He needed the combat time and accolades if he hoped to advance his military and political career. These were the truths his father had drilled into his very soul. , some way, he had to find himself a marine. A good marine. No, a great . One worthy to be his.

It was clear to Niel that this was easier thought than done. The good ones were few and far between. He wasn't the only Carrier captain here looking, and much as he hated to admit, the other captains had age, experience and training on him. And they weren't Morrisons.

Captain William Devry watched the dust blow outside of his window, silently. The marine sitting behind him, staring at his back, was equally silent. She was stewing, he was thoughtful. Neither was good for conversation.

"You want out from under McCloskey's ship." He repeated her words slowly, savoring them; his attention seemed to be a million kilometers away. It was guaranteed to aggravate her, but she was already aggravated, and he was thinking. Ordinarily, he'd try to talk her out of it, his job was personnel, and right now, that meant getting as many Marine commanders linked up with Carrier captains and ready to go into the fray. A divorce was bad, even if he had seen this particular union going bad from the very beginning. A divorce meant her dropship and platoon were grounded. A divorce meant her Carrier captain was sidelined looking for another dropship. All in all, very bad. But he saw a silver lining at the bottom of this one, and he was most certainly going to see if he couldn't get that lining to shine a little more brightly than it was. The young woman glaring daggers into his back was one of the finest combat commanders he had on Ghaldin. She was disenchanted with her current ride. She had a past that should make her look to a certain overly bred young Navy captain as a blessing, not a curse, if she was only half as smart as he thought she was. She'd get a ride, with a man who could erase that past. Morrison would get the snarling Marine commander he claimed to want. Devry could pay debts, and earn favors with one of most powerful families in the Empire. It was, as they said, all good.

"Not a problem, Noble. It's a wipe." He breathed, and he could feel her open her mouth to begin arguing. That died without so much as a peep, as she was stunned into continuing her silence. "Start looking again, on Monday."

"Sir?" She questioned, and he shrugged. Yes, she needed a break, and he needed to consider the tack he was going to take with Morrison. Hopefully by now the boy realized his name was not the unbreakable force here that it was in other places. Hopefully he had learned a little humility. Devry would settle for a little desperation, however.

"Monday. Take a few days."

"Yes, sir." She sounded unconvinced, even though he was giving her exactly was she had come in asking for. And that was probably why; she was too wise to think she got what she wanted just because she asked for it. But this was one of those times that it seemed like she would. He knew exactly what to do with her, now he just had to drop the good news on young Morrison's doorstep. If the boy was serious, he'd go for it. If he wasn't, then he wasn't worth Devry's time, and he could go right back to Fleet. "You're dismissed, Noble." He said when she remained stubbornly attached to her chair.

"Aye, sir." She breathed standing and leaving. He grinned when she was gone, already reaching for his comm set.

Niel Morrison considered the message slowly, aware that something was not quite on the up and up. This did not seem to be the way things were done here, available marine officers posted their notices on Persher's main data stream, and settled down to wait for queries. But no, this was notification of an available officer so newly free as to have not placed a notice yet. Niel wasn't sure as to the proper , wasn't quite certain he knew exactly what he was supposed to do with this information. Did he wait? Did he jump, and hope he wasn't jumping the gun? He wasn't certain. But he was in luck, while he personally did not know, he knew someone who did. Talie Bruhler had been in his Academy class, except she'd known she was going Carrier from the beginning. She'd taken all the right classes, listened to the right instructors; never let thought of Fleet service her horizon. She was going to drive marines. She was going to have that mythical relationship with her marine counterpart. Harps and flutes were going to play when they were in the same room together. They were going to think as one. Be as one.

Niel chuckled the thought. That wasn't what he was looking for, nor did he even think it existed. It was just a false romance. He didn't need that sort of a partner, all he needed was a competent marine officer who had a good platoon and was willing to let him do the driving. But surely by now Talie had grown out of that stage, and she was here, on Ghaldin. If he bought dinner, the chances were she'd let him know exactly what she of this situation, and maybe even what his next move should be.

Bruhler arrived shortly after he had settled down to wait, and Niel nodded a brisk acknowledgment to her and the mountainous marine who followed in her wake. "Morrison." Bruhler returned, taking the chair immediately across from Niel. "How's it going?" Captain Rey Hathaway took the seat to Bruhler's right, tactically positioning his back towards the wall.

There was more than a pleasant interest in the question, and Niel already knew exactly what Bruhler was probing for. Niel was for one reason and one reason only, and Bruhler was inquiring as to how his search was going.

"I spoke to Devry earlier today." He began slowly, forming thoughts into words. Bruhler only nodded. "He said there's someone I should take a look at. He's giving me first crack at him." Niel let doubt bleed into his voice, hoping to draw Bruhler, and her silent marine commander, into the discussion. It was Devry's job to get Niel into a combat slot as soon as possible, to paint as favorable a picture of the marine commanders available to him. But Devry had brought this one to Niel cautiously, with few glowing references and a lot of trepidation lurking in his voice. The references he did managed had caught Niel's interest. The marine officer in question was an Academy graduate, with honors. Young but , and the marine battlesuit commander that Niel needed. Everything sounded good and better than the three others Niel had been looking at, except for those last two words, busted down. Somehow, some way, this paragon of the Corps had managed to get into enough trouble that the Corps had chosen to demote an Academy honors graduate.

"Oh?" Bruhler prodded, frowning thoughtfully. "I didn't know there was anyone else who's free right now. Who is it?" Her eyes drifted to the large, silent man at her side, an obvious query in them.

"Name's Noble. Lieutenant Noble." Niel stated. Lieutenant Noble, the erstwhile Captain Noble. Demoted, and now freshly cut from another carrier after an incident that Devry had glossed over as a 'personality conflict'. That was another thing that had Niel worried. Someone else had already chosen to drop this officer. Another carrier captain had chosen to return to the pool for a marine commander instead of heading into the fray. That captain had chosen to burn more time looking for a partner instead of gaining valuable command time on the front, when they'd already had a marine commander, this marine commander. Every instinct urged him push the notion away, all except for one little nagging voice that encouraged him to give this marine a look. Looking couldn't hurt.

Bruhler only shrugged her narrow shoulders. "Never heard of him." She finally stated.

Niel nodded, tilting his head to look at Bruhler's marine commander. Normally the man chose to himself from any discussion that included more than one naval officer, keeping an expressionless face, but not now. Hathaway's attention was focused firmly on Niel, hazel eyes narrowed, a frown deepening across his brow. "Noble." He grunted. "McCloskey's cut Noble loose, has he?"

Niel nodded. McCloskey had been the name of the captain so disenchanted with this man's performance that he had dropped him from his ship. Hathaway raised his eyebrows out of the frown, his face going still as he obviously considered the situation.

"You know him?" Niel asked. He was a little surprised that Bruhler hadn't, he'd wanted some more information, a little more than Devry had freely given before he made the decision of actually approaching this individual. Hathaway was a marine, he was less likely to tell Niel the truth than Bruhler would have been, but at least he knew this individual.

"I know," Hathaway paused, "of her."

"Her?" Bruhler choked, catching the pronoun. It was difficult enough for a man to become a marine Battlesuit trooper, there were height and weight restrictions and the training was a nightmare. It was harder still to become drop qualified, adding the demands of drop training to the mix. Finally, to become a carrier's commanding marine officer added the requirements of at least one term combat command as well as extensive leadership training.

"Noble's a woman?" Niel echoed. Devry had most certainly not mentioned that. On review of their discussion, Niel realized that Devry had studiously avoided getting maneuvered into a situation where gender would have come up.

"So I'm assured." A shadow of a smile crossed Hathaway's features. "She's never been below third in any class she's been in. Extensively decorated, fast tracked to captain by the time she was twenty two. That Lieutenant Noble?"

That corresponded with the stats that Devry had given him, gave him no more to go on, and increased his deep uneasiness. What Hathaway had just described was an officer on a career fast track, not a marine lurking around Ghaldin's wasteland hunting a ride.

"Except for one minor problem." Niel stated slowly, "Fast tracking to captain, that LieutenantNoble?"

Hathaway chuckled, nodding. "Noble was busted. Or, more precisely, lost rank on her readmission to the Corps. Her JAG officer pled her case well , so they only slapped her down a grade."

Finally, somebody willing to give Niel the intelligence he needed. Hathaway was about the last one he'd expected to get the truth from. Niel would have expected him to protect his own, to cover for a fellow marine officer, but he seemed comfortable with the discussion. His words correlated with what Devry had slid around on, but they lacked the evasive quality that the personnel officer's words had. "Why? What could she have done? Everything Devry told me, everything you just said."

"Everything you were told said Noble burned bright." Hathaway sighed. "Born to be what she was. She could do no wrong in the eyes of the Corps. Keep remembering that, Morrison. If you're serious, if you really want the best marine commander on this dust ball, except for my own fine self, of course." He said with a chuckle, "Then go for Noble. You'll get no better, anywhere." That was an evasion on par with the best of Devry's, but given in a sadly matter-of-fact tone. Hathaway took a deep breath, continuing without prodding from Niel. "Noble pled conduct unbecoming with extenuating circumstances."

That could mean just about anything. Conduct unbecoming an officer was a catch-all category, the addition of extenuating circumstances meant the Corps had decided the situation wasn't entirely Noble's fault. Pled, however, meant the Corps had much more than they had settled for.

"What was the original charge?"

Hathaway sighed, and began to shred his paper napkin into confetti. "She was found guilty of wrongful use of controlled substances."

"She's an addict?" There were a lot of things that Niel could handle, could even overlook. That wasn't one of them. It boggled his mind to think that the Corps would allow an officer with a lack of self control back on active duty, send her to Ghaldin to hunt a ride, put a platoon in jeopardy.

"No." Hathaway's retort was sharp, bitter. "Noble's been training on Dannen since she returned to active duty. She's been back for a year, before they gave her a platoon and sent her here. That means she's been a year clean, at the very least. The Corps wouldn't, not even with her background, tolerate that."

That was the point that Devry had hidden so carefully from him earlier. That had been what Devry was worried about. That was the black mark he hadn't wanted to touch. Just how trustworthy could a recovering addict be?

"What was she on?" Niel wasn't certain why he even bothered to ask. It didn't really matter, no matter what the little voice in his head kept saying. It didn't matter that the woman had been one of the Empire's elite. She had fallen from that pedestal a long time ago.

"Don't know all the details myself." Hathaway knew more, Niel was sure of it but the man was keeping the rest of the story to himself. "Does it really matter? You can bet she's clean now. The Corps medics will have watched her like a hawk. Noble was one of the best. If she's clean there's no reason why she can't be again."

The best, exactly what Niel was looking for. That was the indefinable quality missing in the other marine commanders he'd looked at since arriving at Ghaldin last month. Not just good enough, the best. Second in her Academy class. Captain by twenty three. "McCloskey?" He prodded. If Hathaway could come up with why McCloskey had dropped this apple, maybe then she'd be worth his time to take a look at.

"McCloskey hates women in combat positions, especially positions as combat intensive an MOS as drop battlesuits. Real old school mentality. Noble's aggressive, a balls to the wall sort of marine. She's big. She's mean. Meet her. Look her over. Look at her ship. Look at her men. Make your decision off of that." Hathaway shrugged; obviously he'd said all he intended to say. If Niel wanted more, he'd have to go get it himself.

Lieutenant Arien Noble squatted in the shadow of her dropship, seeking relief from Ghaldin's heat. She restively shifted her weight to the balls of her feet, squinting against the glare thrown up from the fused expanse of concrete that the dropships were parked on. She grunted what could be interpreted as a thank you when the man next to her passed her a pair of sunglasses.

"What are you worried about, then?" She asked him in a thick accent, putting on the glasses and surveying the lift field again. It was just after mid-day and the lift field seemed deserted except for the rows of marine dropships. She preferred the solitude outside of the dropship against the chaos of the prep bay deck, at least while her men went through the scheduled daily maintenance.

Sergeant Schrader tilted his head towards his shoulder in an abbreviation of a shrug. "You're going to wrinkle doing that, sir." He accused, already well used to her fringe accent and sentence patterns.

"Like I've got to worry." She chuckled wryly, balancing her forearms on her knees. "What difference does it make?" She turned her gaze to the numbers scrolling across the screen of the comp pad, carefully reviewing the data the sergeant had collected early that morning.

What difference did it make? That seemed to be her answer to everything now, and she knew it annoyed the hell out of him. She should be in the compound, making herself accessible to those naval commanders courting for a marine commander, not here, underfoot at the dropship. They didn't need her here; they needed her out there finding them a ride off of Ghaldin. They needed her sharp and clean, advertising herself, advertising them. She looked like a wreck, still dressed in the woodlands camouflage fatigues issued at Dannen, striped reddish beige from where she'd wiped her hands on her trousers, those trousers flapping unbloused around her ankles, draw ribbons tied in a sloppy knot at her instep. Her hair was long, beginning an insidious curl behind her ears. She'd discarded her blouse a long time ago, and was currently working on getting sunburned along her arms. What difference did it make, indeed?

"You're not used to this kind of sun, sir." He noted slowly. Ghaldin deserved a harsher classification than the mere 'intemperate' it had been given by its Deep Range Evaluation crew surveys. Noble came from a stormy backwater world named Taskedi IV, a world contemptuously labeled "monsoon-ball" in his copy of Imperial Planets in Plain Language, and she possessed an alabaster complexion normally marked only by a few stray freckles. Pale, large, and acclimated to Dannen's climate, Noble was a prime candidate for some form of heat illness, something he'd prefer to avoid.

Schrader felt her intent gaze through the mirrored surface of the glasses he'd given her, he felt her considering taking him up on it, and he braced for it. Noble could be downright evil when the spirit moved her, and the spirit often moved her when she felt the sergeant was trying to coddle her.

"Hey, Lieutenant, check out the fleeter." He pointed out, relieved for the distraction, pointing out the naval officer who had emerged from the sheltered indolence of the lift field transport office. They saw few Navy personnel down here; any would be noteworthy enough to pull her attention away from him. This one was even more noteworthy, however, an officer wearing the golden cords of a carrier captain across his chest, and lacking the crimson one that would signify his partnership with a marine commander. That meant he had only one to be down in grunt country, Schrader glanced at Noble. The slightly belligerent cast had melted off of her features; she was staring at the naval officer with sharp, measuring eyes. Unattached marine commanders were a rare commodity on Ghaldin, Noble one of only four. The man was here to seek her services, already strides in front of the others and he was here, in person.

"Time for a polite run around, sir?" Schrader asked.

"Yes. I think so." She agreed, melting the accent out of her voice in favor of the clipped precision of the accent prevalent on Albemarle, the Marine Academy's home world. It was the preferred accent of a Marine officer about to interact with a Navy officer. Usually, it meant that the speaker had graduated from the highly prestigious Imperial Marine Corps Academy. Occasionally it was affected by non-graduates looking for that well trained image. With Arien Noble, it was an affectation only that it was not her natural accent, but the Academy had not been able to train all of her Taskedi accent away. The four years she'd spent on Albemarle allowed her to call the accent on demand, and Schrader did not begrudge her it.

"Right." He stood, straightening his uniform, and strode across the blinding expanse of fused and charred concrete to the naval officer's side.

"Sir, may I be of assistance?" He asked, although he knew exactly what the man was here for. The game must be played, and he would not cheat Noble out of her courtship.

"I am here to speak to a Lieutenant Arien Noble." The man stated, and Schrader blinked. Pure, unadulterated culture poured out of those words, and absolutely none of it was put-on. This man was nobility, cold and simple. Schrader glanced at his name tag and felt himself grow chilled in spite of the temperature. Morrison. He checked himself before reflexively spitting. The Morrison name was not held in the highest regards by the Corps. could only be one man, even his rank matched. Lieutenant Commander Daniel Morrison the fifth, busily following in his family's occupation of choice. Schrader forced himself to maintain his outward composure. This Morrison was rumored to captain the newest carrier to arrive at Ghaldin but Schrader had his doubts. Surely this man wasn't here to court Noble? Surely she wouldn't be stupid enough to even consider it, or maybe she would. Her past was less than stellar, and her recent falling out with McCloskey had sent a dangerous message the Carrier community. She was damaged goods but not willing to live that down and settle for what she got. It wasn't his call. If he was here to court Noble, then that was all that mattered, bad blood aside. Noble would have his gonads in a jar if he messed this up, especially now that she had managed to attract a suitor so soon after McCloskey.

"This way, sir." He led the man out of the glare and into the somewhat cooler, and blessedly much dimmer, flight bay. "She'll be right with you, sir."

The man nodded his acknowledgement, his eyes wandering over the bay. Schrader backed away, and returned to the spot where he'd left Noble sheltering under the belly of the dropship. She was where he had left her, leaning up against one of the support struts. "Well?" she asked slowly. "You seem a little out of sorts, Schrader. Is the man here to court or not?"

"I believe so, sir." He sighed. "He's a Carrier captain alright, and I know he hasn't got a marine commander."

"Then what's wrong, Schrader?"

"I know who that is." He gestured back to the bay with a sharp motion of his hand. "That's Daniel Morrison."

"Seems a little young to be a senator." She noted. "Not much older than I am. Maybe as old as thirty." Schrader chuckled despite himself. Although Noble spoke in all seriousness, she tended to forget that few were as young as she was in her line of work. Arien Noble had eight years in the Corps, and had been drifting in discharge for a year and half after that. And right now, she'd been in a year of training with them in readiness for their inevitable deployment to the Drelanii front. Still, she was only twenty four. Arien Noble had lived a lifetime in those years, and there was an undeniable age stamped over her features, darkest in her eyes. She had enlisted at fourteen, under the hardship clause, committed for a four year term. That had encompassed her basic training and a year long stint to become battlesuit qualified. Noble had been sixteen, a corporal, and the top of her battlesuit class when the Corps took the rare stance of offering her a posting, not to a unit, but to the Imperial Marine Academy at Albemarle. She had accepted that posting, and the lifetime commitment that automatically came along with it. Unfortunately for her, she had discovered that the commitment she held in her heart was not nearly as strong as the commitment the Corps had for her. A lifetime commitment could end at the ripe old age of twenty two for a marine officer.

"Wrong Daniel Morrison, sir. His son, I believe." Schrader muttered, shaking his head. He couldn't imagine actually serving under a Morrison, not really. There were marines that did of course, but those were all Fleet security types, not real estate agents. Noble was hardly Fleet, there was no way in hell she'd agree to serve with a Morrison. Or would she? Would she be willing or able to overlook that history? To let the sins of this man's grandfather lie dead?

"Hm." She stood awkwardly in the cramped area, bowing her head to avoid striking the dropship's belly. "He's in the bay?" Schrader nodded, and she stepped out into the heat, dusted off the seat of her uniform in a quick motion and set off for the bay.

Niel glanced over when the marine entered the bay from the lift field. It was not the person he was expecting, but he watched the man approach anyway. His attention commanded by an indefinable aura that surrounded the newcomer. The man was graceful, moving with an unconscious ease that both attracted and unnerved Niel. He was lighter than a man of his height and build should be, angular yet muscular. He walked towards Niel in a long, rolling sway that did not belong to a man, or a marine, and Niel flinched inwardly, trying to draw his gaze away. It was impossible, the man deserved adjectives that Niel would not normally attribute to members of his own gender, striking, beautiful. It was wholly wrong, completely disturbing, but Niel couldn't shake the sudden and attraction he felt.

The marine was a handful of centimeters shorter than Niel, and the tank top he wore did nothing to conceal the sharply delineated muscles through his arms and shoulders. He had thick auburn hair, about three centimeters too long for a high and tight, just barely within marine regulations. Obviously new to Ghaldin, he was pale, with strongly etched features, the leads of his carrycom taped down to his neck and cheek. "I am Lieutenant Arien Noble." she finally stated, in a voice as feminine as her appearance was masculine.

This was Noble? Niel's mind flashed back to Hathaway's words in the Officer's Club when asked about her gender, "So I am assured." Assured, because it was not immediately obvious.

"Commander Morrison. Niel Morrison." Although his mind was erupting, his voice was mercifully steady. "I captain Firestorm."

"I command the Eighteenth Armored Assault Infantry." she returned. Her voice was incredible, murky yet melodic, carrying the polish of Albemarle over a softer, quirky accent but that accent did not to hide the caution under her tone and he frowned. She had at least bothered to meet him, which was better than some, but he still sensed her reservations, her doubts. "Can I help you, sir?"

Niel fought the innuendo that first sprang to mind. Courtship! The rational side of his mind demanded, but not that sort of courtship! He offered his hand, and she grimaced slightly, swatting her hands haphazardly over the thighs of her fatigues and offering the newly dusted right one in response. Her grip was strong, steel rather than iron. "I understand that you've gotten a transfer from McCloskey's ship." He stated matter-of-factly.

Her lashes dipped slightly, but that was all of the outward emotion she gave, although Niel had been told that the separation had been acrimonious. "I have." She agreed.

"Why?"

"Personality conflict." She finally chose the words to describe it and Niel knew she was holding back. He liked what he saw already, and not just in looks. She was steadfastly refusing to be drawn into an inappropriate discussion about McCloskey and their falling out. He would tolerate no taletellers in a relationship as close as a marine commander had to be. "I'd like to discuss the possibility of you bringing your contingent onto my ship." he looked around, "But some place a little more comfortable perhaps?" He knew he was moving fast, too fast, perhaps. But he was here with a purpose, and dawdling didn't get it done.

"That would be acceptable, Commander." She agreed.

"The Officer's Club, say nineteen hundred?" He asked, and she glanced at her comp pad. hundred now, two hours were more than enough.

"Nineteen hundred is fine enough, then." she murmured, momentarily forgetting to clip away her normal accent. "I will see you there, Commander." She offered her hand again, and he shook it, fighting down a grin, before he spun and strode back to the bay transport office.

"Well?" Schrader demanded, watching her dump the contents of a nearly empty priming bucket over her head. The water did little to cut through the layer of dust that coated her, except for the darker streaks of mud that appeared in the water's wake.

"I meet him again tonight." She set the bucket down and studied the bottom of the dropship.

"What?" She had to be kidding. Any marine worth her salt would have enjoyed having a Morrison come sniffing around only to turn them away. That alone would have been worth years of free drinks at the O Club. "You do know who that is, right, sir?

"Daniel Morrison." She breathed out slowly, her eyes dark. "Schrader, I know what you're thinking but I'm running out of options."

He sighed, shaking his head. She was right, if she dropped a captain, and then refused the overtures of another, she was all but telling the Corps she was a washout. And like it or not, the Navy was the one driving this show and they looked upon the Morrisons with the same awe they always had. Plus, she'd take what no one else wanted, which would make a good bargaining chip later. If there was a later for her career. The Morrison name could make that happen even if it put her in Fleet. Schrader knew that two meetings in one day was moving things rather quickly in the formalized courtship of a pairing. But the border was exploding; she had a dropship and a contingent of marines ready to go. Niel Morrison had a carrier, ready to go. If Noble was willing to drop the formalities and ride Morrison's carrier, he was willing to follow.

Arien knew the edge in Schrader's voice. He was her aide-de-camp, her right hand. He was already assigned to a commander attempting to make a comeback out of a very bad situation. His career would soar or sink with hers. He worried constantly about her, watching, fretting. The unspoken thought that she would fall back into using was always present behind his dealings with her. And now, she was undermining her position, her desirability, by falling easily enough to Morrison's overtures. But this was Niel Morrison, Admiral Daniel Morrison's son. The questionable prestige of someone her age, with her sketchy background, serving with such an individual could be immense, but Arien had to watch her back. She had few delusions about her tenuous situation here. The Corps desperately needed qualified commanders, and she had the requisite training and experience. When the border cooled, as it always had, where would she be then? She had to make this one count as she had never needed to before. With Niel Morrison's backing, she might just be able to hang on to her commission after this was over. She needed the combat time to show the Corps that she hadn't lost her edge, and if Niel Morrison wanted to be cut loose into the fray as well, it sounded like a fine enough arrangement to her.

"I'm going to my quarters." She stated. Schrader raised a brow, but said nothing. Although Noble had the quarters of an officer of her rank, she normally bunked with her men, in the unit's barracks. On a dropship, the troops lived in each other's back pockets, and Noble preferred to keep the down time as minimal as possible. "Be back when I'm done. It's your boat."

"Aye, sir." He nodded; watching her walk away towards the bay's transport office, then shrugged and mentally went on down his checklist. The dropship was more than ready to go, but every day, the list must be done, more to alleviate the men's boredom than out of any real tactical need.

Arien sighed, studying herself in the mirror. She knew she looked bad, but it hadn't seemed to matter before. The Corps was single-mindedly ignoring each of her shortcomings as they rushed her and her platoon into combat readiness. So Noble looked sloppy, it was hard not to on a world like Ghaldin, but she'd never acted sloppy. Not even McCloskey could accuse her of that, for all of the accusations that the man did come up with. Even those had been tenuous excuses for the real reason why he'd wanted her off of his ship, he knew it. She knew it. His commanding officer knew it, knew it enough to come talk to her about it, insinuating harassment charges. Arien had dismissed that idea the very second it was brought up. She didn't want to end up in a tribunal again, even on the other side of the fence. It would be too easy to turn the tables on her there, and McCloskey wouldn't have wasted a second considering whether or not he'd like to see her squirm like that. No. She just wanted the hell off of his ship, wanted enough time to try again.

She grimaced at herself in the mirror. Try again but Daniel Morrison wasn't a case of trying again. The eldest son of a retired admiral, an active Imperial Senator, he had the blood and connections to rival any Navy officer currently serving. He was an Academy graduate, just as she was. He was young, just as she was, and rather highly ranked for his age and experience, just as she had been. He was the sort of naval commander who could, if she lived up to his expectations, pull her out of the muck she'd gotten herself entrenched in. He was the sort of commander she could have looked forward to if nothing had ever gone wrong with her career. Arien smelled a second chance, a much more concrete second chance than her readmission was, and she intended to exploit it for all it was worth. All it was worth, she had not been oblivious to the underlying current in his response to her.

She arched an eyebrow at her own reflection. Arien had never considered herself attractive, many had felt it necessary to point out to her, in no uncertain terms, that she wasn't. She was too big. Too masculine. Too ominous. Ironically, all of those qualities that she prized in herself conspired to make her a social outcast, awkward in public and just wrong enough to be shunned by most that surrounded her. She had been comfortable with that, just as she was uncomfortable with what Morrison could represent.

It was accepted, almost expected for a pairing like theirs would be to end in some sort of physical relationship. Although, that would have normally been frowned upon, both branches, Navy and Marine, disapproved of their officers frequenting the entertainment establishments present near every Imperial post. Officers were supposed to be above whoring like that, and Daniel Morrison would be held to an even higher standard than usual. Likewise, he would not entangle himself with a member of his own crew. If everything went well, he wouldn't be on Ghaldin long enough to work out an appropriate alliance with any female naval officer close enough to his rank, if one even existed in the vicinity.

Arien sensed a lack of competition for him, and sensed a distinct amount of interest from him. The instincts that drove her forward clamored for a tactical press, run with it, before this fell through.

Mind somewhat made up, she undressed, kicking her shed clothing into the corner. She would clean up as much as possible. She wouldn't be as sharp as her Academy instructors had trained her to be, she'd let herself slack off too much to manage that in two hours, but she could effect an improvement over what had become normal for her. If things went well tonight, then she could shine herself back to that level tomorrow.

She showered, scrubbing away the grainy dust that infiltrated everything on Ghaldin, habitually checking each of the surgical modifications performed when she had graduated her MOS training on Dannen a lifetime ago. It would be rare for her implants to go bad this long after their insertion, but it happened, and she still contentiously checked them. Both of them looked good, the belly catheter coiled tightly in its artificially created pouch, the permanent IV port tucked into her right elbow, the skin over them tight and pale.

"Okay." She breathed to herself, leaving the bathroom and pulling open her closet. Dinner at the Officer's Club required better than fatigues, dinner at the Officer's Club to convince Daniel Morrison that she was the marine to command his drop troops demanded much better than that.

All three of the walking out uniforms hanging abandoned in her closet predated the disaster on Hevish, and she frowned. None of them would fit correctly. All of them bore the wrong insignia. She should have updated her uniforms back on Dannen or here when she'd first arrived to find a ride. Maybe she should have put Morrison off, held him back to a normal courtship schedule. Even as she thought it, she pushed the idea away. She could play that sort of game with any of the other naval commanders roaming around Ghaldin, but Morrison could pick and choose his partner. He'd come to her. She shook her head. No, she'd just have to do her best tonight. She pulled out the newest of the uniforms, ignoring the fit as she dressed in the trousers and shirt, turning her attention to the coat. It was wrong in more ways than fit, but wrong in ways that Arien could fix in the time that she had.

She pulled a large wooden box from the shelf, opening it slowly. Every award, rank, insignia and citation that Arien Noble had ever earned in her career rested inside, cushioned on bright crimson velvet. She removed the captain's branches from the coat's shoulder boards, replacing them with the silver hatches of a first lieutenant, the hatches she'd last worn three years ago.

That was as close to her shame as her uniform would reveal, the other changes were, ironically, for the better. Arien had earned another golden stripe for her sleeve, and the deep murrey colored blood bar for her award ribbons, a reminder that she had been honorably injured during in combat. She slid the coat on, measuring herself in the mirror. It didn't look nearly as bad as she'd feared. The uniforms were older but had been mostly unworn and she'd lost all of the extra heft she'd been carrying on Hevish. The fit was a bit loose but not at all the nightmare she'd been imagining. She tucked her beret under the epaulet, buckled her sidearm on, and as a final touch, slid her Academy ring back on the finger it had ridden until the accident on Hevish. She was as ready as she was ever going to be.

Niel arrived first, by design. He wanted to know how punctual she would be, and the only way he could be certain was to be there before she was. He had dressed in full walking out, the highest level of formality he could get away with under the tances, above the partial walking out favored by the majority of the officers in the room. He always made a point of always looking his best, even in surroundings as lax as Ghaldin had proved to be.

She proved to be only ten minutes behind him, well early of the time he'd set. He was pleased to note that she had cleaned up, choosing the same level of dress as he had. He hadn't been surprised by her appearance in the hangar; it was an impossibility to stay clean if one was spending any time at all outside more so if one was engaged in maintenance. He had hoped she would rise to this occasion, and she had. He could learn a lot from a person's full walking out, information that would help him ask the questions he needed answered.

Arien Noble cleaned up well, he decided, watching her approach. Her uniform did not quite fit correctly, he noted, either it was off the rack, or she had lost weight. He would bet the latter. It showed him a lot of what he was expecting. A Marine first lieutenant wearing midnight blue shoulder boards the badge of a battlesuit officer. Drop master wings adorned her left chest pocket, along with expert commendations in small arms. She had commendation ribbons three layers deep, an Academy cord around her shoulder. All of the things that Niel had expected, and other things that he had not. Noble seemed young, almost painfully so, but she wore one gold five year stripe and three narrower silver one year stripes on her sleeve, she had eight years in. She had a thick accent, one he couldn't come close to placing, but she wore an Albemarle home world patch on her collar.

"You're early." he noted when she stopped. A slight flicker of consternation crossed her features as she considered his words. "I like early." He continued without pause. So, she was nervous of him. Her expression calmed at his words, and she sat across from him, her eyes never leaving his face. So careful. So watchful. "So, tell me about yourself." He bade, watching her as intently as she watched him. Any thoughts that the attraction he had felt for her in the hangar had been transitory and the memory of it in her presence.

She considered the request, frowning slightly. "I am not certain what you've been told already." She sighed, handing the ball back to him. So that was how she wanted to play it.

"Devry didn't tell me a great deal." He began. No, but Hathaway had told him much, much more. "And what he did tell me wasn't exactly good."

Her face steeled, eyes darkening, hands clenching together on the tabletop. She took a long, shuddering breath, but her eyes did not drop from his. "I've been busted for conduct unbecoming an officer." She stated. "I assume that is what you are referring to?"

"That is part of what I've been told." He baited, finally tearing his gaze away to open a menu and study it nonchalantly. "There was some mention of illicit substance abuse along the way. I'm not entirely comfortable with that."

"I've been clean a year. I've had monthly drug screens, and I've passed them all. I never used on duty. I never would."

"Hm." He murmured, still reading. "So you say."

She slid back in her seat at that statement, but did not dispute his words or rise to her own defense. A little disappointed, he finally raised his eyes to study her. She avoided his gaze, obviously relieved when the steward came to take their orders. She was not as relieved when the man left and finally gazed back at Niel.

"Do you have any questions for me, Lieutenant?" Niel asked, considering her across the table. She was so evasive, which should just make him count her out without a second thought, but for some reason, that evasiveness piqued his interest rather than throwing up warning flags.

"What are you driving, Commander?"

"She's Firestorm, a Lisbon Class Carrier, modified as a gatecrasher."

"A Lisbon? Lots of survivability there. They're damned big hulks. Big enough to piggyback mine though."

A Lisbon class Carrier was large enough to piggyback any of the Corps' contingency dropships with no problem, Niel was well aware of that fact. Yes, Firestormwas a hulk, but the observation didn't seem annoying coming from her.

"What have you been given?" Her answer would give him valuable insight, if the Corps had shortchanged her, they were still wary, and then she wasn't worth his time.

"I've got a Greelei X-4, Brimstone. She has a flight crew of four, carrying thirty six battlesuits."

"I see." He stated, and he did. That was as rousing a reference from the Corps as she could get. The largest, heaviest contingency dropship in service, a full crew for it, and a double strength Battlesuit platoon. The Corps had forgiven all. Hathaway was correct she was as good as he was going to get here, an elite Academy trained officer, the combat dropship custom designed for his carrier, a double strength platoon probably as experienced as their commander was. "Are they ready to go?"

"Yes, we're more than ready." She smiled, the first time he'd seen her do so. It transformed her features, and it was all he could do to keep his expression impassively neutral in response.

"I think everybody wants off of Ghaldin." He said slowly. "Which brings me down to the bottom line. I need a marine commander, you need a ride. I don't think you're going to get better than mine. I don't think I could to get better than yours but you have to promise me something, and this is the last time I'm going to bring it up. You must stay clean. Even if the Corps stops checking, I won't. Not until I trust you."

"I understand. Now, I also know you've not trained Carrier, but you've been trained Fleet." She raised a dubious brow, tapping her finger on the table. "So, I'm going to give you Carrier 101, in one short, easy lesson. The carrier's your ship. I keep my nose out of it, unless you need me. The dropship, the marines, they're mine. I'm good at what I do, other than agreeing that you have the right to keep track of certain medical concerns you may have, I do not agree that you have the right to second guess my decisions. Likewise, I'll assume you're good at what you do. The only thing I demand is that you get me where I'm supposed to be and that you come get me afterwards."

It was Niel's turn to lean back in his chair, measuring her through narrowed eyes. She wasn't the first he'd approached, and the others had treated him like a Morrison, happy to assure him that they were up to the job, but never daring to question his abilities or qualifications. Noble was the first to challenge him, to lay down her rules in response to his. Noble was the first to approach this like the equal she was supposed to be. And she was right, he was not as qualified as he could have been or should be. No one else had dared to note this out loud to him.

She smirked at him, an expression that deepened when her meal arrived. "You still want this?" She demanded, taking a forkful.

"More than ever." He murmured, watching her eat. He had been raised amongst debutantes, young women who viewed hunger as an unfortunate need to be attended to in private. Noble ate with a single minded determination, always correctly and neatly, but making no attempt to hide her hunger.

"Good." she smiled, raising her glass to him. "Here's to a successful union then."

The expression he had squashed before escaped as he touched her glass with his. The same expression that had scared every woman targeted with it before, the sort of look that the aristocratically raised Niel Morrison should not have. Her smile faltered slightly, before it changed and returned in force. Hers had been a normal enough smile before he'd turned the intently captivated lust on her, but it darkened into a conspiratorial gleam. Go ahead, she challenged, almost audibly, from the look in her eyes to her shifted stance. Try it. You may just get away with it.

She finished her dinner, and leaned back from the table. "So," he continued, "How can I keep in touch?"

"Well." she considered that for a moment. "I have quarters at the BOQ, but I'm rarely there. If I'm not with the dropship, I'll be in barracks. Call me on my carrycom, or my aide will always know where to find me." She pulled a calling card from her interior pocket. "My Icom is not on-line yet, or I'd give you that."

"Went for it all, didn't you?" Niel asked. The Icom, or internal communicator, was installed subdermally over the mastoid process behind the ear, and allowed constant communication virtually under any circumstances. It was implanted in conjunction with the Mark II jump status computer, which gave the wearer constant information as to altitude and rate of fall, aiding in drop insertions.

"Well, Lieutenant Noble. It's getting late. We can continue this later." She nodded, checking her watch.

"It is rather late. Until next time, Commander." She left him sitting alone, and he fought the urge to watch her leave. He gave Noble enough time to completely clear the club before standing and following her out.

## Chapter Two
##

June 13, 1192

Persher Naval Base, Ghaldin II

Something had lit a fire under Noble this morning, Schrader thought, watching her step up the dropship's status to drop ready on his comp pad. She moved like she had a serious purpose, and just being good enough was not good enough for her now. She had spent the entire morning brimming with enthusiasm, snapping out orders right and left. Her stride was brisk, her gaze sharp, and there was clarity in her eyes that he'd never seen before.

"What's up?" Hawkins, Beta squad's leader, demanded.

"Noble's being courted." Schrader answered. "It's gone to way serious but fast."

"Oh, really? So we might be getting our butts off of this fucking rock soon?" Hawkins's expression changed to sudden interest. He embodied the feelings of the entire platoon. Just get us the hell off of Ghaldin, anything to end their bone numbing boredom. "That's slick. Who's courting the boss?"

"Lieutenant Commander Niel Morrison."

"Morrison! Impressive. He's got himself a Lisbon class Carrier, you know." Schrader did not know, but he'd take Hawkins's word for it. The man knew Carrier Fleet's disposition like the back of his own hand. "What's the problem? You look less than thrilled."

"I think she's got it bad for Morrison."

"Bad? As in, you think she likes him in more than a professional way?" Hawkins shrugged, eyeing his commander's progress. Noble was aft, inspecting the drop hatches with the pilot, pointing out deficiencies while the he made notations in the log.

"Yeah, see a problem here? We're not exactly going to call her experienced, are we?"

"So she wants to get laid, big deal. I say leave her alone." Bad timing, but nothing much that Hawkins, or Schrader could do about it. "There he is, by the way." Hawkins noted Morrison approaching the carrier. Niel Morrison was vid-star handsome, tall, with the long muscular build that set off his uniform so well. This man should be the Navy's recruitment poster boy.

"Sir." The two men snapped to attention as Morrison approached the dropship. "Officer on deck." Noble turned at the sound and quickly moved to intercept him, a slight frown on her face.

"Good morning, Lieutenant Noble." He greeted, swallowing down his first reaction to her, and merely nodded.

"Good morning, Commander Morrison." She returned. "As you were, men." The two marines who were standing near the crew hatch turned their attention away, giving them a sense of privacy. "What can I do for you?"

Innuendo sprang into his mind again. He squashed it, stubbornly refusing to let it have its way, and only gave her an enigmatic half smile in response. "I came to inspect your dropship, with your permission of course."

Inspection was the next step in the courtship process, but Arien had not expected it to come quite so quickly. "Of course." she murmured, mind racing. They should be ready for an inspection, but she would have liked to have a little more warning than this. "I was just upgrading our status to drop ready." she stated in way of explanation for the dropship's state of disarray. "I figured that since we were moving so quickly."

He nodded, following her up the gang way and into the claustrophobic, if thankfully cooler, bowels of the dropship. His hair ruffled in the sudden cross breeze as the dropship's positive pressure hit him, pressure designed to keep atmospheric debris, in this case, Ghaldin's dust, at bay.

The gangway led through a pressure door and into to a large room. "This is the main deck, it serves as our briefing room, mess, crew lounge, medical bay, recreation room, and just about anything else we need it for." There were secured lockers and cabinets lining the walls with lock down points on every surface. Arien indicated a hatch located in the center of the ceiling, "That's the docking hatch. We enter the carrier via the umbilicus through that point."

"I see. Rather cramped, isn't it?" Niel was amazed that the marines lived in such a sparse environment.

"This is a fighting ship, not a luxury cruiser." She replied defensively. "Forward through that door is the flight deck and the crew bunks." She turned to face the aft pressure door. "That leads through the berths and then on to the battlesuit preparation bay."

"So." She stated, "What do you want to see first?" The few marines that were moving about quickly cleared main deck to allow the officers some privacy.

"The 'suits, Lieutenant Noble."

"Okay, the 'suits." She didn't seem to find the request at all odd, and led him through the pressure door. The corridor beyond was lined with doors on both sides. "These are the berths and the head." She led him down the corridor to another pressure door. Niel had often heard of battlesuits, those weapons of death that the Imperial Marines' coveted battlesuit troopers wore like a second skin, and all the seemingly grotesque preparations that their wearers underwent, but other than static examples in museums, he'd never actually seen one.

"The 'suits." she announced, stepping through the pressure door and out onto the prep bay. Four rows of uniformly spaced gantries lined the prep bay, which was silent save for the hum of the ship's power plant. The 'suits were tall, brooding giants cradled in their webbing restraints, shadowed into their recesses in the uncertain light of the bay.

Morrison held his elbows at the sight, before his gaze found her again. "Which one is yours?" He asked. He knew that each 'suit was a precision molded power armor, allowing for only one wearer.

"That one there." she pointed out one of them, and he crossed to it. He knew that Bruhler could identify her troopers in battlesuit without fail, although there were no other identifying marks on them other than the colors of the Imperial Marine Corps piped onto the shoulders. The 'suit loomed over Niel's own height, and he craned his neck to gaze into the glazed faceplate. He could see himself there, the image distorted by the curvature of the reflective surface.

"I've never seen one up close before." He murmured. "I've seen them in museums of course, but they weren't like this." He ran a hand over the cool armored surface and wondered what it must be like to be entombed in this walking instrument of Imperial rule. He could feel the slight vibration of the power cell, and it seemed almost alive.

She reached up to it, and he heard the smooth click as the 'suit's locks gave to her. The 'suit opened, revealing its internal structures, most of which seemed molded out of a foamy material, with a few stray leads and tubes neatly coiled and taped down to the sides. "So this is it." he said. "This is what you fight in."

She nodded. "Yes, since I was fifteen." She sighed, "It's what I was meant for. When they took it away, I thought I'd rather be dead. Later when I was sober enough to understand, I used to lie there and pray they hadn't salvaged it. When I got it back, I buttoned down in it and didn't come out for days. Born again hard, you might say." She smiled wryly, but the expression did little to hide the pain on her face.

"So what's it like to wear one of these things, anyway?" He asked, leaning in closer to the 'suit to study its insides. "It seems a little confining."

"No, not after you get used to it." She said, shrugging slightly. "You feel invincible when you hit dirt in one of these. It seems like nothing can stop you, but I know better now. But to feel the power, it's worth it."

"How does it work?" he asked, peering in.

"Come over here, if you really want to know." She motioned to a series of reclined chairs against the bulkhead. "I can't really show you much with mine. It's still on battlefield protocols, and won't respond to most normal commands. Anyway, this is better, sit." The chairs resembled the type found in a medical facility examination room, with several leads and monitor pads draped over its sides. "You'll have to strip to the waist." she said, nonchalantly. He cast her a suspicious look as he seated himself into the cool confines of the nearest one.

"We normally do this nude, Commander," She grinned, "But that won't be necessary for this little demonstration." She spoke matter-of-factly, and he couldn't tell if there was any ulterior motive hidden behind the professional precision in which she prepared the simulator.

He removed his blouse and tank, tossing them casually over an adjacent simulator before settling himself back into the chair. "I'm all yours." He claimed expansively, wondering if she caught the slight insinuation that hid under the sentence. She paused momentarily, gazing at him, and then obviously shrugged it off.

"Okay, these will monitor your physical responses during the simulation," she commented as she applied the sensors to his arms, neck, and chest. "As well as collecting data to help us fine tune the battlesuit to the individual wearer."

Niel had never been this close to Noble in their last two encounters, but now he could feel and smell her skin as she leaned over him and the sensations her hands created as they moved over his body were not unpleasant. Wistfully, he thought that her hands were lingering too long on his chest, but he could not gauge her reactions to the experience.

She produced a collar like device from behind the chair and clamped it securely around his neck. "This is your comm unit as well as the heads up display control panel. I've disabled all but the basics so you won't have to worry about settings or anything fancy." Niel had to fight the initial sensations of asphyxiation that swept over him as the collar automatically adjusted itself to a more comfortable fit. "Remember it takes over a year to become qualified to pilot one of these." She stated, "Also the jets are disabled. Can't tell you how many times they had to pry me out of the mud learning to use them." she rubbed the last lead against her shirt before patting it in place. "Now." She tapped a panel with a blunt finger, "When this lowers, you'll experience a little vertigo, but that will pass in a few seconds." She crossed to the operator's station behind the simulator. "Just lie back and enjoy the ride, Commander. I'll start with something simple." The overhead panel slowly descended, encapsulating him in complete darkness. "OK, here we go, three, two, one, drop."

Even though he was mentally prepared for the sensation of vertigo, it swept over him, almost causing him to empty the contents of his stomach. The simulator pads expanded rapidly, completely immobilizing him, and he almost panicked, fearing that something had gone wrong.

"Relax, Commander," Her voice filled his head through the simulators' speakers. "At this rate you'll go into cardiac arrest before we even begin." Noble reassuringly coached Niel into steadying himself. "Take slow, controlled breaths, don't fight the machine. There, that's better, now go ahead and move your arms and legs like normal. There should be a little extra resistance, sort of like walking through an extra thick atmosphere."

Niel began to move his arms and legs. Yes, he thought, it was a very dense sensation. Walking through water would be the closest he could come to describe the resistance that the simulator exerted on his limbs. Suddenly, the interior lights around his face flashed to life projecting the heads up display, a map on the right and an overlay of the battlesuit on the left formed the main part of the projected HUD, green flashers blinked in the lower right hand corner. Niel was standing, or felt like he was standing, on a nondescript, grassy plain.

"You still with me, Commander?" Noble asked.

"Yes, I'm still here Lieutenant. I'm just amazed at the realism, that's all." Niel was awestruck. He had been in simulators before, but none had this sense of total immersion. Every blade of simulated grass could be seen swaying in a gentle breeze. Even the artificial sky looked right, with several clouds drifting by at the higher altitudes. "Non military simulators don't come anywhere near this level of realism." Excitement came through clearly in his voice.

"If you like this," Her voice steadied him, almost soothed him, "then you'd really get a kick out of the real thing."

She watched him on the monitors as he tried the virtual 'suit out, finally able to study him without his knowledge. Most of her men were larger, especially in bulk, but there had never been a glimmer of arousal from viewing their bodies. Morrison was something completely different; maybe it was his novelty, or maybe something completely different. He had well maintained muscles that rippled smoothly beneath his skin, superbly maintained from countless hours spent in a gym, but something about him bothered Arien. She had seen countless nude men as part of standard combat prep, and each had been as hairless as she was. Morrison had a light covering of fine hairs over his arms, darker hairs across his pectorals that flowed smoothly downwards towards his abdomen. She was used to eyeing her platoon, which was, as a group, decidedly low on the attractiveness scale. She'd often heard herself called the best looking man of them all. As the only female in the platoon, she didn't really consider that much of a compliment but this man was different.

She had been coddled in the environs of the Corps, with men who fell squarely in their places. There were men she outranked, and those that outranked her. The behaviors pertaining to these had been trained into her from the tender age of fourteen. Much rarer were her equals, those so called peers. Peers could be any number of things, the most common being those equal to her in rank. Also considered peers in the general military pecking order were those of different ranks (within reason) who did the same job as she did. Rey Hathaway was also a platoon leader, even if he was a marine captain, and was therefore her peer. And, because of the extreme latitude that their relationship might entail, Niel Morrison would be her peer if they cemented this growing relationship. She had to be able to belay his orders at will, when her gut instinct and grasp of the situation at hand told her she was correct.

As long as both parties were discreet, sexual contact between peers in the military structure was admissible. In the rare situation when a naval/marine commander pairing was of opposite genders, it was almost expected. Occasionally, even when both were of the same gender, it happened.

Niel Morrison was the first peer that Arien had ever know that she felt even a vague spark of sexual interest towards. She was at a complete loss as to what to do about it. She had sworn off of sex when she'd left Drummond, and with her appearance, it hadn't been a difficult task. Men occasionally hit on her, but they were homosexuals, and believed that she was a large, well muscled and handsome man. Women hit on her, more often than she cared to consider, for generally the same reasons. They split both ways. Either they were straight, and thought she was that man, or they were homosexual, and she was well aware that she wasn't. None of these scenarios appealed to Arien. She had recognized Niel's response to her in the hangar as a slightly muddled and well camouflaged 'Oh my, it's a woman!' but coiled underneath it all was still the attraction, and she believed that he felt it too. She almost wished it wasn't there, life was easy without it. She had no experience on how to proceed with it being there, and she wasn't really certain that she even wanted to pursue it.

A quick glance at the monitor showed that Niel was still clunking awkwardly around the simulated landscape. "Okay Morrison, got your legs yet?" she asked, stifling the chuckle from her voice. It didn't do to laugh at your potential naval commander over his performance. Anyway, he wasn't doing half bad, for a rank beginner.

"I believe so." His voice was muffled from the depths of the simulator.

"Right, then." She leaned over and tapped a few instructions to the computer controlling Morrison's simulator. "A targeting reticule should appear in the lower right hand corner of your HUD. Just move your right arm until the reticule is centered on a target. You should be familiar with the firing mechanism, just ball your right hand into a fist then squeeze down with your thumb. Maintain contact with the stick at all times or the weapon won't fire. Now why don't we try some static targets, then? Something to shoot at while you wade through that grass."

He crowed as he engaged the first target. The 'suit's weaponry was synonymous with the fire control stations on any naval vessel, and this drill was old to him. The combined Imperial Navy and Marines used equipment designed to fit, if not seamlessly, at least well, with all personnel training. Noble could, in a pinch, handle quite a few of Firestorm's stations. Niel, likewise, could fudge his way through many of her shipboard duties.

Niel was quickly mastering the art of engaging the lifeless targets that randomly appeared on the virtual landscape. Most were nothing more than humanoid silhouettes that rose up from the ground at varied distances. Occasionally, a nondescript vehicle or 'suit silhouette would appear. These generally required several direct hits before registered as a kill.

Arien nodded to herself, deciding to give Morrison a little more of a challenge as he easily ripped through the static targets popping up in the pseudo landscape. She quickly peeled out of her tank and slapped the other couch's sensor leads to her body with the speed of a much practiced veteran. It would be good to get some simulator time in before she dropped for real. She accepted the sudden end of reality with ease, and her avatar appeared one hundred meters from his. She cut swiftly to flank him, moving with graceful bounds that belied the half ton weight the simulator imposed on her. Arien was in her element, far from the rather awkward young woman she was in reality. Power, strength, she reveled in what she could become. She was a killer by nature, that fact was condoned and conditioned by His Imperial Majesty's Marine Corps. But the smooth righteousness of a gross killing machine came upon her only when she was mounted up within the 'suit. The simulation lacked a great deal of the physical sensations of the actual 'suit, and did not respond as the 'suit built to her specifications did, but it was close enough to unlock that instinct. With a flick of her eyes, the weapons control acquired Morrison as target, and the crosshairs went to scarlet.

A new target appeared in Niel's periphery, and he knew instantly this one was different. It moved with a speed and ease that was unmatched by the best the simulator had yet offered. Niel had enough experience to immediately gauge that what he faced now was a flesh and blood aggressor, and that it could only be Noble. She moved across his path, bobbing and weaving in a pattern designed to confuse his onboard tracking systems and yet slowly eroding the distance that separated them.

A warning indicator flared to life, she must be tracking him but did not fire. She's toying with me, Niel thought as he cut wide to his left in an attempt to increase the distance between them. The running motion of the 'suit confused him and the jostling the crosshairs made a target lock damn near impossible, but the weapons setup was identical to the simulators at Thackeray, and he could play the shooting game. There was no chance for him to even hope of going toe to toe with her, he had to rely on marksmanship if he was going to beat her. He decided to play tactically instead, accepting her greater ability, but maneuvering to cut her down. He suddenly jammed his feet into the ground, killing his forward momentum in one motion, set back, and launched the first round of laser pulses at her.

The superheated air scorched the grass in a swath that ended at Noble's feet. The hit was good, her 'suit's wide sweeping motions bobbled suddenly, and fragments of ceramic sandwiched armor flew into the air. Noble stopped swiftly, pivoting to provide less of a target, and lifting her 10mm cannons to bear on him. There was the tiniest glimpse of vented steam from her left arm before the plink, plink, plink of several dead on hits registered. He lost his balance slightly and staggered backwards as the simulator threw the impact force of the rounds against his armored shell. The battlesuit overlay in his HUD went from green to yellow, indicating sections that had been damaged.

Naval simulators did not need to compensate for impacts; a Lisbon class ship like Firestormrequired too much inertia to change her bearing. He was disorientated by the sudden wobbling sensation, but continued to backpedal in an effort to maintain distance. His targeting reticule flashed amber briefly as it dance across Nobles' battlesuit but his second burst failed to score a hit. Again Noble fired. Plink, plink, plink then crack! Her shot grouping was tight, armor gave way, and Niel was introduced to yet another difference between naval and marine training, pain. Honest, real pain flared out from the last impact site and Niel cried out. It had not occurred to him earlier that these simulators would also deliver pain but the Imperial armed forces always strove for realism in its training.

Niel recovered from his disorientation in time to discover that Noble had closed in for the kill, her battlesuit charging his position at break neck speed. In desperation, Niel dropped his cross hairs on her advancing battlesuit and fired at point blank range. His shots scored two direct hits, the last penetrating deeply into the right arm of the battlesuit's interior mechanism. The right arm of the 'suit fell away in a shower of sparks and flame. Niel could have sworn he heard her yell from outside of the artificial environment, but her battlesuit still bore down on him.

Noble struck Niel's battlesuit squarely on the torso with the full brunt of her assault. The momentum of her charge was devastating, sending him tumbling through the grassy field. Niel screamed again as a great weight drove the breath from his lungs and white hot pain shot through his head as the simulator imparted on his body the force of the attack. The battlesuit overlay began flashing in the HUD, going to crimson, and Niel knew that his 'suit had experienced total systems failure. He watched as Noble raised her left arm, the dark gray muzzles of her cannons aiming directly at his head. Suddenly, Niel did not want to "play" any more.

"Uncle!" He gritted out, hoping she had the comm link running. He keyed the exit option, and the ache blessedly faded. The pressure lifted, and the virtual landscape faded as the unit lifted up from his body.

Noble lay reclined in the couch next to him, nude to the waist, muscles tense. As he watched, the unit retracted, and she came out from under the simulator. Pure, unbridled aggression glazed her features, her breathing labored, and her eyes darkened to near blackness. She stood, removing the sensor pads, and by the time she glanced back at him, she had regained control.

"Sorry." She shrugged. "I'm used to playing for keeps. The boys don't pull their punches, you know." She slowly rotated her right arm, massaging a reddish welt forming near the joint.

"No, of course not." The pain had faded to a slight twinge, and Niel was in the mood to be magnanimous. The view was interesting to say the least, and she seemed oblivious to his gaze. He struggled for a moment to remove the collar, until she finally chuckled and came to his rescue.

"Here, let me get that." she laughed, and leaned over him to work the catch. He was assaulted by her smell, soap, coffee, clean sweat and woman. She deftly released him from the contraption, and he was free to rise to his feet. She was eye level with him as he stood, one of the few women who could claim that distinction. She blinked suddenly when he raised his hand and laid it against her cheek, and her nipples hardened as she became aware of her unclothed state. He rested his other hand on her waist just under her ribcage, and she jerked her breath in, tightening the thick muscles under his fingers. He leaned forward, closing what little distance between them remained.

He should have known better, but he was bargaining on a much more acceptable response than she was to give him. Her nostrils flared and her eyes widened, and suddenly he was hanging in midair. He caught the simulator couch at the back of his knees and toppled gracelessly over it and on to the deck beyond. His first thought was that she had struck him, but he quickly realized she had simply pushed him away from her. "Shit." he muttered. Nothing more than his pride had been hurt in his ignominious sprawl, and he pushed himself back to his feet. She stared at him warily, arms wrapped under her rapidly rising and falling nipples. Niel spread his hands carefully apart, hoping to defuse a situation suddenly gone badly. Noble weighed nearly as much as he did, and he had been trained to do his killing at long range. He had few doubts that she could seriously hurt him, and he had seen none of her platoon in the prep bay, so they would be no rescue for him. She gazed at his empty hands for a long moment, and when her eyes returned to his, they contained some calm.

"I think I should be leaving now, Lieutenant." He said as slowly and as gently as he could manage. "Thanks for the demonstration."

She nodded, but still did not speak. He turned, trying to move with as little threat as possible, regained his uniform, and exited the bay. He waited for the pressure door to drop before he gave vent to his frustration.

"God damn it!" He snarled. Of all of the asinine things to have done! Not only had he just cost himself her respect and any chance of a relationship, he had lost any hope of acquiring her as a marine commander. He left the dropship in a barely checked fury, blowing past the two marines lounging near the hatch.

Schrader watched Morrison go, worried at the darkness on the man's face. Barely controlled rage had been obvious in Morrison's eyes, and for the slightest moment, Schrader feared for Noble. Something had happened in the short amount of time that the pair had been alone in the prep bay. He glanced over at Hawkins, who shrugged. "I've seen happier." the older marine agreeing with Schrader's unspoken question. "I'll go check on her." Hawkins stated, leaving without giving Schrader a chance to argue, or to volunteer for the job himself.

"Whereabouts, Noble?" Hawkins demanded of the carrier's voice link to the internal main computer.

"Noble, Arien L. is currently on the preparation deck." the computer's implacable voice stated.

She was still there when he made it down, sitting in brooding silence on the arm of the simulator chair. "Hawkins." She greeted slowly.

"You okay, Boss? We saw Morrison leave in a hurry, and he looked pissed enough."

She chuckled mirthlessly, rising to her feet. "Uh, yeah, that." She was embarrassed; Hawkins realized suddenly, an emotion that he'd never seen her show before. "He, I think he just hit on me. No, I know he just hit on me. I didn't see it coming, and I think he thought I didn't, wouldn't."

"He thought you wouldn't turn him down, sir." Morrison did not strike Hawkins as a man who had to work hard on his conquests. And Noble didn't seem to be a woman often pursued. She'd certainly had no interested males around since taking over the Eighteenth.

Arien sighed, shaking her head. "Well, thanks for checking on me anyways. I'll be in quarters, if I'm needed." She could feel him watch her as she left the prep bay moving back into Brimstone's barracks. She hadn't meant to push Morrison, not at all. He had just surprised the hell out of her, not that she should have been surprised. In a way, she'd been asking for it and that realization rankled her.

Tease was not an adjective she would like to have applied to herself, but that was exactly what she had done, or at least had started out doing. She strode through the empty deck towards her compartment, her "private" quarters. Compared to how the men were berthed, it was considerably more private, but few would go much farther than that. Arien's 'berth' was a three by three meter cubicle, a cubbyhole formed by three three meter bulkheads and one which contained the entry way. A simple metallic wardrobe flanked by a chest of drawers, a small desk and her bunk comprised the content of the compartment. The bunk rested on four support struts with the desk with chair filling the space beneath it.

She climbed up into the bunk and studied the deck above. "Damn." She muttered. That entire event had been the work of a real brain trust, she thought sarcastically. She had behaved like a child, then freaked when she actually got what she was angling for. There was no excuse for her behavior. Never in a thousand years, had she believed that she could elicit that kind of a response from him, not that quickly. "Way to go, Noble." She snapped bitterly. She sighed, turning things over in her mind. Arien hated times like this, times when the specter of her addiction reared its ugly head. She lied, to everybody, including herself, when she said she had it kicked. It was there often, it was the reason she worked so hard. It came back in the quiet times, in the dead times when she was alone with herself. Before it had held the promise of a few moments of pain free existence, but now things were different.

This difference frightened Arien in ways she couldn't begin to comprehend. It was easier to tell people that she had been an addict because of the pain. It was true, there was no denying that. But now it offered solace from the doubts, comfort in the emptiness of her life. It offered sleep, the hours and hours of sleep she'd become accustomed to. When she had been using, there had been no down time. She was either awake and working, or she'd been asleep. Arien had forgotten how to deal with time, and a soldier often found a hell of a lot of time on her hands. She wasn't certain how much time she could handle, and Morrison had offered an activity to keep her occupied. If he got away, she would be faced with the tedium of trying to find a replacement for him. She had liked his forthright style, his willingness to cut through the bullshit of the courtship and drive for the bone underneath. Well, Arien wasn't willing to let him slip away without one final drive for what she wanted. She bounded from the bunk, revitalized by a sudden decisiveness. He had cut through the first layers of carefully orchestrated garbage to hand her the deal, she would cut through the remaining layers and make her intentions clear to all.

"Yes, Noble?" Captain Devry asked, watching her enter his office. He liked her, which was why he'd let Morrison have first crack at enticing her. She saluted, and he waved it away. "Sit." He ordered, "What's on your mind, Lieutenant?"

"I've come to tender my new choice for Carrier, sir."

Quick answer he though. She'd been away from McCloskey less than two weeks and here she was ready to accept a berthing from another captain. But then, Arien Noble had an agenda, the same as Daniel Morrison had. Get on to the front as soon as possible, and salvage her reputation there. "Who's the lucky captain?"

"Morrison, sir." She stated. Little surprise there, Devry had heard he was courting her hard, exactly as he had hoped.

"It's still early, Noble. No one's pushing."

"I've made up my mind, sir." She continued stubbornly, and Devry smiled slightly.

"One moment, then." he keyed the com, calling Morrison to conclude the formalities by getting his approval. "Morrison. Good to catch you. Noble is in my office."

"Oh?" there was a wary edge in Morrison's voice that Devry did not like.

"Yes. She has come to tender her choice for Firestormas carrier for her contingent. Do you accept?" Something was going on here, something that Devry did not understand, and he wished he knew what it was, exactly.

"Do I accept?" Shock colored Niel's voice, "She wants Firestorm? Damn straight, I accept!"

"He accepts." Devry stated to her. "Effusively. What in the hell has he done?" She shook her head, refusing to answer, and he sighed. It was exactly the response he was expecting from her. "Very well then, Morrison. I will post the pairing. Prepare for mobilization, you will be assigned Hyaline Splendor as a sister vessel, and both ships will be sent to the front as soon as possible." He broke the connection before Morrison could respond, glancing in Noble's direction.

"You heard me, Noble. The clock is ticking."

"People, people, attention! We lift as soon as we get telemetry from the carrier!" Arien bellowed, "Schrader, give the recall sequence! I need everybody present and accounted for yesterday. You people know the drill, move!" The platoon flew into motion, running to begin lift procedures.

"Telemetry coming in now, Lieutenant!" The pilot shouted over the clamor of pounding boots, "INC Firestorm, correct?"

"That's her!" She shouted in reply. "Time to lift window?"

"Forty five for an immediate lift. If we miss it, we'll be another sixteen hours down."

"We're not going to miss the window! Schrader, my duffel's on C-deck, see that it gets to my quarters. How many are out and away?"

"Four. Two have called in already." Schrader called back, deep in the logistics of gathering the entirety of the dropship's crew for a lift. The lack of warning did not bother him one bit. All away personnel should be able to return to the dropship within thirty minutes or less. All of the flight crew was present, the four stragglers were not necessary to begin the lift cycle for the vessel.

"Receiving telemetry from Hyaline Splendorand Splendid." The pilot barked, "They're converging on our point with Firestorm."

"Our sister vessels, that's all." Arien reassured. "Splendidis Hathaway's dropship, isn't she?" Arien knew Rey Hathaway by general acquaintance only, but he seemed good enough.

"Aye, sir!" Hawkins returned, "Three of our strays have returned to the nest."

A sensation that Arien had not felt in a long time returned, as the lock on her Icom/jump computer was broken by Command HQ in readiness for her return to duty. 'Good morning, Noble.' Hathaway's voice cut through the system, 'You're with us for this one. Good to have you on. Lift status, please?'

Her jump computer updated automatically, scrolling through its newly acquired information, before blinking out again. 'Lift window in forty five, Splendid.' She returned, and the communications officer frowned. The pilot sent him a look, and he went back to his station.

'You ready for that Noble? Next window is in sixteen.'

'We're ready. See you up top for debriefing in two.'

'Two, then. Morrison will make the sixteen window.' There was vague amusement under Hathaway's tone. Noble could get her entire dropship up in forty five minutes, with all hands, but Niel Morrison couldn't make it up until the next lift window. 'Shuttles are behind, I hear.' Hathaway continued.

'We're not behind.' she retorted.

"Message from Tower. Cleared to lift in fifteen and counting down." Brimstone'pilot blared out from the cockpit. All engines on line, now!" Arien felt the buck and catch as the dropship's engines started. "All in the green!" The pilot continued. "We look good to go!"

"All hands present, sir." The personnel officer yelled.

"All hands, prepare for lift-off!" The pilot's voice came over the intercom. Arien buckled herself into her seat, and watched the preparations continue. She had little to do with this part of dropship operations. She knew how to pilot, and how to handle all of the other stations on the dropship, in case of emergency, but she was infantry. She had a crew to handle the dropship, which was their job, not hers.

"Ghaldin Tower, this is Imperial Marine dropship zero one niner fife, we are reading green across the board."

"IMD zero one niner fife, we copy green across the board. Lift-off for you is ten and counting. Good luck."

Arien felt the normal, queasy feeling as the dropship came off of the tarmac and hovered there, supporting its thousand tons on its back blast, fusing the concrete beneath it into a solid sheet of slag. "Lift is still green." the copilot noted, "Holding at maximum output with no waver."

"Confirmed." The pilot said, watching his monitors warily.

"IMD zero one niner fife; you are cleared for takeoff at your discretion." The Tower controller's voice came on, and the dropship lifted off, bound for Niel Morrison's ship in orbit over Ghaldin.

Niel received the message that Brimstone successfully rendezvoused with Firestormas he sat in his quarters. She moved fast, that one, but Devry probably had a lot to do with the speed of her response. He had a marine commander, the very idea made him chuckle. She had apparently decided to forgive his indiscretion on the prep bay, and still allow him the chance to prove that he was capable to berth her ship. He glanced over at his portable computer, and typed a query.

Arien's personnel file scrolled across the screen. Niel sighed. Nothing more than what he was expecting. It was a rather antiseptic overview of her marine service. The screen displayed the typical information that anyone could get access to. Something was not right, he thought. Her enlistment date was odd, 24 June 1183. She could only have been fourteen at the time. He reached tapped the screen icon to access the secure database.

Input clearance code now:

Niel's fingers flew over the keys in response

"Clearance matched, Morrison, Daniel E." There was a momentary blink, and the screen showed the IMC cover page.

He accessed Arien's enlistment files. There should be an extensive explanation of the Corps' reasons for taking her enlistment at such a young age.

"Enlistment file, Noble, Arien L. Enlistment, 24 June 1183. Hardship clause invoked by order of Thausman, Eli, Major, IMC. Following reasons given:

"Re: Noble, Arien

It is my belief that the Imperial Marine Corps would be more than justified in invoking the hardship clause for this would-be enlistee. Miss Noble has much to give the Corps, and I believe that her continued well being, if not her life, is jeopardized by living on Drummond. (Computer Ed: Indigenous name for Taskedi IV) Not only is Miss Noble completely bereft of adequate adult supervision, she is regularly victimized by those authority figures in her life. Unless the Corps intervenes, it is my belief that Arien Noble will be dead before she can reach adulthood. She is large, strong, and very mature for her age, and well understands the commitment that the Corps demands. She has sought the Corps out without any recruitment on our part, and has exhibited herself to be willing to find a life within the Corps.

Eli Thausman, Major, IMC.

Medical and psychological examinations show evidence of physical trauma, and mental and sexual abuse of the subject. The contents of these records have been sealed by order of the Imperial Marine Corps due to their sensitive nature."

Niel sat back, stunned. Nothing less than gross abuse or neglect would have spurred the Corps to supersede a parent's rights over their child, and when Noble enlisted at fourteen, the Corps had assumed legal guardianship over her. Sealed due to sensitive nature, yes, but there were ways around that.

The actual hardship clause paperwork would be sealed, but not her medical files, he just needed to read between the lines to find what that he was looking for.

"Medical file, enlistment, 24 June 1183, Noble, Arien. "Subject is a fourteen year old female, height 185, weight 72. Blood type A pos., NKA. bp 102/70. temp 38.7. Abnormal blood work noted consistent with infectious agent not known at this time. Initial examination shows subject to be undernourished, with physical trauma consistent with beatings on the upper rear torso, most recently one week. Suggest more through examination with doctor.

Doctor's examination: Diagnosis, Puerperal fever, began broad spectrum antibiotics. Subject has given birth to full term pregnancy within the past two weeks, (whereabouts of child unknown) in less than hygienic circumstances. Resultant infection should clear without complications. Also began subject on high fat, high protein diet to bring weight up. No problems found that would disqualify subject from admission to the Corps."

Niel considered this, it required less reading between the lines than he was expecting. "Damn." he muttered. This was going to more difficult than he'd first thought, and oddly, the situation angered him deeply. "Enlistment photograph."

There was another blink as the computer accessed the IMC database, before showing what he asked for. There was not much difference between Arien Noble at fourteen and ten years later, he decided. The fourteen year old version had a startled, wary edge that no longer remained, and more hair, but little about her had changed. "Just what in the hell do you see there, Niel?" He asked himself quietly. Unfortunately, he could come up with no answer. He checked his watch, and sighed. It was time to pack, so that he could catch the shuttle that would carry him to the waiting Firestorm, and make his mark on the Navy. His own mark, not the one that his father had bargained and engineered for him. Let his brothers let the old man live their lives for them, Niel intended on living his own now. He had never wanted to go to Thackeray, and he'd had to live down the failure of coming out ninth in his class. Ninth in a class of three thousand, three thousand of the finest young men and women produced by the Empire, but that fact hadn't mattered to his father. A Morrison should be the best, and ninth wasn't the best, was it? Well, screw it all. Niel would rise to the top on his own merit from now on. And he'd do it in Carrier Fleet, in Firestorm, with Arien Noble. None of these factors would be acceptable to his father, Carrier was not prestigious, Firestormwas a hulk, and Arien Noble had countless problems. But they all felt right, and Niel was going with his guts and his heart.

"Goodbye, Ghaldin." He said with a wry twist to his lips as he boarded the shuttle to carry him up and away from this forsaken place. Above him, his ship held orbit and waited for her captain. And, snugly attached by her umbilicus, inverted and resembling a large parasite, Noble's dropship was docked to his Firestorm.

## Chapter Three
##

24 August 1192

Briefing room, IMCD0195 Brimstone,

Imperial/Drelanii border, Hevish

"Alright then." Arien studied the read outs coming up on her briefing monitors. The colonel conducting the briefing was hundreds of kilometers away, ensconced in the safety of the marine flagship, Deadly Honor, but his words, visage and information came to the assault commanders via ship link. "This initial insertion point team will be led by Captain Hathaway. Lieutenants Noble, Jesper, and Rawlings will be under his command. Captain, I need you to drop on a line roughly corresponding to the one that should be coming up on screen now." A brilliant line of crimson cut across Arien's digitally map of their objective. "The Drelanii and local assets are heavily dug in so the ride down is going to be rough. Orbital bombardment should be sufficient to open holes in the defenses around your LZs. After planet fall you will proceed on azimuth 1200 to this point here." An orange X appeared on the higher of two mounds. "There is a command and control center at this location. Orbital bombardment of the target would cause too much collateral damage and air strikes may not produce the desired effect. Your marines will perform a surgical strike against this target. You are but one of several assaults being conducted in this operation. Nevertheless, your target must neutralized for phase two of the assault to proceed. You are the nucleus of the first drop, with the main line of the assault holding the back door. Good luck." The link was aborted abruptly, no time or inclination for pleasantries.

"FirestormControl this is Stone Alpha, requesting jump times."

"Stone Alpha," The voice of Firestorm's comm officer came on line. "We show jump in three hours, fifteen minutes. Transit times are eight standard days, to interior orbit. Jump end, eight standard days, four and one half hours, approximate. Will advise when numbers are tighter."

"Thank you, Firestorm ." Eight days, four and a half hours to jump end. One more hour for transport, and Arien's platoon would hit its first target of this campaign. "Hawkins." she spoke to the empty room. There was the momentary pause as the computer worked out where he was before opening the channel to him.

"Aye, sir?" He came back quickly.

"Dirt landing: eight days, fife and a half hour, approximate."

"Aye, Sir. Eight, fife and half, give or take." He repeated tersely. "Roger that."

Arien sat back, staring at the maps that upgraded themselves continuously as more and more data flooded into the system. This would be the first combat drop she would make with her new platoon, their shake down mission. The honeymoon was over, and all of those little questions that lurked in the back of her mind would be answered. She'd been out of the saddle for almost three years now; did she still have what it took to lead under fire? No matter how realistic a simulation was, the knowledge that it was a simulation always remained. This was real. People died. People got hurt, and were left behind. Friends, lovers, she thought, somebody else's family. Arien had no real family, but she understood the concept that these men with her did probably have somebody who cared for them. Her leg gnawed with a sudden, surreal pain, although it had given her no problems since the latest grafting had taken. It was psychosomatic, she chided herself, and the pain curbed to a faint memory. "This is what you wanted, no, craved, girl." Yes, more than anything, but the fear was still there.

'Dirtfall in eight fife and a half.' Hathaway's voice came over her Icom, with clarity unknown except in a direct Icom/Icom link. 'Confirm?'

'Confirm eight fife and a half.' She agreed. Lurid purple scribbling began to overlay the ridge line that was their objective.

'Eighteenth lands here.' The line was bisected with another. 'The Twenty Fourth will be on your right flank.' That would be Hathaway's troops. 'The Eleventh and the Twenty Second will be on your left flank, to the slope of this high ground.'

'Affirmative, sir'. The time to test her mettle was at hand.

"Captain, we have tentative jump/jump end times established." Firestorm's navigator stated. Niel nodded, feeling the sudden, sharp coil of excitement build in his abdomen.

"Give me Noble." He ordered, fighting to keep the thrill out of his voice.

"Stone Alpha is currently in an Icom/Icom link with Butterfly Alpha." The comm officer said, looking at his screen. "She has the ship-to-ship link still up for downloads from Deadly Honor, I could splice you into that, sir."

Butterfly Alpha would be Ray Hathaway, he mused. "No," He said to the comm officer, "Patch me through when she's clear."

'I estimate four hours to the actual objective from the LZ.' Hathaway continued, 'with the expected response to our drop.'

'I agree. Military Intelligence reports indicate minimal ground resistance expected so I doubled their figures and their time to target projections.'

'Timid?' He returned, 'Very well, I've doubled both those figures. Such cynicism for a young officer.'

'Voice of experience. Youth is irrelevant.'

'Okay I got your input Noble, I'll get on with Jesper and Rawlings now. Out.'

"Noble's on the line for you now, sir." The comm office reported.

"Stone Alpha this is Firestorm , what's your estimated drop window?"

"Firestorm actual, we estimate eight fife and a half to dirtfall, give or take."

"Does that compute?" He demanded of the navigator.

"I confirm eight five and a half, sir." She clipped back.

"Drop jump ends plus one hour." Her voice came out over the speaker. "Time to target is plus four hours."

"Confirmed Stone Alpha, Firestormactual out." Niel was thankful for the chance to speak to her if only for a brief moment.

Niel growled under his breath at that. "All crew, prepare for jump." he ordered, watching the bridge crew leap into action

"All hands, prepare for jump." Arien glanced up at the voice piped in from Firestorm's bridge, but did nothing in response. Now was the time a marine just let things happen. After all, what did marine stand for? The ancient joke came to mind, and she chuckled. "My ass rides in Navy equipment." she quipped. Bad the first time, worse now.

1 September 1192

Preparation Bay, IMD 0195 Brimstone

Jumpspace, exit point Gragel Orbit, Drelanii Federation.

Arien laced her fingers together and planted her hands on top of her head to allow Schrader to inspect her. She had been through this so many times that it no longer occurred to her that she stood in the bay, naked but for the dubious cover of tape securing her nipples, with a man checking her over. "Looks good." he nodded to the crew. "She's good to go." Every troop must get a final, visual inspection before beginning the procedure to 'suit up, no exceptions.

She scaled the gantry surrounding the 'suit, overriding the locks that hopefully kept it right where it belonged. The top portion came away from the bottom in preparation for donning. Although the 'suit had been inspected numerous times before, she found comfort in the ritual. She stepped into the lower half of the 'suit, squirming to find just the right fit before setting the compression. "Compression level?" Schrader demanded.

"Seventy-five." He nodded, marking it in the log he carried.

"Compensation level?"

"Eighty." The expression on his face did not change as he recorded that. Standard compression/compensation for a 'suit was seventy-five/seventy-five. Seventy five percent compression indicated a good state of health for the occupant. Too low meant that the 'suit would not fit properly, so under seventy-five was a very uncommon setting. Higher compression was handled by the 'suit's internal sensors, usually because of injury. If mass bleeding occurred, the compression heightened, turning the entire assembly into a pressure bandage, one body sized set of MAST trousers.

Compensation was more of a personal choice, as the occupant of the 'suit could change it at will. It was a measure of how much of the suit's weight was handled by its servo motors. A battlesuit weighed, with occupant, close to half a ton, not counting any outward equipment shouldered. Most of the weight was carried by the power boost in the suit, but a significant minority of the weight should be carried by the troop. Arien carried eighty kilos, or twenty percent, of the suit, not counting her extra gear, which added another forty kilos on top of that. So, when fresh, Arien carried a combat load of one hundred twenty kilos, lighter than most of her platoon. In cases of exhaustion or damage, the compensation levels rose, to a maximum of two hundred percent, meaning that a trooper had the capacity to carry his 'suit and four hundred kilos extra without feeling burdened. With prolonged operation that could lead to tin-can disease, the vernacular for muscular atrophy associated with running with high compensation, and was held in scorn by real suit troopers. It was a little embarrassing to be caught fresh with a higher compensation than seventy five percent, but Arien knew from experience that eighty was as low as she should ever start. No matter how large she was, no matter how hard she trained, Arien would never be quite as strong as the men that surrounded her. It had taken a lot of time for her to accept that truth, but she did in her own heart. She gave the platoon the blustery invincibility they expected to see, and they did not look deeply enough to find the chinks they all knew were there.

Finally set within the lower segment, Arien took a deep breath, and engaged the compression. The padding filled with air, pressing the 'suit tightly to her body, from her toes to a line which ran from her navel in the front to just beneath her shoulder blades in the back. The pressure finally settled, and she felt the complete immobility of full compression. "Good." she stated to Schrader, who nodded. She disengaged the lower belly hatch, pulling the catheter lead from the suit and readying for connection. Schrader chuckled, leaving her to her business. Once a trooper had the gist of this part of it, it was considered rude to watch. She forced herself to relax, placing the edges of her right fingers into her abdomen, feeling the coiled mass of the catheter. One deep breath and she contracted the muscles that controlled it, forcing the port to protrude. She caught the port deftly with her left fingers and ran the attachment from the suit.

Schrader was less than two steps away before she had finished. "Done, Schrader." She piped up.

"You are too good at that, sir. Hell, my instructor at the school wasn't that good at it." He griped, moving towards his own suit.

"I am good." She retorted playfully, combating the edge of tension she felt building. It always came now, as she ran through the checks. She had a recorded crash mounting speed of just at three minutes, solo, but she liked the slow, purposeful motions of normal mounting up, with a buddy.

"Modest." He finished.

She sank the top segment over her head, feeling it compress immediately. This was the part that bothered most people, the tight, claustrophobic reality of the dream. Warm, wetness flooded the suit, the glycerin/antibiotic mixture that comprised the final cushion for the inhabitant. Her heads up targeting display came up first on the interior of the face plate, followed by suit systems. Jump status and intra fleet communications scrolled along the bottom of the screen, mostly final preparations.

"Captain, Noble's on the line, sir." The comm officer stated.

"Good. Give her to me." The bridge was in a state of high tension, and Niel kept forcing himself to play it by the book, to do everything at the exactly correct time. "Stone Alpha, this is Firestorm ."

"Go ahead, Firestorm ." How, he wondered, was it humanly possible for an individual in her position to sound so damned calm?

"End jump is in thirteen minutes from my mark." There was a slight pause. "Mark."

"Copy that." She replied. "End jump in thirteen, pilot! Let's button up, people. We drop on end."

"I'll talk to you when you've returned, Stone Alpha." He tried to keep the doom from his voice. This was suddenly getting all too real.

"Copy that. Talk to you on the up, Firestorm ." She snapped back, and Niel let the contact go.

"We expect medium resistance from the planetary fleet when we hit orbit." he went into the motions. "We drop the dropship at perigee, and then join the fleet battle. Understood?" It was difficult to realize that his most important job was to evade the fleet battle long enough to drop his cargo, that went contrary to just about everything that he'd ever been taught before. This crew was old hands at this, and ignored the statement.

Arien locked her jump tether down, watching the jump warning light go from red to amber. It would probably get bumpy soon, especially if the planetary defense had any fighters to harry the carriers on drop approach. There was the slight scrambling sensation in her head as the jump computer fought for information from the Deadly Honor, to no avail yet. It was too early for that, but the system would search for the data anyway.

"End jump in thirty seconds!" She bellowed. Soon, the waiting would be over, and she could let her training take over. But she needed the appearance of total control now, when the men counted on it. The troops looked to their commanders for morale; their commanders sucked in their doubts and fears and showed an implacable mask of invincibility. Arien was lucky, all of her men were veteran combatants, and knew, probably better than she did, what was coming. She'd really hate to deal with a rookie right about know. Reality blurred around her as Firestormmaterialized back into real space, and she felt the suddenly disconcerting sensation of speed as the carrier ran for the planet.

"Green light, Noble." The pilot demanded. It was the last chance that she would have to abort this run. Her status board showed all green lights and she glanced down the line at her men. As one, they gave her thumbs up and she grinned despite the pressure on the lower part of her jaw.

"Good to go, pilot."

"All right, then. FirestormControl, this is Brimstone, and we are prepped for drop on my mark, in twenty." Arien braced for the jettisoning of the dropship from Firestorm's belly, "Ten, niner, eight, seven," The metallic clunk of the umbilicus disengaging from the docking ring resounded through the dropship. "Six, fife, four, three," the pilot continued the countdown, seemingly oblivious to what was coming, "Two, one, drop initiated." The bottom dropped out and the dropship went to insertion speed, bucking and weaving fire.

"Barf." Schrader grumbled. "Fucking hot drop."

"Say it." Hawkins joked, "Just don't do it! Barf, I mean. Nasty experience."

Arien knew that all too well. While the designers had considered the possibility of a loss of any or all bodily functions while buttoned in, they had not made the modifications that dealt with such a loss comfortable. She'd tossed the contents of her stomach once, and only once, during her entire career as a suit troop. The feeling was rather like attaching a vacuum cleaner to one's face and letting it rip, and Arien didn't need that again.

"Er, suction." She finally joked, and Hawkins did the exaggerated torso bob that passed for a nod.

"There speaks experience." He chortled.

"Unfortunately. Pilot, how are we holding?" Anything to change the subject, especially with her stomach reminding her that it hated drops and that she hadn't eaten any solids in two straight days. That was standard procedure to cut down on the solid waste problems encountered in a suit.

"A few fighters, but they've decided that the Fleet looks more interesting than we do right now. They'd have better luck that way." A dropship was designed to go nose to nose with suppressive fighters, either by firepower, or by sheer armored bulk as it bullied its way down. It made up for lack of a jump drive by muscle and the largest sub light engine in existence.

'Altitude: 3,982,000 meters and dropping.' the belated response of her jump computer finally kicked in, 'Jump status: green. Speed Mach 3.18'

"Shit. My jump comp is off." She snapped. Not enough to abort a drop in progress, even if they weren't already committed, but annoying anyway.

"No, mine just came on as well. Might be some sort of scramble between us and the fleet." Hawkins soothed. "Just a touch over an hour."

"Kick some ass and take some names!" Taylor bellowed, almost painfully loud over the comm unit. Schrader reached over and hit his suit with a hard backhand, and he silenced. Taylor was the youngest and least experienced of the platoon, and probably wouldn't last long.

'Noble?' The Icom connection was badly corrupted, she could just make out Hathaway's voice in the swallowing static.

'Hear you, Hathaway.'

'Bad scr....ble......nications bad.......on LZ,....kay? Again....go sil...t until on LZ..o..ay?'

Oh, yes. She grinned; you had to be dumb to be a grunt. Time for those cryptography skills. 'Affirmative, Hathaway. Will go silent until down on LZ. Repeat, will go silent until on LZ.'

'Roger.' The connection was broken, or failed all together; Arien was uncertain which it was.

The chime for drop sounded, ten minutes, and Arien began her final check of the men. All seemed well, and she nodded towards Hawkins. The sergeant signaled Prepare to Drop to the platoon. Each marine confirmed their readiness. "Ready for drop, pilot." She gave her final okay. The bay depressurized letting the planet's atmosphere rush in to the compartment.

"Copy that, Noble. We are in final approach."

Noble's jump computer read three minutes to drop when the armored doors beneath each Battlesuit opened, and she caught her first glimpse of the planet they were here to take. All sensory input came via the battlesuit. Even with that, the view was breathtaking and Arien was again filled with the same fear and exhilaration that every drop brought to her. The sky was brilliant crimson, a great orange ball of sun low on the horizon, and she wondered if it was dawn or dusk. Kilometers of vast ocean stretched to that horizon, purple and seemingly endless. It was a great spectacle, and the sudden awe cleansed the fear from her.

"All I see is water." Rasmussen complained.

"We're coming over the land now." The pilot retorted. "You marines are on your own."

"Derrrrop!" Arien stretched the order out into two syllables as the clamps that held her 'suit in place slid down the gantry and ejected her from beneath the dropship. Five hundred kilos of horribly unaerodynamic mass was dropped into nothingness.

There are two types of battlesuit troopers, those that love the drop, and those who tolerate it. Arien Noble was very much the latter. She could hear the exaltations of the former over the com, but she confined herself to looking for the landing zone on the rapidly approaching landscape. Anything to keep her mind from considering the consequences if the chute did not deploy, if something went wrong. 'You fuck up a HALO, and you'll be wearing one, boys and girls!' Her dropmaster's eerily jubilant voice came back to her, in the seconds before the chute deployed, on time and perfectly. Relief filled her as the battlesuits' freefall was terminated by the main chutes. Drag chutes were better than the suits jump jets, low tech, cheap, and didn't use power. That same power that could spell the difference between living and dying later on. Though without some sort of air break her battlesuit would obtain terminal velocity and the force of the impact would convert it into a ready made coffin. She hit the ground running to bleed off her forward momentum, and turned to watch the remainder of the platoon land in various levels of acceptable form. Before she could begin giving orders, they were up, setting a perimeter, ditching the chutes, and getting the fix on their exact position.

"Sir, we've come down here." Hawkins pointer flashed on the heads up display map indicating their relative position. "Well within tolerance."

Yes, that spot was almost centered directly on the area Hathaway had specified earlier for their drop zone. "So the objective is that way." She fitted her gear on the suits mounts, and began moving. The squad leaders positioned the platoon into a move to contact formation centered on Arien. The clock was ticking.

They had moved less than two kilometers when the distinctive report of ricocheting bullets erupted from the wood line; the platoon immediately returned fire as targets were illuminated on the battlesuit HUDS. Two squads began to advance and flank the targeted area. The battlesuit could withstand a direct hit from most small arms fire, except those anti-armor rounds specifically designed to burn through battlesuit armor. Luckily, these were standard rounds that simply flattened and shattered on impact.

The platoon status showed all green on Arien's HUD. "Anyone show a hit?" Arien keyed into her mike, trying to identify the caliber of the weapons by the sound. Small, very small. Not nearly enough to penetrate the armor of a 'suit.

"I took a few hits." Devlin came on. "Really small caliber. I didn't even feel it."

"Hawkins, what do we have?" Arien queried. Hawkins's squad was advancing towards the offending wood line, and so had the best view of the threat. The air above her was filled with the whining of bullets passing at supersonic speeds, and she searched for a target. Couldn't be more than one or two dozen weapons, automatic rifles and a squad machine gun, we will take them easily, she thought.

"We're coming through the trees now. We've got 'em." Hawkins identified as he released a hail of fire. The cries of the enemy were lost in the crescendo of the heavy caliber rounds that Hawkin's squad unleashed.

She listened intently after the short but deadly burst of fire ceased, then motioned the flanking scouts to move beyond the killing field. A few shots rang out from the skirmish line but were quickly silence by marine fire.

"Militia, boss, didn't have a prayer." Devlin's voice came over her comm, "Or were, I should say. Hawkin's boys done 'em good and proper."

"Only militia?" Arien asked, slightly confused. The planetary defense should have had about an hour warning before they actually hit dirt, more than enough time to mobilize. The orbital bombardment should have provided the defenders with some idea of where they were going to land. Obviously, if the militia was here, there had been some mobilization of the defending troops, but without armor support they hadn't stood a chance. Ambush up ahead, maybe?

"Stone Alpha, this is Butterfly Alpha, report, over!" Hathaway demanded.

"Stone Alpha down, and on site plus 2 klicks. Minimal, repeat very minimal, resistance, over."

"You've gotten resistance? What sort? Over."

"Militia with small caliber automatics, over."

"Roger, Stone Alpha, you're just ahead of the line, keep moving towards the objective, Butterfly Alpha, out."

"Let's move people, flankers out, Schrader," Arien paused as her map received updated data from the orbiting fleet. "Schrader, take your section to this crossroads here." she indicated on the map. "Most likely avenue of approach for reinforcements for our militia boys here."

"Yeah we'll leave them some presents. I'll update the map with the mine locations. Shouldn't take but five mikes."

The eight troopers sprang from their positions and moved with Schrader towards the roadway to lay the mines. Arien knew that Schrader would leave a mixed bag of anti-armor anti-personnel mines for anyone coming into the crossroads. Marine platoons all across the invasion front would automatically know the position of the mine field after Schrader had updated the platoons' HUD.

Studying the map, Arien felt something was not right. The going has been too easy. A world of hurt is waiting for us up ahead, I just know it. Too simple. Too easy.

"Don't worry, Boss." Taylor reassured her, "We're walking death and these bastards are gonna feel some Marine steel."

"Stow that shit, Taylor," She barked, "Keep your eyes and ears open, this thing ain't over yet."

As the minutes raced by, Arien spared only a momentary thought to the fleet overhead. Space battles could be very quick and very messy, and Firestorm was their ride out. If she was destroyed, they'd be stuck here unless they could convince another carrier to bring them out. But Arien pushed those thoughts aside. It wasn't worth worrying about what she couldn't change.

Just over four minutes had passed when Schrader's detail moved across the platoons' position. "All set, Boss." He stated, pausing for her next order.

"Move 'em out." Arien stood up and proceeded on towards the target.

"Sir, incoming missiles!" The pilot called out as the warning klaxon filled the bridge.

"Evasive maneuver Omega, heat up the point defense!" Niel swung his chair to face the tactical station. Thirty minutes into the invasion and not so much as one stray shot had come their way, and now a Drelanii destroyer came lumbering in his direction. He knew that he must keep Firestormalive and that she was no match for even this second generation vessel.

"Aye sir, point defense tracking. Not in range of her beams yet." The tactical officer's fingers danced over the console. "That pig's going to close the gap in fifty seconds."

Sweat began to burn the back of his neck and his heart began to throb almost painfully. He gripped the chair tightly as the ship's chronometer counted down. Real combat! This was not a simulation. If he screwed it up, people would die, he could die. Niel could feel the command staffs' gazes move over him, waiting for his orders. Life or death for his crew and possibly for Noble's marines too.

"Ten seconds to weapons range. Ninety nine percent of incoming eliminated, sir! Only a few got through." The warning klaxon blared to life again, signaling the immediate detonation of the enemy missiles.

Firestormshook violently as the surviving missiles struck home. How many made it through the screens? He wondered. "Damage control parties responding." The tactical officer reported. "She's lighting us up!"

The Drelanii destroyer closed the gap between herself and Firestorm, firing her nine primary beam projectors. The range was still too extreme for hopes of a crippling blow but the destroyers' captain was maneuvering his ship closer with every passing second. At closer ranges, even the hulking carrier could not endure the sustained punishment.

Firestorm's own weapons answered back. Energy weapons and missiles flew out towards the destroyer even as Firestorm's screen glowed crimson against the void. The space between the two warships was filled with crisscrossing missile trails and invisible energy beams. The destroyer charged onward towards Firestorm, her captain determined to kill the invading carrier. Though less heavily armed than the Drelanii destroyer, Firestorm's weapons were more advanced and she carried better screens and armor. This fight would not be over quickly.

"Damage control here, Captain. We've had to sealed off the starboard fire control center. That section's a total loss."

"Screens starting to buckle, sir, and the destroyer's aren't faring any better." Baker called out behind him. "Don't think they'll last much longer than ours."

"Get engineering to throw as much power as they can into them. Spin us around to port and bring secondaries on line." With the starboard batteries out, half of Firestorm's firepower was rendered useless.

Niel focused all his attention on the destroyers' energy emissions readout. Something is not right, he thought, that ship is pushing more energy than she should be. A sudden spike surged in the destroyer's energy emissions readout. It wasn't capable of that amount of expenditure unless, "Close with the destroyer, helm, fire all beams and pray."

Firestorm's great bulk swung around to bring her port weapons to bear on the destroyer, her screen now flaring brighter than Gragel II's sun. Her starboard thruster strained to move the ship closer still to the destroyer. Invisible beams of energy lanced out from her to lick across the destroyer's screens. Waves of energy cascaded across the surfaces of the destroyer's screens, giving shape to the invisible defenses that protected her. The Drelanii destroyers' screen flashed brilliantly, but briefly, and failed. Now, the unprotected hull of the vessel itself started to boil as armor plating fell under the tremendous torrents of energy. As the armor melted, then exploded outwardly from the destroyer, Firestorm's beams ravaged her unprotected internal components. Quickly the destroyer arched over to retrace its path from Firestormin an effort to escape its fate, its main thrusters flashed to life. She was running.

"Don't let him pull away!" Niel ordered tersely. His gamble had paid off. The destroyer's captain had sacrificed his screen strength in hopes of killing Firestormwith his larger batteries. Niel now urged his crew to move in for the kill. His ship had been battered by the destroyer's energy barrage and if the strain on her screens had lasted much longer it would have been all over. Now the destroyer and her crew would pay the price.

"Her engines are failing, sir." Baker chimed in. "I read hull breaches all over her, survival pods are launching."

The destroyer lurched and then spun as vents of oxygen erupted from her wounds. Fires and explosions were plainly visible throughout the ship and the vessel shuddered in her death throes. Tiny, tiny, specks of metal shot out from her on fiery tails, signaling the departure of her surviving crew members. The destroyer's energy reading began to spike again announcing her inevitable death.

"She's going to blow! Move the ship away now." First kill for Firestorm, Niel thought.

"Move us back into position with the fleet, get the damage control report up. How are we holding up?"

Arien's battlesuit went flying through the air with incredible speed. 'Move and shoot, move and shoot!' her drill instructor had always preached. Again, those lessons were proving themselves to be true. The platoon was a scant two kilometers from the target when they encountered real opposition.

Well shielded against the suits' onboard sensors, the first signs of the enemy presence were the exploding rocks and mud showering the platoon as the shells fell in and among her troops. "Weapons hot, fire at will." She coolly commanded, eyes flicking with a response trained beyond thought to her screens. Her battlesuit's computer was beginning to fill her HUD with updated information, the map instantly showed the position of the attackers that had made their presence known. Still might be some unknowns out there, she thought.

"Schrader, move your squad around the right flank, we'll plow up the middle." It was a simple enough plan, she wouldn't know more until the rest started shooting. "Watch your flank; don't know how many are out there yet."

"Roger, Boss, moving in two sec's."

In the space of a heart beat the platoon was up and moving, shooting at anything that posed a threat. They jumped, dodged and wove as the defenders sought to destroy the armored giants. These were not mere militia. These were Drelanii regulars equipped to deal with the modern battlefield.

Arien's battlesuit registered several hits and a couple of penetrations but nothing serious. Her suit could repair minor damage to its outer layer without a significant drain to the other systems. She was not in trouble yet. Her HUD chimed announcing that a suit had failed, Wang was down. She could see the platoons' roster flash across the HUD updating the operational status of her troops. Wang might still be alive for recovery; she grimaced, remembering her own mishap on a far away battlefield.

The troopers closed with the enemy positions in seconds, falling on the defenders like metal demons. Scarcely a moment was given for quarter as the defenders fired desperately at the Imperial Marines. These might be regular infantry, Arien chuckled, but they were no match for her troopers. Standard body armor and earthen bunkers were no protection against the fire power that poured into the defensive positions and armored personnel carriers. The screams and cries of the dying, and soon to be dead, were drowned out by the manmade thunder filling the air.

As Arien jumped her suit clear of a burning wreck, a solitary Drelanii soldier stood and fired a shoulder launched anti-tank rocket at her. She had no time to react to the incoming warhead, the detonation of which would most likely be fatal, and so she merely braced herself for the impact and explosion. The round landed center on her battlesuit's torso and shattered into a multitude of plastics and metal fragments, delivering only its kinetic energy against the armor. The force was sufficient to visibly shake the battlesuit, but did no other damage. Too close to the arm itself, she grinned, it was a cherry's mistake. The soldier dropped the launcher in horror and disbelief and turned to flee. Arien's guns barked once, quad gun ports spitting ten millimeter slugs at nine hundred rounds per minute, cutting the man in half, his upper torso falling backwards as his lower torso took several steps forward.

A tank suddenly lurched forward, emerging from beneath its camouflaged hiding place. Conventional armor might not have the speed or maneuverability of a battlesuit but they were inexpensive and carried a lot of firepower.

Its main gun belched fire and caught one of her troopers solidly in mid leap. The battlesuit disintegrated in a fiery blast, sending chunks of smoldering flesh and armor raining down over the battlefield. Another chime from her computer and another trooper down, no recovery for Diosdado, Arien thought.

Arien quickly designated the tank on her map and keyed third squad to deal with it, she and second squad would move forward to secure the far side of the killing zone. Schrader's element was sweeping through the enemies positions from her right flank eliminating any survivors that were missed in their first deadly pass. Moore moved up beside her, lighting the scrub with blasts from the incendiary thrower he carried piggyback.

"External temp 139 degrees C." Her gauge flashed amber. The earlier damage must have compromised some of the coolant systems for a little grass burning to set off her warning systems. She stepped back out of the heat zone, motioning Taylor to take her place. The youngling bounded up, motioning his main weapon threateningly about.

"Knock it off, Taylor." She growled. "This isn't a game." As if to punctuate that statement, both Wang and Diosdado's names went crimson as the suit's computer chewed on the new data it received through the platoon link.

"Who's damaged?" Schrader tersely demanded. "I'm getting screwy feedback."

"I'm at," She glanced at her status board, "Seventy eight percent. Looks worse than it is, but I have some sort of coolant problem."

The tank exploded, flattening a ring of trees for meters around it, and setting more brush to fire. Arien cursed vividly, forced to step even farther backwards from Moore as the heat wave washed forward. She was cut off for a moment, and the temperature gauges rose. "External temp 247 degrees C. Internal temp 46 degrees C." Now, they both read amber, but the internal was edging towards red. The temperature within the suit spiked, and Arien backpedaled furiously, eyes on her gauges. If the internal temperature rose much more, she would lose consciousness, and then the platoon would have to leave her behind for later retrieval.

"Noble!" It was Schrader, tied into the command channel. "Noble, sound off!" At those words, the platoon's radio traffic went silent. The platoon saw that the commander's icon had gone off line and they silenced, waiting for her response.

"I'm alright!" She snapped. "I'm alright, Schrader. I have a cooling malfunction." The heat seemed to be lessening, or perhaps she was just acclimating.

"I said, SOUND OFF, Noble!" Schrader snarled viciously over the open channel.

More fire ricocheted off of her suit, and Arien realized that the few remaining enemy troops had taken notice of the damaged battlesuit and were attempting to exploit its vulnerability. She cycled her weapons over to high cool, which would cut down the rounds she could send out, but lessen the stress on the suit's failing coolant system. The measured pit pit pit pit rang out as she backed towards where she had lost contact with Moore.

"External temp 232 degrees C, internal temp 44 degrees C." Less, but the loss was painfully slow. Arien could feel herself beginning to hyperventilate, and fought the urge to do so. She never did tolerate heat well; her bulky frame was just not built to handle it. "Screw it." She muttered to herself and began overriding her signal.

"Schrader, Noble sounding off." She finally managed, still placing suppressing fire into her attackers. "I have lost my transmitter. I'm overriding the signal through Icom."

There was a muffled clunk as she collided with Moore. He grabbed onto her back and sent a deafening burst of suppresser rounds over her shoulder. The 12.7mm rounds ate through the few remaining Drelanii soldiers, and Noble's tactical screen went clear.

"I copy that, Noble." Schrader had lost some of the panicky edge to his voice.

"I have her, Sergeant." Moore cut in. Arien assessed the situation before choosing to vent the suit, spewing the internal air out into Gragel's atmosphere. The temperature dropped blessedly, and the dizziness retreated, but the transmitter remained off-line.

"I've vented, and my transmitter isn't coming back. I'll have to piggyback my signal for this one." She stated, cursing her bad luck. Only her platoon would be tied into her signal now. If she was truly separated from them, she would be thoroughly screwed, and she doubted if it would be enjoyable.

Taylor signaled the all clear as third squad completed their sweep of the area. "Carry on to objective." She ordered, more feeling than hearing the words echo through the platoon. "Over watch formation, Taylor, you got point." Time to teach the kid to be careful or get him killed, whichever came first.

They reached the command and control center, which was little more than a couple of large machine sheds, without further incident. Noble, her voice eerily carried by the Icom piggyback, giving the attack orders. Schrader was worried; she still had her suit on full vent, contrary to procedure. He knew that the internal temp had gone critical and still wavered on occasion, but she sounded good.

The Twenty-fourth was already engaging the defenders on the far right flank of the objective. It was apparent that the Twenty-fourth had beaten them here by two or three minutes and she didn't like coming in second. Arien had ordered her platoon to assault through the target and sweep the preoccupied troops. If she couldn't be first then at least she'd get the kill, she thought with a carnivore's grin.

Caught between the two platoons, the Drelanii were doomed. Their morale broke as soon as Arien's platoon stormed through the machine sheds and hammered them against the Twenty-fourth. The fleeing troops were cut down until they were beyond the effective range of the marine weapons.

"Gods damn you, Stone Alpha!" Hathaway yelled on her channel. "You kill stealing shit!"

"Don't be a sore loser, Butterfly Alpha," Arien smirked. "Besides it was your battle plan and so you'll get the credit."

"Still girl, if you're gonna screw a guy, you may as well let him have a reach around." Hathaway retorted, in full audio of both platoons.

"No one got screwed here but these poor bastards, sir." Arien motioned to the human lying around them.

"Job well done, Marines." Hathaway addressed the platoons on the command channel, "Police up your trash, move out to your primary landing zones and prepare for extraction."

'Besides stealing my kill, you and your men did a good job, Stone Alpha.' Hathaway sent via Icom. 'I'll talk to you at the after action debriefing.'

'Roger that, sir.'

Radio traffic leapt on all frequencies, and the planetary assault began in earnest, but the Eighteenth had done their part. Brimstonetransmitted pickup data to both the ground troops and the hopefully waiting Firestorm.

Firestorm, protecting her battered starboard against her sister ship, HyalineSplendor, continued her slow glide over Gragel II. The fleet swelled as more ships joined the fray, fresh, undamaged and ready for anything that the beleaguered Drelanii defenders could muster.

"Captain." The comm officer spoke up, "We are receiving word from Deadly Honorthat the Eighteenth as completed their objective. They are standing by for retrieval by Brimstone."

Niel looked up from the damage reports. With these figures, Firestormwas headed straight back to Ghaldin. "Have we received word from the marines, yet?"

"No, sir."

"Let me know when we do."

Arien waited until she was the last one to board Brimstone, heading straight for the gantries in the prep bay. The coolant failure had made remaining within the suit difficult as the temperature spiked and waned within it. She dismounted as soon as Brimstonelifted up, bounding back to the fleet; hopefully back to the safety of Firestorm's belly. If their carrier was gone, they would have to pray for a carrier that had lost its dropship to carry them out. Under no circumstances would a carrier abandon its own dropship in favor of another. If no carrier were available, they'd have to wait for pickup and that could take weeks.

"Picking up Firestormon our primary frequency, sir." The pilot's voice came over the internal speakers. "She's standing by."

Arien nodded, one worry lifted away. She checked herself over, although the ride had been short, it had been a hairy one. Her pale skin had turned a rather vivid pink, and there were spots of tender meat that would bruise by morning. She had been boiled and battered, and she would regret it after she finally got some sleep. But now she felt fine, fresh and alert. She could hear the heavy steps of the platoon as they lumbered up the deck to the prep bay, and the great metallic giants each found their way to their cages.

"You okay, Boss?" Schrader demanded, pulling himself from his 'suit.

"A little warm." She noted, using the flat of her hand to squeegee off the antibiotic-glycerin mixture from her skin. It fell onto the floor, sliding across the barely perceptible grade towards the drains down the middle of the bay. "Okay people, rack 'em up." She ordered, "Normal drill. Lock up the arms. Devlin, you take over the armory for now." The armory had been Diosdado's duty, and he was canned meat, left behind on the planet. The occupation troops would eventually home in on his and Wang's beacons, and if anything was left, their bodies would be recovered and sent back to their next of kin. She would write the condolence letters later when things quieted down. She hated it, as always, but it was a necessary but difficult responsibility of command. Schrader would have a couple of the men pack up their personal effects to be shipped back with the remains.

Schrader racked his suit, then hopped gracefully to the floor and strode to her. He could see the obvious external damage to her 'suit, but she appeared relatively uninjured. "Anything hurt?" He asked, looking for any injuries she might have sustained from the mission.

"I got plinked. Nothing feels serious." Her voice dropped into that gravely bark commonly found in enlisted personnel. Albemarle could not remove her first instinct to bellow at the top of her lungs.

She shook her head, surveying the mess of her suit. "Damn it all to hell." She cursed, removing the ammo canisters from it, checking the digital readout on the tops of the canisters.

"Noble." Devlin stood by with the ammo cart to return any unspent ammo to the armory. "10 mike mike?"

"Returning eleven thousand three hundred and eighty four rounds." She tilted the canisters to Moore for verification.

"Eleven three eighty four." Moore snapped off, and the canisters were placed on the cart. That was the end of Arien's responsibility in the bay, but she hung around to supervise until all rounds were secured. Schrader would see to it that the men, battlesuits, and prep bay were policed up

"Sir, Morrison's on the squawk." McKillip yelled, and the handset for Brimstone's ship to ship line was tossed back to her. Morrison would have received word that the mission objective had been handled, but none of the disposition of the troop.

"Stone Alpha here." she stated. There was the slightest pause at that, as if he digested the sound of her voice.

"Stone Alpha, this is Firestorm , good afternoon." His voice was terse, all business. No pleasantries here, she realized. "Welcome home. We will be returning to Ghaldin as soon as the jump point is clear."

It took every ounce of willpower that she had to keep from groaning aloud. Ghaldin? Why the hell would they return to the staging point? Had he decided enough was enough after that little fracas in the prep bay? It was impossible to tell from his voice, and she had not actually been face to face with him since that day. "Yes, sir." It wasn't necessary to call him sir, but it was an old habit.

"Report."

"I'm down two marines. I don't have the exact damage reports as of yet." There was a curse barely squashed in his answering sigh, and she frowned. He was upset. Very, very upset.

"Get them to me as soon as you have them."

"Aye, sir." She waited for more, anything, but he was gone. She handed the set back to McKillip, ignoring the slightly questioning look on the trooper's face. "We're going back to Ghaldin." she announced to the troop at large. The reaction was about what she figured it would be, loud groans and not so muffled curses filled the prep bay. The Eighteenth had already spent a year on Ghaldin, and they had been happy to leave it.

"I don't know!" She barked over the noise. "Enough! The driver says Ghaldin, and Ghaldin it is." Surely there had to be another reason for him to take them back to Ghaldin. A real reason, one that the Navy found acceptable. But incompatibility with a new marine commander was generally considered an acceptable reason to try again, and he would have to try again at a base.

"Uh, Boss." The pilot's voice came over the internal speakers, "You need to get an eyeball on this."

"On my way." She pulled on a pair of coverall and headed to Brimstone's tiny flight deck. It was already a tight fit on the bridge even without her mass, and she shimmied into the only available spot behind the pilot. "Yeah, Hassen?" She asked, letting her gaze travel over the readouts before him. They looked fine, and Noble had some piloting experience.

"Firestorm, sir. She's been hit pretty bad." he pointed towards the ship filling the view screen. Arien glanced up, and whistled. That would explain a great deal of Morrison's taciturn behavior; his ship had been mauled in the assault.

"Is that why we're returning to Ghaldin?" She asked, already fairly certain of the answer.

"Yeah. That's gonna need a yard to fix, and Ghaldin's the closest to the front. She'll be down for awhile, by my guess."

Arien nodded, slightly relieved, down time on Ghaldin would give her the chance to replace her loses and to work things through with Morrison before they lifted again.

## Chapter Four:

17 October 1192

Persher Naval Base, Imperial Staging Area, Ghaldin.

Arien's frustration with returning to Ghaldin mounted with each passing day. It began when she had received notification from the armor smith that her battlesuit could not be repaired and that it would be scrapped. The tech had babbled something about lacking the parts and what not for the Mark V. Of course that only made sense; her suit was a model eight years old, obsolete, and hadn't fit properly since her last growth spurt when she was sixteen. No, it didn't make sense to try and repair it.

Pressing of the form fitting inner chassis had taken three days. The procedure had been long, arduous and she been filled with trepidation. Arien had wanted Morrison to be there with her, something any normal pair would have done. So she had suffered through the ordeal alone, again.

"Damn you, Morrison!" Arien muttered softly. She wanted him, no, needed him to be there.

He avoided her in those first few days, using Firestorm'sdamage repairs to parry her queries. Arrogant, ignorant son of a whore, she thought. Arien could feel her anger rising , her face flushing. Her men had suffered for it as she tried to take her frustrations out them. She was a poor commander and a sorry excuse for a marine.

Her new Mark VII Battlesuit was already at Brimstone. Schrader seen to the finishing touches, syncing the 'suit to the dropships battle computer, setting up the comm frequencies, telemetry, and of course, a new coat of paint complete with unit piping. Seeing it in its gantry had made her feel better, but only slightly.

Arien sighed, considering her situation. By now, the truth had become obvious to all. Niel Morrison was avoiding her, bad for a relationship only weeks old. The Naval commanders stuck on Ghaldin knew it, the platoon knew it, Firestorm'screw knew it. Arien knew it. This morning had been the final straw, somehow the carrier captains on Ghaldin had decided that the Noble-Morrison pairing was a flush, and she had gotten the first tentative motions of courtship from another captain. Well, Arien wasn't certain that the relationship was a flush, and she had rebuffed his advances rather coldly.

So she had decided to do something about this. Either she had a pairing with Morrison, or she didn't and by the time she was done with him, she'd be certain, either way. It hadn't taken much work on her part to find which BOQ he'd been assigned to, and less work on her part to make sure she knew when he returned. It smacked of stalking to wait in the lounge, but all was fair in war, and if Arien had to stalk, then stalk she would. Her more civilized attempts to talk this over with him had been pointless, so Arien was tossing the civility aside in favor of a frontal assault.

He came through the lobby, eyes on the lift, not even glancing around him. So utterly oblivious to his surroundings he didn't see her. He was dressed in the navy walking out uniform, and Arien knew he'd spent another evening in the Officer's Club. He'd spent another evening without her, obviously not even trying to be discreet about his avoidance. She waited an impatient ten minutes before surging to her feet and moving across the lobby with a purpose.

Niel hung up his walking out jacket, toweling off the sweat from the back of his neck, before sitting down on the edge of his bed. The room's climate control system gave him some relief from Ghaldin's mid-day heat. This day had been hell for him. Which was worse, he wondered, the prospect of getting stuck on this burning dust ball or the daily grilling he was getting? The day had started out as just mildly bad, Firestormwas delayed in dry dock yet again as other ships with higher priority bumped him from the top of the roster. Then Devry had called him to his office, demanding to know why his matched pair was falling apart. To top this off rumors were starting to circulate through the Carrier Corps that his relationship with Nobel was starting to sour. entire situation had deteriorated badly since his behavior in the prep bay. When he had stepped back, attempting to relegate their relationship back to a strictly professional level, she reacted badly. Just how did one convince a marine commander to bail from her carrier, Niel pondered. What exactly would it take to convince her to leave him now? Ordinarily, that thought would be out of the question, but he and Noble were a fresh pairing, and they are already having problems. Noble had been making subtle overtures to fix the mess, but he didn't know how to deal with her at all. He had nothing left to fall back on. His gut instinct screamed for him to do something that was obviously inappropriate. His upbringing and training were failing him; Noble just did not fall within the rules of normal military behavior.

The terse rap on his door brought him out of his reverie. He cursed softly, crossing the room to open the door. Who could it be now? "Yes?" The question hissed between his lips as he recognized his visitor. She moved quickly, stepping into the doorway, forcing him back into the room before he had a chance to react to her appearance here. She shut the door behind her, before putting her hands on her hips and confronting him.

"Morrison." She stated coldly, "You have been avoiding me."

"I have not. Firestorm's repairs have required my full attention." He denied, aware of just how hollow that sounded. "Now, Lieutenant Noble, I'm certain we can pick a better time, a better place, for this." Whatever this was! Not now! Not here! This was entirely too private and he'd already had a taste of what could happen when they were alone.

"That's bullshit and you know it." She snarled, stepping towards him. She was large enough, imposing enough, to force him to take another step back. She reached out and grabbed his blouse, and the motion rocked him back yet another step. "If it's over, Morrison, then it's over, but you can't keep me, my men, hanging like this! Tell me what's going on here! What game are you playing at?" She pushed him hard and he started to stumble backwards before her grip on his blouse brought him up short.

"Lieutenant Noble, this is uncalled for!" Niel gripped her wrists in an attempt to pull her hands away but her grip was stronger, unyielding.

Rage flashed across her features and she pushed him again, this time letting him go. He sat down on the bed with a decided lack of grace, which forced him to look up at her. "I'll show you what's uncalled for." she ground out in a gravely voice, striking his chest with an open hand, she shoved him down to the bed. He attempted to push back up, but she pressed her advantage and pinned him to the mattress, and she had the weight and leverage to hold him exactly where she'd put him. Niel could feel her shift suddenly, and she deftly used the grasp she had on him to straddle his hips. The thought that he had pushed her over the edge, that she would become violent, warred with a sudden curious interest. He could feel her significant weight on his pelvis, the tight muscles of her thighs, and he could feel his unbidden response growing. All of the women Niel had ever been with had been well raised, good girls from good families, delicate debutante butterflies willing to let him have his way with them. This was something completely different. This was violent, primal, and passionate, yet he was still uncertain if Noble was showing anger or lust, or both. His arousal heightened, but Niel still controlled himself, refusing to give into his desire. Suddenly, the thought crossed his mind that if he was wrong again about her and made the first move, an angered Arien Noble was capable of anything. And now the questions he would normally ask seemed suddenly out of place. How did one go about asking the usual pre- intercourse questions when one wasn't certain that was what this was leading up to? Noble was a front line Marine, he comforted himself. The Corps frowned on pregnancies, and went to extreme lengths to prevent them among its active combat troops. And she'd had a recent physical; she must have been clean then.

"Noble." He squeezed in when the silence grew a tad long. It occurred to him suddenly just how ridiculous they must look.

"My name is Arien, damn it." She snapped. "I think we're a little past pleasantries right now, Niel."

"Just what exactly are you doing, Arien?" He inquired in a falsely normal tone. She sent him a look that was half seduction and half evil, and he wondered yet again how he could have gotten himself into a situation like this.

"What am I doing, Niel?" Her voice was liquid, melodic, but her face was set. "I'm giving you exactly what you wanted." She leaned forward so that her face was inches from his, and his breath caught when she counterbalanced her weight over his hips. "Don't you want me any more?"

He could think of no reply, but a slight smirk spread across his lips. There was still the possibility that she was simply venting her fury on him, that this display, though very, very, interesting, meant something entirely different to her. She sat up, slowly, and he savored the motion, meeting her dark gaze in silence.

"Of course you do." She muttered, apparently more to herself than him. She reached down and smoothly pulled the tank she wore over her head. Her id tags clinked, falling back down across her chest as she discarded the tank over the side of his bed. "Well, touch me, you moron."

Not exactly the most romantic request that Niel had ever heard, but it was definitely one of the most forthright demands put to him. He placed his hands on her waist, and she twitched under his touch. The evil, yet seductive, look had not left her face as she leaned forward on his hands.

"You're giving me what I want?" Her statement suddenly hit home and he tightened his grip on her. "And what about you Arien?"

She lowered her gaze for a moment, and then met his stare again. "I'm taking what I need." She said softly, but there was granite under her voice.

Niel nodded slightly, pulling her down to the bed beside him. If that's how it was, then fine, he could go for that.

She reached up, winding her fingers through his hair and pulling his lips to hers. They kissed passionately, a tangled mix of lust and anger. His fingers climbed up her ribcage to her small breasts, and she arched beneath his touch. He was awed by the rippling play of muscles under her soft, pale skin. Every woman that had come before her had been softly rounded, feminine and submissive. Exploring her body was different, new.

Her fingers caught in his blouse, tearing the buttons through their holes. He let her peel it from him, luxuriating in the strength of her fingers as they caressed his chest. She was no fragile thing that he must watch his every movement with; there was no perpetual worry in the back of his mind that he might hurt her. Any damage done by him tonight would not be physical. She filled his grasp with flesh laid over steel, and her responses were controlled fury.

He yanked impatiently at the drawstring that held her fatigue trousers tight, and when it loosened, he slid his hand further along her body. Every inch of her melded smoothly into the next, and if Niel could muster any criticisms, it would only be that she was a little thinner than he had hoped. He slid his hand over the slight bulge of her belly, and she tensed slightly when he encountered the indention beneath her navel. "Shhhh." He whispered, and moved his hand lower. The slight flitter of worry left her features, along with all other expression as she relaxed for the first time under his hands. He fought the urge to smile triumphantly, well aware that she still watched him. He wanted her badly, everything in him screamed to just push himself on top of her, but he knew he treaded on very dangerous ground. This was possibly the single most important sexual encounter of his life, and so much depended on this. He was ready, had been ready from the moment she had removed her tank, but he had to uphold the impetus she had begun without overdoing it.

He allowed the faintest hint of a smile to cross his features when she closed her eyes in response to his stroking. God, she was gorgeous, he thought, especially now that she had relaxed the guard that had always been in place before.

Her lips were fuller, and when she looked up at him again, her glossy gaze lacked the death stare he had become accustomed to. He moved his hand slowly between her thighs, gently probing. She was wet under his fingers, and she began to move with his rhythm instead of on her own. Her thighs gripped his hand, and he chuckled at the almost painful strength that she bore down with, but he continued his gentle touch.

"Enough!" She cried, and he felt her hands at his trousers. Something tore, and she pulled them down, pushing insistently against him with her body. This time, he pushed her down, spreading her knees with his own, and lowering his hips against hers. Her eyes widened when she felt his erection, and there was sudden fear in her expression.

"I am not going to hurt you." He stated, drawing on every ounce of willpower he possessed to restrain himself from thrusting into her. "I will stop right here, right now, if that's what you want Arien." Stopping was the absolute last thing he wanted to do, and he prayed that she wouldn't demand it of him.

She closed her eyes, took a deep breath, shook her head and gripped his hips with her knees. "No, Niel." Her accent was back in full force. "Don't stop. Please."

He gripped her hands with his own and buried his face in the curve of her shoulder. He was right there, he could feel her warm wetness before him, and all he had to do was move. He slowly pushed into her, and she gasped sharply. She was tighter than he'd been counting on, but she was ready for him and blessedly deep. With a soft moan, he entered fully. Niel paused for a moment to let the hot flush encompass him, and to give her time to adjust to his size, before pushing again. She cried out again, softly, as he found his rhythm, fingers clenching with hers, as he showed it to her. She lay still under him for a few moments, before rising to meet his next thrust.

"Yes." He murmured. There was untapped passion in this woman, she possessed a sensuality that she had learned to hide from all, but this was the Arien Noble that he wanted to experience. She was hot and slick under him, allowing him to push as deeply and strongly as he pleased. She made a noise deep in her throat that was entirely sexual, captivating and completely unladylike. He loved it. Never before had a partner of his been so openly vocal in her appreciation. All of his earlier lovers had panted delicately, moaned softly. Arien's breathing was ragged, and she growled at him with animalistic abandon.

Slowly their pace quickened, Niel feeling himself reaching climax but he steadied himself. Not yet, he thought, not yet. He forced his thoughts away from his impending orgasm in an attempt to delay his climax. He would give Arien her full due.

"I," She gasped.

"I know." He snarled back. She was close, he could feel it. The muscles that gripped him had tightened, and she met his movements with violent precision. He released what little self control remained, dropping his weight onto her, pushing her deeper into the bed, clenching her shoulders brutally in his hands. Her head fell back as he lifted her closer to him and rode the wave of sensations. Somewhere, faraway, he heard her give voice to her passion, before he felt the rending deep within himself. He coughed up a noise that was deep with lust and release, before collapsing.

He lay with his head resting on her chest, feeling her breathing begging to slow. He hated this time. He felt like he should say so much, just start talking, but no words ever came. "Arien."

She moved to rest her head on her arm so that she could see him. "Hhhhhmmmm?" She asked softly.

"Nothing, just trying to think of something to say."

She shrugged slightly, shifting his weight around. "There's something to say, now?" she asked softly, her voice still thick with that accent. "If there is, I don't know what it is. Maybe it'll come in the morning."

"Maybe." He agreed, lying beside her. "You want a shower?" The air was thick with the musk of sex and the tang of sweat, and she smelled more like him than he did.

"A shower would be nice." She agreed, rising to her feet. "You want to take it with me?" That was the question that Niel was hoping she'd ask, and he didn't need more of an invitation than that.

She stood as he ran the soap over her body, his touch more curious than lustful now. You're kind of skinny." He noted, feeling the sharp edges of her collarbones.

"I'm not up to weight after the drugs." She bowed her head slightly under the water, and he pulled her into an embrace. She filled his arms whole, and he liked that.

"No problem." He sighed. "Is this what you were planning on?"

"Yes, no, I'm not sure." She laughed, "I wasn't really planning on anything but a confrontation. I hoped, but this wasn't what I really planned on." She scrubbed his chest, a quirky smile on her face as she made abstract patterns with the suds and his hairs.

"Are you busy tomorrow?"

"Are we busy?" She asked slowly. "I have no plans. The platoon has liberty this weekend."

"We'll see tomorrow."

## Chapter Five:
##

18 October 1192

Persher Naval Base, Imperial Staging Area, Ghaldin.

Niel woke to the strange realization that he was not alone. He had his arm slung comfortably over someone who still slept deeply, judging by their strong, measured breathing. He opened his eyes to see the back of someone's head, someone who had short auburn hair that curled ever so slightly at the tips. Arien. Of course, Arien. He slid carefully from the bed and dressed quietly before coming back to study her. She was almost unrecognizable as she slept her face free of the tight armor she normally carried, the eyes that spoke eloquently of pain, closed. She seemed suddenly feminine, almost childlike, curled into a tight fetal ball. She was only twenty five, he realized, he'd forgotten her birthday in the aftermath of the Gragel drop. Arien was only two years his junior but still, she was a strange dichotomy of experience and youth. He decided to let her sleep, and spent the next hour that she slept handling the paperwork for Firestorm's berthing in the yard.

Arien woke in the artificial coolness of a heavily air conditioned room. She could hear a voice behind her, and she realized that it was Niel talking on the com. She knew that this was not her quarters, but his, and the previous night flooded back to her. For the first time in ten years, she'd been sexually active. For the first time ever, it had been by choice. It had been an exhilarating, wonderful experience, one she wouldn't mind doing again some time soon. But now, she had to figure out how to get through this morning. She sat up, yawning, stretching and popping joints stiffened by sleep. She had slept remarkably well, and long, and there was no tiny, vague nagging for a hit lurking in the shadows. Niel waved to her, but continued his conversation with whomever he was speaking to.

"I assure you sir that we're getting along just fine." He wiggled his eyebrows as she came up to him, before mouthing "Devry" at her. She nodded, sitting in the chair across from him. "I know that's not what the rumor mill is spitting out sir, but it's the truth. Noble and I are solid."

She chuckled, wondering how he could say that without even the slightest edge of innuendo in his voice. Unfortunately for him, he still didn't have Carrier Corps etiquette down. He was attempting to treat Devry like he would any Fleeter who was asking pointed questions. Arien knew what Devry wanted, and Niel's evasiveness wasn't it. She mouthed 'Let me', nodding sharply at Niel.

"Lieutenant Noble would like to speak to you sir." He sighed, "Yes, she's right here." He relinquished the handset to her, eyeing her as she leaned back in the chair.

"Hello, Captain Devry." She launched that voice, honey sweet, Albemarle precise. "Yes, Captain, it is a good morning." Niel cringed at the tone. She might as well be doing a pay per call service with that inflection. "Oh, we're getting on splendidly. No, no, no, a misunderstanding, you see? Of course, sir, he's right here." she pushed the receiver back to him. He sighed, leaning it back against his shoulder. "Yes, Captain Devry?" Arien had done all but bellow the truth to the man.

"I'm glad to hear that you two are finally getting along, Morrison." Devry sounded placated, Niel realized. Relieved. No, thrilled. Noble had done everything but flat out state that of course everything was fine, they'd just been at it like rabbits, and the man was ecstatic at the news. Niel gave his good-byes and hung up shaking his head.

"Great." He said to her. "The word will be all the way around Ghaldin by noon." "Good." She responded, balancing one narrow foot on her knee. At the slightly put out look he gave her, she shrugged. "It'll get rid of all of those Carrier captains who have started after me. I assume this means we can work out our problems?" Niel rolled his eyes at her smug tone. How could she sit there, without a stitch on, and calmly inquire if they could work it out? "We willwork it out." He stated, dragging a fresh uniform out of his closet. "Arien, there is something I wanted to talk to you about, however." He slid into his uniform. "I've guessed you're probably protected, but I want to be certain." Perhaps it was only paranoia but it had been instilled into him from adolescence that it was highly possible for a woman to stoop to an "accidental pregnancy" to push his hand into marriage. He didn't really believe that she would do that, but she had stated that she had not exactly plannedthe encounter.

She nodded, "Of course. I have the implant, got it when I re-upped. It's a great waste of Imperial taxpayers' money if I don't say so myself."

Niel considered that, the implants had a five year usefulness and she had been back to the Corps for about a year, so they should be fine. But it was the other comment that concerned him. "Why do you say that?" He wondered aloud.

Arien wrinkled her nose, turning her head to gaze back out of the window. "Happy nice little Corps doctors tell me I'm probably sterile, I'm sorry; the exact term they use is infertile. I haven't menstruated since I enlisted, so it's probably a useless little extra annoyance, but yes, I do have it if it makes you feel better. And I'm clean; do I have to ask about you?" There was a mechanical edge to her voice, as if she was merely attending to the questions she was supposed to be asking at this juncture, or earlier, without much concern to the actual answers.

"No, I'm fine." He answered. It did make Niel feel better, but the discussion had obviously crossed a barrier into subjects she preferred not to speak of. His curiosity begged to know more, but he held his tongue. He knew the answers to the only questions he felt that he had a right to ask. "The yardmaster wants me to go over Firestorm's report today." He sighed, buttoning his shirt.

"That's good. I don't have anything at all to do today."

"Must be nice." He groused, measuring out the length of his tie against his chest. Firestormhad been mauled, and she would require a lot of his attention to get her back in fighting shape. The only consolation was that he had scored his first kill in the battle. He'd been in battle, in command, and Firestormhad come away with a kill. All of his private fears had been met, and squashed. It was one thing to be in combat, and a completely different thing to be in command during combat, but he, Niel Morrison, had emerged victorious.

"Will you meet me for dinner tonight?" He asked.

"Sure." She agreed, watching him dress with bold eyes. She had utterly no modesty, he thought, in regards to herself or him.

"Officer's Club, 1700?" He asked, forcing himself to continue dressing at normal speed. If she could handle sitting there in the buff, he could refrain from throwing his clothes on. Intimacy of this type was something he had little experience with. Now was usually the time when a woman started angling for more and the time to make his exit. He had never had a relationship that lasted long enough to count. All too quickly they started making references to marriage, children, and the Officer's Wives' Club. Arien could not, would not marry him. It was out of the question as long as they served together, regulations prohibited the legalization of any relationship. One of them would have to switch postings or retire to marry, and he didn't think that either one of them would considering that. Anyways, both scenarios would remove her from his side in this campaign, and he didn't want that.

"Fine with me, as good a place as any to add substance to rumor." She said with a slight chuckle.

Niel finished dressing with one last check in the mirror, making certain that all was in good order. He crossed the room and leaning wrapped both of his arms around Arien's shoulders. "Until tonight." he said as he kissed her gently.

"Until tonight, Niel." She responded.

Arien sighed as he left, leaning back in the chair and surveying her long toes. The entirely satisfied smirk she had been battling was released from its jail to roam over her features. She was very, very pleased with herself this morning. In fact, it was the first time in years that she had been as optimistic as she felt at that moment. She had been this comfortable at Albemarle when the world seemed as open to her as she was willing to let it be. Now, her optimism was tempered by experience, but she was hopeful. And it had been a very long time since Arien Noble knew what it was like to hope.

She began the day with a renewed vigor, dressing in her abandoned clothes and returning to her own quarters. Another dinner at the Officer's Club required a clothing upgrade, and she had none she now considered suitable. And a haircut, she decided, viewing herself in the mirror. Before, she had just been herself, but now she was Niel Morrison's MC, and her appearance was a reflection on him. And she meant to be an asset, not a liability.

Arien filled her day with tasks she had not done well lately. First, a haircut, to sharpen the mass of hair that she possessed back to acceptably short, shaved around the sides and long enough to comb on the top. Next, she paid a visit to the quartermaster for new dress and day uniforms, to replace the ones that predated the incident on Hevish. new dress uniforms were left at the tailor for finishing work; those would be delivered to her quarters later. Arien had been slack in her appearance since her return to the Corps, too depressed and pessimistic to invest the effort that bringing herself back up to her previous edge required. To look the part of what she was demanded pride, and she'd had precious little of that in her painful recovery. She tossed her old uniforms in the recycler and spent a restful couple of hours at the laundry washing her new acquisitions.

It had been a long, hot and difficult day for Niel. He dreaded the thought that Arien would still be in his quarters when he returned from the inspection, but he was almost dismayed that she wasn't there when he walked in. He stripped immediately, leaving his uniform in a pile in his haste to stand under the cool water and think. On Ghaldin, it seemed like he did his best thinking in the shower, away from the blistering heat and omnipresent dust. The good news was that it would only take the yard two weeks to complete repairs on Firestorm. The bad news was that it would be two more weeks that he would have to spend here. He was from the lush and verdant hill country of Capital, a region of perfect days interspersed with cool nights. He was used to spending a great deal of time out of doors when he was planet side, but only a fool chose to spend time away from an air conditioner on Ghaldin.

The water worked its usual magic, and Niel felt almost normal when he turned it off. He had an hour before he needed to leave to meet Arien at the appointed time, and he spent most of it reviewing the newest reports for Firestorm's yard work. He felt one hundred percent better when he dressed and left to join her, to drive home the fact that she was his, and only his.

She was already seating in the exact same table as she had sat at before, during their initial meeting, when he arrived and he was pleased to note the changes in her appearance. He had been a little put off by her lack of turnout the last time that they had been in public together, but he had been looking for a MC, not an aide. Now, every little part of her uniform was in impeccable order. He noted even the slightest changes, she wore jewelry this time, her Academy ring gleamed on her right ring finger, and tiny gold stud earrings caught the light when she turned her head to greet him. She seemed to be almost a different person then the last time that they had sat here.

"Niel." She greeted him softly, not bothering to banish the accent from her voice. He liked the gesture, he had realized that she affected the Albemarle accent for those she did not know or trust. And, he honestly liked her accent. He was used to the hard precision found in the voices of the home worlds of Capital, Thackeray, Albemarle. Her natural accent was eccentric, unique to his ears. And her voice! It was deep, rich, melodic, and indescribable in its intensity. He smiled, and her expression quickly changed to curiosity.

"You've stopped trying to hide the accent." He pointed out, and she tightened her lower lip slightly.

"Yes, that." She said, "My instructors at Albemarle did their best to try and remove it. They failed miserably; I finally just started to put on what they wanted when they listened to me. You don't approve of it?" The last was uttered in a disappointed sigh.

"I like it." He stated, motioning to the steward. She came, and took their orders, and left as quickly as she'd come.

"You like it." She seemed to find that highly amusing. Her eyes lightened to warm brown, and she chuckled. "Ever since I left Drummond, I've heard how bad it is, how I should get rid of it, and you, you of all people, tell me you like it."

"It's different, unique." He spread his hands slightly. She shrugged, leaning forwards to close the distance between them.

"What's the word on Firestorm?" She asked, and he grimaced.

"At least two weeks." He sighed. "At least. It's hard to tell. There are all these new ships jumping in that need combat refitting."

Her expression sharpened slightly. "New ships?" She asked. "We already have six task forces here." He understood exactly what she was getting at, and he made a small brushing motion with his hand. Not here, not now. She glanced down, and her bottom lip tightened. Even the marines, at least the marine officers, must have come to the same conclusions that he had, although no one had stated it openly. They had just hit Gragel II, a world well on the other side of the border. They had hit it hard, and left an Army garrison and Navy task force there. Niel didn't believe for one minute that Gragel was a deep stab; he didn't believe that they had left a garrison that deeply in Drelanii space. No, the border had been pushed back to Gragel. This was an invasion, not a skirmish. More ships posted here only served as corroborating evidence to that fact. He wondered how deep the marine rumors ran, just how much did she know?

"We can talk about this later." He stated, looking around the dinning room. New ships meant new officers, new carrier captains looking for MCs. The number of available ones had swelled to eight, but it was still not enough to go around. There were faces he didn't recognize, new officers jostling to get into the fray. The Club was packed tonight; she must have arrived rather early to have secured the table they had.

"These seats taken?" The voice belonged to Talie Bruhler, with Rey Hathaway in his usual place behind her.

"No, they're open." Niel said when Arien glanced in his direction. He needed to work out some sort of relationship with Bruhler, and it was probable that Arien and Hathaway also needed social time.

"Noble, Morrison." Hathaway nodded to them each in turn. "Heard you two were about to gain some unwanted attention from the unmarried captains' club. Didn't want there to be any open seating around for them to latch onto."

Arien chuckled. "And the fact that we had the only open seating had absolutely nothing to do with this selfless action?" She demanded.

"None I assure you, absolutely none." Hathaway airily stated, before locking eyes with her. Bruhler watched them for a moment before looking back at Niel.

"Icom link." Bruhler sighed. "Discussing something not meant for our tender, spoiled ears. You did good at Gragel, I'll give you that one. Kept your head, and got your first kill." there was something that could almost be respect in her blue eyes. She had fought to get into Thackeray, and had fought to stay there. The spoiled eldest son of Senator Daniel Morrison had gotten everything that she had fought for handed respectfully to him, and she had made her resentment of that situation well known. "So this is your MC?" she looked over at Arien, who was now looking back at them with clarity in her eyes.

"Yes." He answered, "This is my marine commander." It was the first time that he'd actually spoken those words, and they felt good. "Lieutenant Arien Noble. Arien, this is Commander Talie Bruhler, Hyaline Splendor's captain." The two women nodded at each other, Arien with a normal amount of greeting, Talie with barely coated curiosity. Niel could imagine what was going through her mind, he'd been accused of always having the best before, and that must mean that Arien was the best the Corps had to offer.

"So." Bruhler began, "You're Niel's other half. You can't believe how many women have wanted that position. Of course, they wanted it in a different way."

Niel grimaced at that, trust Talie to go for the attack right at the start. Arien's bland public face lost a touch of its expressionless veneer, but Niel didn't know her well enough to read the look it was replaced with.

"I'm sure they did." She came back with. "I take it, then, that you two know each other from before?"

"We were at the Academy together, the same class, in fact." Talie said, and Arien smiled slightly, as if that explained it all.

"I see." Arien replied, all traces of her fringe accent gone. "A small rivalry from a different time, something that has no bearing on the here and now."

Talie blinked at the cold statement. She glanced suddenly between Arien and Hathaway, as if hoping for some response from her own MC, but he contented himself by watching the unfolding scene. "I don't follow you, Lieutenant." she finally admitted.

"You're still fuming over things that happened years ago. Let me guess," Arien's gaze caught Niel, "Niel was given everything you had to earn. Even when you did better, it didn't matter, he was going to be the promising officer in the class. I've been there myself, Commander Bruhler. But it doesn't matter now, the Drelanii don't care who was better in their class. We're all in this together, and we have to be there for each other or we're screwed."

Bruhler swallowed, staring at this oddity that Niel had picked to stand beside him. When she had heard that Morrison had an MC, an MC that had been "hand-picked" for him by Captain Devry, she had imagined the perfect marine. This woman was not what she had expected. The perfect marine would have stayed out of the dispute, let the Navy officers handle it. Suddenly, Morrison had backbone, and this marine of his had back as well. Talie was good at reading people, and if she hadn't prejudged Niel from their Academy days, she would have called him as a dangerous, driven officer backed by an equally dangerous, equally driven MC. Talie had laughed when she heard Niel had been assigned to Carrier, laughed when her Hyalinehad been paired with Niel's Firestorm, but now, she'd stopped laughing. Morrison had handled himself and his ship well over Gragel. She hadn't met his MC before, so she had not prejudged Noble except for the knowledge that had been the marine that Devry had kept hidden from the other naval commanders to let Niel Morrison have the first chance at. Bruhler's first thought had been that Noble was supposed to be Niel's babysitter, but now Talie thought differently. Morrison had changed, changed in ways she wouldn't have believed possible. Gone was the adolescent filled with righteous arrogance that she remembered from Thackeray, replaced by a man whose gaze was dark and steady, a man who watched the immense woman with him as if he wanted to engrave her every nuance on his memory. Devry may have engineered this pairing, but they had cemented it on their own. Talie would not have believed that Niel possessed the necessary mentality to 'marry' an MC, to subvert 'Niel Morrison' into 'Morrison-and-Noble'. But this pair was obviously in the flush of early melding, so she had misjudged him, and misjudged him badly.

Niel was surprised. After the first bobble, when Arien had flared to his defense, Talie Bruhler was a decent dinner companion, full of amusing anecdotes about the Carrier Corps, and her life after Thackeray. Arien seemed more than willing to let her talk, occasionally nodding, or putting her spin into the conversation. Hathaway watched, listened, and prodded Arien for some information she had touched on but not filled out well enough for him. Hathaway was obviously part of the conversation for the simple reason of learning about the woman he fought with.

Niel had a thoroughly enjoyable evening, the first he'd had in a long time. At least the Fleet social scene was used to handling an individual from his family and status, but Carrier tended to treat him like a highly ranked leper. He missed the interaction with other officers; he missed talking to someone who spoke his language. Talie was filled with intelligent questions about Firestorm, while Arien spiced the conversation with observations from the view of one who lived and fought on the other side of the Marine/Navy border. Niel was genuinely sorry when the night drew to a close, and Arien fell into step beside him as they left the Club. Her presence was comforting, as was her silence.

Arien paused slightly when they reached the spot where she should turn off to her own quarters. It seemed presumptuous to assume that one night meant there would be others, especially as soon as tonight. The best thing for her to do would be to continue on to her quarters, not stand there like an idiot trawling for an invitation. "I guess this is it, goodnight, Niel."

Niel stopped, grasping the situation, but he didn't want her to go. The evening had gone so well, and the perfect ending to a perfect evening would be a repeat of the previous night. "Do you want it to be it for the night, Arien?" He asked slowly.

"No."

"Then let's go." He laid his hand between her shoulder blades. She nodded, striding beside him with great swinging steps. He watched them, measuring the distance and cadence. "Which leg did you lose?" He asked suddenly. There was no evidence left of the amputation whatsoever.

"The right one." She admitted after a slight pause. "You can't tell any more."

"Can you tell?"

She nodded. "I don't know whether it's psychosomatic or not, but sometimes it hurts. When I'm under a lot of stress, usually. Or I'm nervous. It hurt before I dropped on Gragel, but it stopped when I actually got going. But it's a hell of a lot better than it was."

"And are you really clean?" He asked softly. She stopped in her tracks, staring at him. "Trust me, Arien." he asked.

"Am I clean? Am I honestly clean? No." She snarled. "I'm not."

The statement hit Niel with a crushing weight. It was what he was afraid of, but to have to realize his fears this way was crushing. He sighed, studying the wild, hunted look on her face. It was too late, he realized. He couldn't call them quits now. "How bad is it?" He asked. She sent him a mutinous glare, filled with rage and fear. "How bad is it, Arien?" He demanded slowly. No matter what, she was his, and they faced this together. "When was the last time you used?"

"I didn't lie to you." She said desperately. "I haven't used since the Corps took me back a year ago."

"But you just said,"

"But I want to!" She cried out. "I wantto!" she repeated, gazing up into the Ghaldin night sky.

"Why?" He asked quietly, attempting to understand the problem. He had never abused drugs, but her problems were his now. If he could comprehend what she felt, maybe he could help her.

"I don't know." She sighed, beginning to walk again, towards his quarters. "I wish I did. I really do." He fell into step beside her, much closer than when they had left the Officer's Club. "It's like I can't handle,"

"Can't handle what?" He asked when the pause grew long.

"Myself." She spread her hands in exasperation. "I can't handle it when I'm alone. When it's quiet. When I don't have something to keep me occupied. I want to sleep all the time, but I can't do that any more."

"Is it any better than it was?"

"Yes. It's much better than when I first came back to the Corps. But I'm not going to tell you I've got it licked. I don't know if I do. It's been a while since I wanted it really badly. But there are times when I wish I could." She looked over at him. "I shouldn't have told you this."

"Who else are you going to tell?" He demanded. "There is nobody else, Arien. You can't tell your men. You can't tell the Corps." They had reached the Naval BOQ, and they silenced during the passage through the lobby and up the elevator. He ushered her into his room, closing the door behind her. She sat on his bed, looking up at him.

"There is nobody else." She stated hollowly. "That's the story of my life, Niel. Nobody else. Just me."

He sat beside her, finally able to put an arm around her and pull her close to him. "Not any more. There is no just you, there is no just me. We're Morrison and Noble. Attached at the navel."

She chuckled, and he gently pushed her back to the bed and kissed her. "And, other places." he stated. They made love again, more quietly than the first time, and she fell asleep in his arms. As she slept Niel slowly traced the line of her back with his fingertip, listening to her breathe. She was so screwed up, so vastly screwed up. What in the hell was he doing like this, in bed with a woman who had more problems than he did? Or was that it, exactly? Arien had more problems than he did. And, she had been the only person he'd ever met to guess that under his polished exterior he had problems as well.

But now she slept peacefully beside him, worries banished for the moment. He closed his eyes and let her deep, even breathing lull him to sleep.

She was awake when he woke the next morning, sitting cross-legged in one of the chairs that stood in front of the window. Niel's quarters were on the seventh floor, so she had a good view of the base beneath. She had her elbows on the sill, her back to him, as she watched the comings and goings from her vantage point. She tilted her head slightly as he shifted to sit up. "We must have another task force here. Or something. Too many people."

He came up behind her, watching the furor on the ground. "Something." He agreed. "Well, I need to go back to the yard. Enjoy your vacation." He clapped her on the shoulder before heading into the bathroom for a shower. He dressed quickly, kissed her on the top of her head, and was gone with barely a goodbye.

Arien shrugged, hearing the door close. Enjoy her vacation? The thought made her chuckle as she finally dressed in the pared down day version of her walking out uniform. She needed a change of uniform and something to eat. What to do with the rest of her day though?

## Chapter Six:
##

19 October 1192

Persher Naval Base, Imperial Staging Area, Ghaldin.

Arien returned to her platoon the next morning, beginning the preparations to return them to active status. Everything used, broken, or lost in the Gragel assault had been replaced, including the two dead troopers. Arien had run interference versus the Quartermaster, who would question every request for new equipment, more equipment. Unless she intended on growing old waiting, these requests should be done in person. It was easy to shuffle paperwork around; it was much more difficult to shuffle her around. She had learned at an early age to use her size and often ominous appearance to her advantage. Arien found it amusing how many of the behaviors that worked on Drummond's back streets worked in the Corps. Her nearly two meter height clothed in an officer's walking out uniform could send enlisted personnel into a near frenzy. Add to that the cold, unwavering stare she had perfected while still young, and Arien could get things done. The window until their next posting was closing quickly, and all vestiges of the vacation on Ghaldin dissolved in a flurry of preparation.

"Noble, I've been looking for you." Hathaway caught up to her between personal appearances at various post offices. "I have some news you may want to hear."

"What's that?" She queried.

"Our next assignment is in and you're going to despise it. I know I already do."

"What, then?" She grumbled, continuing towards the lift field to make certain that all of the units requisitions arrived on time.

"We're going to back up one of the garrisoning army units on Llirin. According to my briefing, we took the world a month ago, now it's only a mop up operation."

"Llirin? Is it hot, temperature wise?" Arien had bad luck in drawing desert assignments in the past. The map that she had imprinted on her memory helpfully pointed out that Llirin was a world just on the Imperial side of Gragel. They had simply passed it by earlier on their way to the last drop.

"No. It isn't. Not hot, not cold. We're not even dropping in. We're supposed to maintain position in high orbit until requested, if you can believe that."

"Great." She said sarcastically. Arien walked faster as the lift field office came into view and exhaled loudly when she reached its cool sanctuary. "Sounds like those hours of boredom we always get promised."

"Sure does." He sat in one of the chairs in the waiting room, sweat trickling into his collar. She sat beside him, drinking in the refrigerated air. "Hey." He continued. "The rumor mill says you have a brand new Mark VII. How'd you pull that one?"

She frowned, glancing over at him. The newest battlesuits in actual service was the Mark VI, with the elusive promise of the newer model sometime in the "near future". She had been so out of sorts when she'd dismounted that she had not really taken a long look at it.

"Bad pressing?" He asked sympathetically.

"Yes. I felt like shit afterwards."

He nodded. "How's about we go take a look, then?" She sighed, rising to her feet, and following him out to Brimstone.

"Spiffy." Hawkins remarked, scrutinizing the new addition to the Eighteenth's suits. It was brand, pressing, new. Freshly painted and it still had the foam inserts and clips through the quad gun ports testifying that it had never fired a round. "What in the hell is it?" He rode in a six, as did most of the platoon.

"It's a seven." Schrader identified. "It's Noble's."

"How in the hell did she rate a seven?" Hawkins demanded tersely. "They're not supposed to be in distribution yet."

Schrader raised an eyebrow; Hawkins could be so obtuse sometimes. "Hawkins, Noble is Admiral...er...Senator Daniel Morrison's oldest son's MC. And besides they're sleeping together, don't think we haven't noticed. Strings were pulled. I'm not saying she asked for them to be pulled, or even that even he asked for them to be pulled. But with a name like Morrison, things are going to get done. This isn't a democracy; it's the Corps. Officer on deck!" He stepped into attention, as did Schrader.

"As you were." Noble, accompanied by Hathaway, stepped onto the preparation bay. "So, it has arrived, good." she stared at the new suit through narrowed eyes. She noted subtle differences with her previous suit as well as the other models in the bay.

"That's a Mark VII, Noble. Congratulations marine, you get to guinea pig the Corps' newest ride." He slapped her lightly on the back. "I won't even ask how you managed this one." Her responding look was warily suspicious, and he almost regretted making the comment. Noble deserved a break, and getting her second guessing as to why she had rated a prototype machine wasn't much of a break. "Go use it to kick some ass." He chuckled, hoping to defuse her sudden wariness. Noble could be touchy, he knew, she had a reputation as a jumpy, rather defensive commander. From what he saw, he believed a lot of what her men spoke of. Without Morrison around to lull her, she appeared to be a bundle of cautious nerves. But she had held her edge on Gragel and hopefully she would lose some of this tension she had with a little more combat tempering.

"Buy you a drink?" He offered when her gaze calmed slightly. He'd like to know her better than he did. He had read her file, but that was only secondhand, and rather contradictory, impressions of her as she was before the incident on Hevish, and cautionary warnings about her state after she'd gotten her commission back. Noble had problems. He needed to know how badly they would affect her performance if the shit got deep.

"Sure." She agreed slowly, falling into step with him as they left Brimstone. They braved the mid day heat of the planet as they strode to the Officer's Club, the bar should be quiet in the afternoon hours.

The welcoming relief of the Officer's Club greeted them as they entered. Hathaway led them down the corridor past the dinning room to the bar and lounge where he laid claim to one of the empty pool tables, racking the balls with a practiced motion. With a wave of his hand he signaled the bartender.

"What do you drink, Noble?" He asked, measuring the balls.

"Water." She responded and he shuddered, handing her a cue. She chalked it, watching him frown. "What?" She finally demanded, when he did not speak for a long moment.

"Okay, Noble." He sighed, carefully choosing his own cue. "What did you drink before you got into trouble? Back when you were a marine?" She flared angrily at him, brown eyes darkening stormily, and he shrugged, unperturbed. He had few doubts that such an exhibition of temper usually got her what she wanted, but while it was indeed impressive, it did not sway him. She was big, he was bigger. "Listen to me, girl. I've been meaning to talk to you about this for quite awhile. No offense intended, but you're wound so tight if they fed you coal, you'd shit diamonds. Quite bluntly, they are not gonna take your commission away from you right now, unless you did something so unbelievably heinous that they couldn't look the other way. Acting like a marine is not a crime. Live a little. Eat, drink, screw and be merry, for tomorrow you may be dead."

She wrinkled her nose at him. "Whiskey." She snapped, "I drink whiskey. Or I did before I lost the leg. After I got hooked, booze didn't do me much good so I gave it up. I had better things to waste myself on."

He nodded. He knew, of course, that Noble had been an addict; flags were all over her personnel records. Noble had quite a few flags, but Hathaway was used to seeing them. Some of the best troops he'd ever served with had very spotty pasts, and he'd learned to look beyond them. Often the ones who kept fighting, as Noble had, made the best of the marines. "Two whiskeys, keep them coming till I say different." He ordered, placing the shot of golden fluid within her reach as the bartender passed them over. "Lady's break." He stated, nodding at the table.

"Who's a lady?" She demanded, taking the break. He surveyed the rolling balls for a moment, nodding curtly as she sank two. She took the shot between her fingertips, tossing the contents down. The barely remembered flush of strong alcohol hit her stomach, coating it in warmth. She shuddered, blowing out through her teeth, as the jolt hit. It lacked the immediate disassociation that rephetimine had brought, and the immediate sense of well being that the narcotic had left in its wake, but it felt good none the less.

"That's better." Hathaway chuckled, viewing her reaction. "Pool goes better with a few under your belt."

"You're an ass." she grumbled, taking her next shot. She was good...he was better, he knew, watching her balance the cue on her thumb. "Why are you doing this?" Arien asked when he replaced her empty shot glass with another.

"Just a friendly game of pool between two marines, plus it gives me a chance to get to know you better." he leaned casually against the wall, watching her line up the next shot. "I didn't get much of a chance to talk to you before Gragel. Dinner was good but I didn't want to spoil Talie's night with Marine talk. Besides you can only trust official records so far, they tend to distort the truth." Hathaway tilted his head back and drained his shot glass.

"Damn, your shot." Arien moved away from the table as her intended shot missed the mark by millimeters.

Arien had missed her shot and now he lined up to take his. He smiled broadly; Hathaway had always enjoyed the game. "Now, the way I figure it," He proceeded with successive shots careening across the table, "The Corps gave you another shot because someone felt you had what it took and we are desperately short of battlesuit commanders." He paused to calculate the next shot, not wanting to give Noble an opportunity to halt his momentum. "After you and that moron McCloskey spilt, Captain Devry made sure none of the other carrier commanders knew of your availability until Morrison got a crack at you first."

Arien listened in silence as Hathaway moved around the table. She wasn't quite certain of where he was going with this, she knew all of what he said already. She chose to listen, watching him play in silence. She could see that he was a very good player with just a hint of overconfidence the way he handled the cue. "I don't know if you knew this," he continued, "but Captain Devry used to be on Admiral Fowler's staff. The Admiral and Senator Morrison are very tight, so it makes sense that the Captain was looking out for his son." he finished off the rest of the balls with precision and grinned triumphantly. Arien frowned, both because she had lost the game without a second chance, and for the new information he'd just imparted.

"Well, that's the game, want to go again?" Hathaway gloated slightly.

"Sure, I'll rack." Arien did not like to lose, at anything. She would even the score.

"The Captain's a good judge of character so it goes without saying that if you are good enough for the senator's son then you must be pretty good." Hathaway shot first this time, sinking a ball on the break. "At first I didn't think you two would make it. There was a lot of scuttlebutt going around the base. Most figured that you were looking for a new driver after we got back to Ghaldin, and Morrison was shunning you like you had the plague."

"Yeah, Morrison and I had a rough start, but we worked it out." Arien smirked.

"Bet you did." Hathaway missed his fifth shot, giving Arien the opportunity she had been waiting for. "You two seem solid enough now."

Arien balanced the cue between her fingers, spinning it like a baton and eyeing the table carefully as she lined up her shot. She focused on the ball, pushing Hathaway's words to the back of her mind. She would not allow him to distract her as she had earlier. She leaned into the shot, focusing her attention and blanking out Hathaway as the man continued to talk. She sank the shot, moving around the table; still in deep concentration, minding the lay of the balls on the felt. "Solid, perhaps now." She admitted after sinking another. The statement was less than enthusiastic, and Hathaway's dark brows quirked over his hazel eyes. He, of all people, knew the complexities inherent in a carrier bond; they didn't forge quickly or easily, especially one between the sexes. Heaven knew that he and Talie had their differences, and he didn't really see Morrison and Noble fitting together with seamless ease. They were too alike and yet too different. She was uptight, that was more than just a rumor spawned by the enlisted types. And Morrison was uptight enough to make her seem impetuous by comparison. Too much of that blue blood and gentle upbringing had gone into him; the man was upper class in the extreme.

"I worry." She continued, smacking another shot in. She was pretty decent herself, he realized, especially when she calmed down and let the shots, both pool and alcohol, come.

"He went and volunteered for this assignment." Hathaway noted, when she did not continue. She didn't have to; he caught the gist of her concern. Noble was no slacker, in most people's judgments. But to the Morrison clan, she was a lower life form, as was Hathaway. He had few illusions about exactly what the upper ups thought of ones like him and Noble. He was a grunt, an officer through Officer's Candidacy School, needed by the Corps as a front line combat commander, his roughness forgiven as long as he remembered his place. Noble was the second graduating cadet from Albemarle in 1188. That alone should have taken her places. In the Corps, as long as she kept her nose clean from now on, it would take her reasonably far. But her background and subsequent problems would prevent her from fulfilling that potential noted at Albemarle. "He went and volunteered for you." He continued. That truth confused him. Morrison could have had himself a commander picked from the tree just for him. Hell, there were marines who would volunteer for the front at the chance of being a Morrison's MC. He was somewhat worried that Morrison was using her, but surely the man was brighter than that. Naval commanders needed to tread lightly to avoid irrevocably angering their counterparts. He had pissed Talie off more times than he cared to count, and she him but never far enough to break the partnership. And if Niel Morrison was using this one, the implications would be far-flung, as would the man's body. Rey wouldn't want this one mad at him. Arien had the unblinking gaze of a killer. And, for all of the man's considerable value as a carrier captain, if it got around that he had screwed over his MC, no one would want him. And all of his family name would amount to nothing if no MC would take him as a driver; he'd be back in Fleet so fast his head would spin.

She missed the next shot, and stepped back for Hathaway. As she waited, she tossed back another shot, the shock of the liquor already numbed to a warm presence in her veins. It had been ages since her last drink, and she suddenly remembered the pleasantly disjointed feeling that whiskey imparted to her.

Behind the bar, ignored by the two marines, the bartender sighed. Only 1500 hours, and he already had heavy drinking jarheads in the place. These were combat marines; he could recognize the type anywhere. At the rate they were putting down shots, they would both be plastered before the main crowd got here. The woman already wore a pleasantly buzzed expression, her sharply held features blurring agreeably. It was going to be a long night, he decided.

Arien smacked the final ball, watching it fall into the pocket. It had taken her three games, but she'd finally beaten Hathaway. She crowed triumphantly, her gaze flicking to Hathaway, who glanced at his watch. "It's 1700." He noted. "I have to meet Bruhler in thirty. Why don't we call it here?" That would leave Noble the final winner, and get him out of here before the O Club heated up. Soon the bar would be filled with loud, drinking officers, and that was not conducive to the sort of meeting he had brought her here for. It had also not been his intention to get either of them plastered; indeed, Noble's consumption of liquor had ended about half an hour ago.

"I'll be seeing you." She agreed, downing the last of her drink and gathering up her jacket. Hathaway nodded, paying the relieved bartender and going his own way.

Niel returned to his quarters after another day at the yard, and he unhappily realized that Arien was not there. Of course she had responsibilities of her own, but he would have liked to see her again. He checked his watch, 1715, she could be anywhere. He changed into casual clothing, taking a seat at the end of the bed and began flipping through the vid channels. Not much later, he heard someone fumble with the door, and Arien entered, sending him a smile in greeting. "'Lo, Niel." She said. "How did it go, then?"

Niel blinked. Her accent had deepened nearly beyond recognition, corrupting any traces of Albemarle usually present in her voice. Her normally pale skin was slightly flushed and her eyes glowed with an amused light. He noted that her stiffly correct stance had been replaced by a rolling sway. She was humming to herself, a tune that he couldn't quite place.

"Arien? Are you all right?" He asked, and she paused in the doorway.

"I'm so fine, right." She answered him. "Why'd you ask?"

"You seem a little strange." He stated in vague bemusement. Nothing that set off any of his warning signals, she was just, strange. That was as close as he could place it. She shrugged, unbuttoning her blouse and tossing it onto the floor. Maybe she had even been aiming for the hamper by the door... if she had, she missed it by a long shot.

"Nah," She disagreed. "Just a lil' bit buzzed is all." She gave him an ingenious grin, looking all of sixteen as she did so.

"Buzzed?" He asked, closing the distance between them. Yes, when he was closer he could perceive the smell of alcohol clinging to her.

"Buzzed." She agreed. "Why?"

"That was my next question." He stated. He despised watching drunks, almost as much as he despised being drunk himself. But, he gazed at her exposed flesh, there was obviously an upside.

"Hathaway wanted to hang out." She shrugged. "I figured, why not? We're both marines." Her eyes looked him up and down for a moment, and then locked with his in an obvious invitation.

"Just how drunk are you?" He demanded, feeling his rising interest war with his sensibilities. He usually considered it far beneath him to stoop to sexual activities with inebriated women, but they already had a history together, and she certainly seemed willing enough for him. She laughed, a low and throaty sound, leaning forward and wrapping her arms around his neck. "Hm." He sighed when her skin met his.

"The right amount, I think." Arien chuckled, "Just the right amount. Why, do you have some sort of thing against taking advantage of an intoxicated woman?"

"Actually, I do." He said, but smiled when she grasped his hand and placed it on her bare breast.

"Oh, no." She mourned softly, "I'll go get myself some coffee, then." Niel grimaced, well aware that she was teasing him. He pushed her against the wall, capturing her lips under his, pinning her with his weight. She gave him no struggle, and he tasted the smoothness of decent whiskey from her mouth. He let her lips go to wander down her neck with his own, breathing in her scent as he went. His chin, roughened by a day's growth of beard, rubbed against her nipple and she gasped in response, and the gasp faded to a moan when he sucked on her. She was small, much less than a handful, but she had perfectly sized coral nipples riding on breasts delineated by the sharp definition of her muscular structure. Unlike some female body builders he'd seen, she lacked the striation in her chest that came with extreme weightlifting, there was a layer of fat over her upper torso. She had the bulky build of one who trained for strength, not for a buffed, glossy explosion of swelling muscles.

She staggered in his grasp, and he pushed her harder against the wall, balancing her by wedging his knee between her thighs. Not very romantic, he thought, normally he did not have to brace his lovers in place, but then again, he did not normally find himself trying to make love to a half intoxicated mammoth of a woman. If he wasn't already aroused, he'd be laughing his head off at this scene.

Her fingers stroked him through the thin T-shirt he wore, grasping his broad shoulders. "Niel." She sighed, and he thrilled to the lust obvious in her tone. His name had never sounded quite that good before.

"Arien." He responded against her chest, his fingers roaming over her belly. She had the slightest convexity to her stomach; he recognized it as a tiny post pregnancy paunch, indented by the double concavities of her navel and catheter port. In her current state, she did not flinch when his fingers discovered the latter, and he ran his thumb cautiously over it. It was smaller, much less obtrusive, than he'd imagined when it had originally been described to him, perhaps 10 millimeters by 15 millimeters, and about that deep. She did not seem bothered by the subtle inspection, probably still caught up in the rush of alcohol and the sensation of his lips gently tugging on her nipple. But she sensed his lack of involvement, her fingers straying down to the waistband of his trousers. He inhaled sharply as she slid her opened hand under his pants, gripping him with a strong and frighteningly practiced grasp.

"Let go of me, Niel." She breathed, and he obliged by dropping the knee he had her braced with. She dropped out of his grasp, sliding down the wall, taking his trousers with her as she went to her knees. He looked down at her in a moment of confusion until she made her intentions clear. His fingers convulsed on the wall as she leaned her forehead against his lower abdomen and took his length into her mouth.

"God!" He gasped, retaining his balance with one hand, gripping the back of her neck with his other. Perhaps he should get her drunk more often, he thought, twisting his fingers in her short mop of hair. Slowly she began to work on him, tugging slightly on his skin as she increased the vacuum pressure created by the outward pull of her lips. With each pass she would press her tongue against the head of his engorged penis. Niel answered with a sharp gasp and Arien increased the tempo of her movement to match his thrusts. She reached up with her free hand to cup his scrotal sack, slowly massaging his testicles. She sensed his impending release as her movement reached a fevered pace. "Yes!" It came out as a dark snarl unlike his normal voice. With a final spasm, Niel emptied himself in to her mouth, barely managing to maintain his balance against the wall. Arien released him only after Niel had finished quivering and she looked up, seductively.

He pushed her down to the carpeted floor, struggling momentarily with her pants as she watched him through eyes black with emotion. The uncooperative garment finally gave way, and he split her thighs with his hands, leaning forward to run his tongue down the valley between her breasts and down to her navel. She chuckled as he tickled her by describing a tight circle around it, then stilled as he continued past the 'port to pause just before the neat tuck above her thighs. Her skin was smooth, hairless under his lips as he urged her knees to part wider. "Come on, Arien." He implored softly, feeling her tense. "Trust me." She relaxed finally, allowing him to gently work on pleasing her as she'd done him. With his tongue and lips he caressed her inner lips, haphazardly brushing against her clitoris. Her breathing became heavy and a glossy haze clouded her vision. Each chance encounter would send waves of ecstasy flowing through her body and she closed her eyes tightly. She grasped the side his head, steering him towards her, hoping to end his pleasant torment. Niel knew what she demanded and concentrated his efforts where they would do the most good. Arien threw her head back, uttering deep, throaty cries and clenching the carpet with her out flung hands. She began to tremble slightly as his steady rhythm brought a powerful wave of pleasure coursing through her body. A loud, rapturous cry erupted from her lips as she came. After her climax she motioned him to her with outstretched arms, wiggling her fingers enticingly. He entered her fully, their love making continuing, finally pushing both of them to satiety.

He wrapped arms around her, not at all surprised when she left the land of the conscious within moments. Her breathing deepened, settled out into the pattern he recognized as deep sleep before ten minutes had passed, and he chuckled. Poor, intoxicated, overwhelmed darling, he sighed to himself. Poor, intoxicated, overwhelmed, heavy darling, he decided, awkwardly dragging/carrying her to his bed. He let her fall into the bed, gazing down at her as she slept, completely undisturbed by his rough handling. He lay beside her, memorizing her body, filling his hand with the gentle mound of her stomach. A baby, he counted it in his mind. The child borne of his lover would be ten years old now, gone all of those years. What must it be like, he wondered under the fury, to have a child, out there, somewhere, maybe? Did it look like Arien? Was it a boy, was it a girl? What would a child of theirs look like? His mind boggled at that direction, and he shut it down. There was no time for that, neither of their lives could handle that right now, or perhaps ever.

Arien woke, bundled in his bed, flat on her stomach, listening to his slow, calm breathing. A vague headache pressed behind her eyes and she was terribly thirsty. It didn't take much for her to recognize a minor hangover and she dragged herself from the bed in search of something to drink and a couple of pain relievers to kill the headache.

He woke less than an hour after she had, walking into the kitchenette.

"Good morning." She bade a few decibels lower than her usual speaking voice.

"Morning." He agreed, eyeing her carefully. "You look much more alive this morning than I was expecting." He spoke in a soft tone, slow, quiet. She didn't require such gentle handling this morning, but she appreciated the thought anyway. There was nothing worse than someone who took advantage of a soul coming out of a hangover. She shrugged, sipping juice out of a paper cup.

"I wasn't that bad." She laughed nothing wrong with her recall of the previous evening. She'd heard precious few complaints from him then.

"Bad enough." He groused, and she glanced over at him.

"Yeah, keep complaining and you'll convince yourself of that, eventually" she joked, her expression that of a younger, happier person than he was used to seeing. He smiled back, feeling himself give into her contagious mirth. Things would undoubtedly get worse, but he felt good right now, and that was all that counted.

## Chapter Seven:
##

2 December 1192

Imperial Occupation Base, Llirin, Imperial Annexation Zone

Arien was bored, bored, bored, and infuriated. Sure, fire fights with the local resistance forces, Drelanii sappers, and patrols kept a girl on her toes but it was beginning to become monotonous. And that scumbag Major, insisting on coming along with her platoon when she went out to check a nearby village last week. The oaf brought an entire APC section with him, staying well to the rear of course. With as much noise as those four vehicles created it was no wonder they had found no signs of the enemy. They certainly must have out long before her platoon arrived. But that was not enough for the arm chair general. Oh no. He had to personally interrogate the village leaders in a vain attempt to gather intelligence. The man wouldn't know intelligence if it bit him in the ass. She hoped he choked on the report he filed when she refused to have her men execute a couple of the civilians. He'd had to order his own young Army Second Lieutenant to do it. Somebody needed to kill that rat bastard but quick, she thought, shaking her head.

The necessity of dealing with the Army liaison officer here on Llirin was driving her crazy, but it wasn't fair to constantly leave it to Hathaway. Occupation duty was hell, made more difficult with the man's attitude. Arien was trained for shock assaults, hit first, hit hard then relieved. She wasn't accustomed to this type of duty. And the incident on Hevish lurked constantly in the back of her mind, reminding her of what could go wrong. She knew, and indeed, she understood on some level, the problems that the Army Major had with the two AAI units assigned to him. But the problems he had were with marine operations, not with Arien personally, although the man had taken an instant dislike to her. Hathaway was just as guilty of any intra service crimes, but Arien was the favored target for the man's jibes. And having to put up with it day after day was slowly wearing her down. Occupation duty was wearing her down, slowly. And, for the first time in her life, she missed somebody. It was not a sensation she easily appreciated, she had lost that "high speed, low drag" mentality, the luxury of being able to go, and never look back.

She sighed, allowing her shoulders to relax, her lower torso encased in her 'suit. The Mark VII ran like a dream, and Arien had finally pushed all of the niggling little questions away. It seemed like lately Arien Noble had been getting the best, and she figured she was about due. She check the chronometer, frowning. Thirty more minutes, and Jamasi would relieve her. Thirty more minutes until she could substitute the tense boredom of standing watch with the lax boredom of downtime.

"Do you realize just how stupid you look, Lieutenant?" The strident voice cut through her reverie.

"No, sir, but I imagine you're going to tell me." She replied, recognizing Major Kovitch's tone immediately. She did not look back, instead choosing to keep her eyes on the avenue of approach that she guarded. Arien knew she looked a little bizarre, wearing the bottom segment of the suit and the standard assault gear over her torso, but it was generally considered acceptable given the circumstances.

He snorted out a sharp noise. "Is this regulation, Lieutenant?"

"Yes, sir, it is." She answered. "Imperial Marine regulations state that...."

"Ah, yes, Marineregulations." He interrupted her, "Well if the Corps allows its people to look like you do, that's their problem, not mine." She listened, happy to hear him leave. Altogether, not too bad of an encounter. One of the Major's shorter "I hate Arien Noble" rants.

Rey Hathaway watched as Kovitch went after Noble again, a deep frown set on his features. The man certainly had it out for her, that was for certain, and Rey couldn't figure out why. Noble had handled herself well so far on Llirin, and her control in denying herself the pleasure of hauling off and belting Kovitch was admirable. But lately she had begun to show an expression that worried Hathaway deeply. Cold, vicious anger, only barely tempered by her willpower, showed itself more and more often on her features. Hathaway knew that Noble was a killer, pure and simple, and if Kovitch pushed her over the edge, the man would die for it. It was time for him to do something, while there was still enough time to intervene. He closed the distance between them, watching her flinch when she heard his steps behind her.

"Noble." He identified himself by his voice, and she relaxed.

"Hathaway." She greeted him with that voice, the voice he could listen to all day. "What can I do for you?"

"How much longer do you have watch?"

She grimaced, rearranging her features. "Half hour, then I'm down. I could really use some sleep about now." He let her have that cop out, but he didn't believe for one second that she slept nearly as much as she claimed to, but he knew Kovitch didn't mess with her when she was supposedly sleeping.

"I'll take the rest of it, you go cool down." He stated. "Who's supposed to relieve you?"

"Private Jamasi." She replied, and he nodded in recognition.

"Go on, Noble, you're relieved." Hathaway sighed, and she left. What, he wondered, would it take to get them reassigned before she slaughtered Kovitch? Who to talk to? He needed to engineer a nice no fault reassignment and he needed to manage it quickly.

Arien returned to the Eighteenth's command tent, dismounting solo and stowing the suit. She pulled the assault gear off, and dropped onto her cot. The rippling of the breeze on the tent fabric was mesmerizing, and she fell into a light sleep quickly.

When night fell three hours later, the breeze picked up to a good clip, and the open tent flaps moved and rattled. As the temperature dropped, Arien fell into a true sleep, secure in the knowledge that her men watched over her. She was oblivious to the shape that stealthily entered the tent and studied her from the shadows.

The Drelanii sapper carefully studied the interior of the second marine tent he had entered. Only one marine was here, and he easily recognized the female officer who rode the battle machine. She slept her breathing deep and easy, unchanged since he had slipped into the tent. Beside her stood the battlesuit, manufactured in ever increasing numbers by the Imperial government. It was the first he'd ever seen up close, and he studied it, hoping she'd been careless in stowing it. It would be impossible for him to steal it, as he wished to, but a kilo of explosives would remove it from Llirin forever, and the shrapnel would probably kill the woman and any other marine near it. Unfortunately, it was sealed, so any externally planted charge would simply mar the paint job, and besides, the woman was not his target. He carried on, unseen. The marines guarding the bivouac were good at their jobs, but they were assault troops, not garrison forces trained to deal with saboteurs like him. They killed, and they killed well, having taken Llirin in a sudden, sweeping offensive, but they were only here now for morale purposes. This particular army unit had been on Llirin for too long, watching for trouble that never appeared. They watched their commanding officer erode his own morale by targeting the young female marine officer, verbally harassing her in hopes of a response. The marines under her command were steadily growing bitter as time went on, unable to intervene. He knew his mission would probably result in a heightened awareness in the enemy, but that couldn't be helped. Only the completion of his mission mattered.

Major James Kovitch sat in the field chair across from his own cot hours after Noble had quit the scene. He knew his behavior was counterproductive, but that marine freak brought out the worst in him. Firstly, he despised the waste of resources that a marine Battlesuit platoon constituted; all of those millions of monits in transportation and equipment for thirty six men. He ran his company on a budget roughly one quarter the size of Noble's Eighteenth, with ten times the personnel. He was told to make do while she rode around in that battlesuit filled with thousands of rounds of ammo, chauffeured around by a Lisbon class naval carrier. Secondly, he found her personally annoying. No normal woman had the right to be that big. When she was punched out, she towered over his 180 centimeters by a good 10 centimeters. Worse yet was when she wore only the bottom half of the suit, which elevated her to a startling 210 centimeters in height. But the more she insisted on not responding to his attacks, the more annoying she became.

He stripped down to his shorts, thinking it would be good to get some sleep. As he sat on the bunk, his weight triggered the pressure bar under the bed, and James Kovitch became another casualty of the Imperial invasion.

The force of the explosion erupting mere meters from the marine command tent blew Arien through the side of the tent, throwing the cot over and down on top of her. One second Arien had been dead asleep, the next moment she was on the ground, the concussive blast carrying on over her. Secondary explosions followed, as rounds of ammunition began to cook-off.

Then silence, as Arien attempted to make sense of what happened, her mind was reliving the nightmare of Hevish, and at the same time a small voice of sanity kept reassuring her that nothing seemed to hurt. Then the voices, chaotic and panicked, picked up, and now the majority of her mind concurred that she was not badly injured. Arien pushed the cot off of her and stood in the remains of the smoldering, flattened tent.

"You okay, Boss?" Schrader appeared at her side, submachine gun drawn.

"Yeah, I think so." She looked at him with a split second of confusion before drawing a breath and letting loose with a bellow. "MOUNT UP! Everybody! Squad leaders, I need an accounting, ASAP!"

Niel lounged in the captain's chair on Firestorm's bridge, half asleep. Riding high guard over an occupation force was hardly his idea of exciting. He missed Arien, a possibility that he had not really considered before. He vaguely heard the bleep from the sensors, but that station was not one he was keeping an eye on, so he ignored it. The sensor operator glanced at the source of the noise, and then typed an inquiry. "Sir, we've just picked up an explosion planet side." his fingers flew over the keyboard. "It's centered on the base, conventional high explosive most likely."

Niel sat up quickly enough to nearly fall out of his chair. "Give me Hyaline." He ordered.

"Right away, sir. Opening channel to Hyaline." The comm officer repeated.

"We've picked it up too, Firestorm !" Bruhler's voice, clipped and urgent, came over the channel. "Reading dead center on the base."

"Patch me through to Noble." He ordered the com officer, ignoring the man's nervous glance. "Aye, sir." The man stated. There was the chance that the com officer's attempts would be in vain, and it was obvious that the man did not want to be the one to tell Niel that he couldn't raise Arien. Niel prayed in the small interim pause, before the link went through.

"Stone Alpha here, Firestorm ." She replied quickly, to his relief. "Go ahead."

"Stone Alpha, this is Firestorm , what happened?"

"We've had an explosion, that's all I can tell you right now. Give me ten to get a handle on the situation."

"Back to you in ten, Stone Alpha." He'd heard all he needed to know anyway. She lived. Her voice was stressed, but not overly distressed. She sounded busy, distracted, but relatively okay. He settled back into his chair, eyeing the screens as they lit up.

"Boss, all present and accounted for." Schrader's voice came over the link. Arien stood over the blast site, firmly buttoned down in full Battlesuit. The bomb had been planted in Kovitch's tent, which was pretty obvious. Couldn't have happened to a nicer puke, she thought, holding the perimeter secure for the demolition guys. The only problem now was who did it to Kovitch? She knew exactly who the first fingers were going to be pointed at. Somebody had fragged the asshole, and blame was going to fall squarely on her head. Not to say that the idea of fragging Kovitch hadn't wandered through her thoughts many times in the past month, but to actually do it, that was another thing totally. She watched her men, worriedly. Hawkins had it in him, and Kovitch had given him more than enough reason to do it. But surely Hawkins was bright enough to realize blame would fall on her first.

"Stone Alpha, this is Firestorm ." Niel's voice came back on. "Report?"

"Some sort of HE charge, went off in the Army commander's tent. Looks like it was under his bed, but it's hard to tell. The demo guys are on the way. Some shakeup, but we've sustained no casualties." She considered the situation for a moment, checking the security of the transmission.

"Sir." the comm officer cut in, "Noble is attempting to get a secured channel. Do I let it go through?"

Secured? Niel nodded, picking up the headset that would cut the com officer out of the loop. "Yes, Arien." He greeted slowly.

"Um, Niel." that was exactly the tone he was afraid he was going to get from her. He recognized, "There maybe some trouble over this." when he heard it. "I may need you in a legal capacity." He drew in his breath. On a front line ship, an individual's immediate commanding officer handled legal representation until any charges became official. Arien had just admitted she thought she might need legal aid from him, his intervention on her behalf.

"Go on."

"Somebody fragged the ass. The Army major here. He was on his cot when it blew, by my guess. He had it out for me pretty bad. I'm really just waiting until they start pointing at me." Her account was quick, terse, and he heard the worry in her tone.

"Did you do it?" Arien was dangerous. Niel knew that deep in his heart, and he had considered the possibility that she could get in serious trouble. He just hadn't counted on it this early in their relationship.

"No, Niel, I didn't do it. I can't say that none of my men did it, but I can tell you Ididn't do it. And if any of mine did it, they did it without my knowledge. I have better things to do than frag Army grunts, no matter how obnoxious they are."

"Okay. Well, we'll sit on this and see what shakes down."

Hathaway sent Noble platoon away when the demolition crew arrived. He wasn't entirely certain she was not responsible, although it really didn't strike him as her style. Her men, on the other hand, were an entirely different matter. They had watched, and stewed silently as Kovitch rode her ass, and Hathaway understood what went on in their heads. Noble might think that they were hers; on the other hand, they considered her to be theirs. The Eighteenth had been together long enough for this sort of retaliation to develop.

"Drelanii." the head demolition officer identified. "Sapper, probably stuck behind lines when we hit here. Real professional job."

"Could it be Imperial bomb disguised to be Drelanii?" Hathaway asked. The man frowned, looking up at him.

"It could be an Imperial demolition expert using all captured materials. It would be one hell of a job, though."

Hathaway sighed. Noble understood basic demolition, same as any marine. She had a demolition person in her unit, but not an expert. If the demo team was willing to sign this off as an enemy sapper, he was willing to accept it. If Noble had done it, she'd been really damn careful about covering her ass, and he wasn't going to delve any deeper. Sometimes the ones you wanted at your back in a pinch were the ones you had to overlook certain, problems with. He went to tell her the finding of the demo crew, finding her sitting in the shade of a tree on the verge of camp.

"Well, do I call Morrison and give him the bad news?" She demanded, turning her head to watch him. She had the suit visor's reflection factor dialed down, and he could see her face through the faceplate. Her expression was set, emotionless, accepting of anything he said at this point. He wished she would show him something, but she appeared almost drugged by the occurrence.

"No." He sat beside her. "Demo crew is signing it off as Drelanii sabotage. You're off the hook, officially."

"Meaning what, exactly?" She asked, her features rearranging themselves into a semblance of normalcy, her brown eyes flicking in his direction.

"It means I'm getting you off Llirin, back to your ship. The Major's men probably aren't sure you aren't responsible in some way for this, which means we could get ourselves a real fragging here. I don't want to be the one to tell Morrison you've been vaporized in something as stupid as a retaliatory event. Lift the Eighteenth as soon as you can, Noble."

"Sir, we're receiving telemetry from Brimstone. Lieutenant Noble says she's coming home." Those words did not surprise Niel one little bit. If there was any doubt as to Arien's involvement in a bombing against Imperial personnel, she would be removed from the scene quickly.

"Tell Lieutenant Noble I want to see her in my briefing room as soon as Brimstonedocks." He ordered, leaving the bridge.

The summons to Firestormwas about what Arien was expecting. Niel would want to hear it from her, in person, that she was blameless in this incident. She dressed as Brimstone's medic taped her minor shrapnel cuts closed, then flipped through the docking umbilicus into Firestorm. The carrier was much more spacious than her dropship; Arien did not have to duck through the doorways on her way to Niel's briefing room.

"In!" He snapped at the knock on the door. She entered, crossing to stand before him, looking across the table separating them. He studied her for a moment, noting the bandages, and the signs of stress on her face. "You didn't tell me you'd been injured." He stated, leaning back in his chair. "Have a seat, Arien." She sat across the table from him, eyeing him warily.

"They're just scratches. I was asleep when it went off, and I ended up wearing my cot." She shrugged. "I should never have slept in the open, just stayed buttoned up the entire time."

"You okay?" He asked. She nodded, balancing her elbows on the table and resting her forehead in her hand.

"Yeah, Hathaway tells me it's officially closed. The demo crew called it a sapper."

"So what are you doing back with us?" He asked, measuring her response. She was tired, he could tell. Upset but he did not believe she was lying to him.

"Hathaway's afraid that the Major's men might retaliate against me. Frag me, thinking I had something to do with it." She stared at the tabletop. "I didn't, Niel. Sure I wanted to kill the ass, but I didn't do anything."

"Okay, then. It's over. It's good to have you back." She nodded, still dispiritedly eyeing the table. He sighed, standing to move around the table behind her. "Arien. It's over." He placed his hands on her shoulders, and she moved her head and shoulder to rest her cheek against his hand. "I missed you." It had been almost three months since they'd been together last, and Niel felt the beginning stirrings of interest. But her mood did not seem conducive to lovemaking, so he only rubbed her shoulders, feeling the tensile steel of her body under his fingers.

She turned to sit on the table, facing him, and Niel was relieved that it was made of welded titanium securely bolted down to the deck. "I've missed you, too." She chuckled wryly. "I'm just not sure I like it, though."

He nodded in understanding. "Yes. I know what you mean." He pushed her down to the table, leaning over to kiss her. She responded to him immediately, pushing urgent fingers through his hair and pulling him down with her, her lips soft under his. He pulled her blouse from her pants, sliding his hands underneath it. She arched under his touch, impatiently pushing her body into his hands. It had been much too long, he decided, feeling lust uncoil in his gut. He pushed her blouse up, and impatiently undid her trousers, revealing all he needed to uncover. He took her on the table, and she joined him in his urgency, moving with a strength and power to match his.

He came hard, fast, and when he returned to his senses, he looked down into her eyes. She smiled, sated, and he grinned back at her. "I cannot believe we just did that." He stated, and she chuckled.

"The table was a nice touch." she said with more than an edge of sarcasm. She stood, rearranging her uniform, watching him surreptitiously as he did the same. "Did you want anything else of me, sir?" She demanded coyly, and he burst out laughing.

"Ah no, Lieutenant, that will be all for now." He managed. "I will see you later." She smiled a promise, faced the door, and replaced the coldly correct expression on her face, before exiting the room. He sighed, reseating himself in the chair and hitting the room's venting system.

Schrader and Hawkins sat in lounge, playing cards, when Noble passed through on her way to her quarters. Both men knew that she had been summoned to Morrison's presence, and both were a little nervous. It looked bad that Kovitch had gotten fragged after riding Noble's ass for a straight month. Both men knew she wasn't responsible, and neither of them had done it themselves, so they were inclined to believe the demo crew's report of an enemy sapper, unless one of Hathaway's troops had taken matters into their own hands. But did Morrison, that pretty boy, believe her innocence? Hawkins watched her go, and then went back to studying his hand. Schrader could not read her expression at all.

"What in the hell was that?" Schrader demanded when he heard door to the head close. Noble had little more privacy than the platoon, and that distinct click of the only door in the lounge closing read as a loud, 'go away....I'm busy.' The boss occasionally closed herself in the head seeking solace, and it was stupidity to disturb her. "Was she pissed, or what?"

"What." Hawkins replied, tossing out a card. "There went somebody who just had her attitude adjusted, big time."

"What?" Schrader asked. "What in the hell are you talking about?"

Hawkins sighed, shaking his head. "Attitude adjusted, Schrader. Morrison was happy to see her. They have been separated for quite awhile." Schrader could be so slow sometimes.

"No way." Schrader knew that they had at least one sexual encounter behind them, but it was still difficult to imagine the pair of them actually doing that. When he imagined Noble with someone, it was always with someone like Hawkins, big, massive, and unattractive. Not with Navy poster boy Morrison.

"Way." Hawkins stated.

"We're leaving Llirin." Bruhler stated, and Morrison nodded at her image. "I understand that we have your marine commander to thank for that. Do you think she nailed the Major, as the scuttle butt here says she did?"

"No. I don't. Who believes that?" He settled back in his cabin, watching her on the viewer.

"Some of the earth pigs dropped some hints to Hathaway's boys. Nothing official, if you're worried. Just Army troops, only some of his subordinates. Hathaway thinks she's capable of it, but he's not really worried about it. The Corps doesn't want to take the time for an investigation that'll take you guys out of the loop and turn up nothing, you know that Morrison. Even if she did it, she'd be getting away with it. Not to say she did, of course. Meet up with you on the other side." The link dissolved, and Niel lay out on his bunk.

He missed Arien. The sex earlier had been good, but he missed her presence. He had decided he'd like to get used to waking up next to her. Ghaldin had been an eye opening experience for him, showing him something he was missing in his life. But now, the military view of discretion was in full force. Everyone knew he had been sleeping with her, but they must be discreet, or they would both be brought up on charges. He would most certainly survive them; his father would not permit him to go down in disgrace for something like public display of affection or conduct unbecoming an officer. Arien, on the other hand, was clinging to her career by her teeth and sheer willpower.

The jump warning chimes went off, and he braced himself. Firestormand her dropship jumped for their next assignment.

Arien lay in her bunk, listening to the discordant throb of Firestorm's jump engines echo through Brimstone's hull. She was alone; the barracks were empty save for Rasmussen, who walked through every so often on watch. Everyone else was in the dropship's lounge, or Firestorms'gym, working off boredom. She was here to deal with herself, to peel back layers and scrutinize what she found there. And she did not feel comfortable spending this kind of time with her men, so she sought solitude. They were hers, her men, her responsibility, she knew them well, but she was not close to any of them. Her men, all that she was. More than on one occasion she'd been called to send them to die, to amputate more of herself for the Corps. The older veterans, men like Schrader, Hawkins, Moore, and Devlin, understood. The younger men considered Arien withdrawn, emotionless, cold, uptight, and preferred to deal with their squad leaders.

She closed her eyes, drifting on her thoughts. She was content, and she chose to savor the feeling. There hadn't been a nagging for another hit in weeks, a fact that made her believe that she might be able to defeat it once and for all. With her eyes closed like this, she could feel Niel's touch; smell him as if he were still there with her. Her lips curled in an ironic twist. Arien, Lyret's ugly daughter, Lyret's giant firstborn, had a lover like Niel Morrison. Something that Lyret, and probably her younger daughter Derleth, could only imagine. Rich, handsome, and well connected. Niel was the epitome of what Lyret had torn herself up inside for wanting. Arien frowned, much as she tried, she could not remember Lyret's appearance, and Derleth was a vague, foggy recollection of blonde hair and long limbs.

Arien's mother would be forty, if she still lived, and Derleth would be nineteen. Barely mature in the eyes of the Empire and long since doomed by the station of her birth. Arien sighed, when she had left Drummond, when she fled the Lee and the people she knew, she had stepped onto a path of uncertainty. At home, in the streets of the Lee, Arien's life had been fairly preordained. She had belonged to one of the better gangs, was a competent thief, and brighter than most. She had been somewhat literate even then, and would have probably been groomed for a leadership position. She would have borne children from uncertain paternity until she could no longer conceive, an early occurrence in the filth of the ghetto, and may have even kept one or two, especially if the child were female. At her present age, she would be considered mature, at her mother's age, she would be old.

But she had fled, chosen the uncertainty of a path far from the small patch of land that her mother had been born in, and never left. Arien was now educated, healthy and respected for her abilities as a marine commander. She made a sum of money that would boggle her mother's greedy little mind, and she didn't have to spend any of it to keep herself alive. Every turn brought something new, not always good, but new. And there was good contained in the new, like Niel. She wasn't sure how long this could last but finally Arien Noble knew what it was like to have had a man she could tolerate. She sighed, stretching under the thin blanket and settling her massive frame into comfort.

By the time that Rasmussen's next pass came, his commanding officer slept unburdened by doubts. Below her, separated by meters of armored ceramic steel and a half a kilometer of space, her lover was not so fortunate.

## Chapter Eight:

18 December 1192

Cardiph, Drelanii/Imperial Border

"Coming out of jump in three, two, one, end." Firestormmaterialized into real space, flanked by Hyaline Splendor. Beneath the two ships, a pristine garnet planet appeared, and the colored flares of a fleet battle in near orbit. Niel frowned slightly, reviewing the first reports coming in. His intelligence on this mission was not as complete as it had been for the maneuver on Gragel, and he could only hope that Noble's was better. They were the only Carrier vessels within Firestorm's sensor range, the Imperial Second Fleet was engaged in a fight over Cardiph's southern pole, but Firestormand her sister had come out over the gas giant's equator, several AUs from that fight.

"We sure won't be dropping any marines on that." The comm officer noted, looking at Cardiph through Firestorm's view screen. Niel nodded. Battlesuits were tough, capable of handling vacuum and most hazardous atmospheres, but they could not handle the stress of a gas giant's atmosphere and crushing gravity. No matter how appropriately named Brimstonewas, it was not going to brave Cardiph. He couldn't guess what the objective was, but he just drove. It was obvious from the positioning of the two carriers that they were not to engage in the current Fleet battle, and they were vastly outgunned for it from what Niel could see on his screens.

"A structural assault?" Arien couldn't quite keep the dismay from her voice. She despised structural assaults, but that was what the timed orders coming up on her monitor read. Assault and secure Cardiph's orbital station.

"You read it correctly." Hathaway agreed, on the tightlink from Splendid's briefing room. "Structural assault." He sounded none too thrilled about the prospect himself. Structural assaults with battlesuited troopers was like dropping elephants in a greenhouse, something big and mobile was going to destroy everything in sight.

She leaned back in one of the briefing room chairs, absorbing the situation. Orders were orders, and they couldn't be helped. "Okay, we'll saddle up, then." She stated, "I'll let you know when we're ready." The link went down, and she grimaced. "Moore."

"Yeah, Boss." Sergeant Moore's taciturn voice came over the intraship com. The man was competent, but he had the charisma of a week old dead fish, and Arien reined in her usual response to his voice.

"Cycle out the suppression rounds for scatter rounds." She ordered. The 10mm rounds that her quad ports threw would not puncture an orbital structure, but the 12.7mm suppression rounds of the Max 9 preferred by the majority of her platoon would turn an orbital structure into one giant sieve.

"Suppression rounds for scatter, aye, sir." He repeated his voice as objectionable as always. But he was a good troop, and he followed orders well, so Noble retained him. In fact, Noble had retained Moore longer than any other commander ever had. He'd been one of the first assigned to her upon her return to the Corps, and she chose to hang onto him, hoping that she would become accustomed to his attitude. She hadn't, but she had more control over herself than to take it out on him, and it gave her a reputation for loyalty from her men.

The link to Firestormpinged for her attention, and she keyed the comm. "Noble here." She replied, rising to go to the preparation bay and mount up.

"Morrison." He identified himself, "You know the objective, Noble?"

"I do. We're conducting a structural assault on an orbital station thirty minutes under horizon. It'll pick us up in approximately two hours, but we should be there by then. We'll disengage from Firestormas soon as we're ready."

"It's just us, then?"

"Yep. It should only take the two units to secure the structure. If we can't, orders specify that we destroy it."

"Fine, then. See you on the return."

"Affirmative."

Arien slid into the suit, squirming to achieve a perfect fit before compression kicked in and sealed her in. "Wearer norm 75/80 confirm." Arien confirmed, and the compression locked down, rendering her immobile. The communications came online, the thread that was Hathaway's and her platoon's lines of communication came up lurid purple. The two carriers' thread, zipped unless she wanted to speak to the ships, appeared as a blue dot. Much dimmer was the green dot for the Imperial Second Fleet banging it out with the Cardiph defenders over the pole. The comm suite for the Mark VII was much better than the older battlesuit that Arien was used to dealing with. She would have never had the option of contacting a Naval Fleet thousands of kilometers from her position before.

"Boss, why are we neutered?" Hawkins demanded. He loved the tree splintering, armor piercing power of his suppresser, and he probably did not appreciate having that removed from him and replaced by scatter rounds.

"Orbital structure assault."

"Great." Somebody, Arien thought it was Jamasi, grumbled.

"Buck up." She snapped, feeling Brimstonelurch as it disconnected from the carrier and spinning upright. "Hassen, fall in with Splendid."

"Aye, sir." The dropship's pilot replied, and she felt the engines catch as Brimstonesurged towards its newest target.

"Civilian protocols in effect everybody." She ordered, and the silence meeting the statement spoke volumes. Those two words could chill a marine to the bone. They intended to insert seventy two half ton killing machines in close quarters, possibly with civilian noncombatants, and she wanted them to try not to kill those noncombatants. "Check targets, and remember it's a structure." Arien had never conducted structural assaults with her platoon, and it had been years since her last structural simulations, not since the Academy actually. The preferred use of battlesuited troops was to deploy them in the field, shock troops that beat their way to their objective by speed and sheer firepower. This was Force Recon kind of stuff, and two hard line battlesuit platoons were incapable of subtlety. How could you miss a battlesuit bearing down a corridor? How did you hide something that weighed eight hundred and fifty kilograms and stood 2.4 meters? In all of her years of battlesuit ops, Arien had never come up with an answer to that one. Yes, the suits were all smoothly edged and coated with an antiradar paint but that did nothing to hide them visually, not in this kind of arena.

"Full vacuum operations, go." She repeated the orders as drilled into her, more as a mantra than as an actual form of communication with her men. They knew the drills as well as she did, they just needed to hear her voice, know that it flowed calmly and collectedly from her. "Moore, Hawkins, secure the aperture and blow it."

"Aye, sir." they repeated as one. They would wait until they were actually within the structure to bother with time consuming things like iris overrides and repressurizing compartments. Plus the orders received made it obvious that the Empire was none too concerned with the survivors, or even the continued usability of the structure if the mission went sour. There had been none of the restraints normally placed on assaulting units; the Empire's orders had been strictly neutralization, leaving the moral calls such as civilian protocols to its commanding officers. There was no attempt to prevent full scale retaliation with any of the missions the Eighteenth had been sent into so far. Arien felt a little lost without the strict parameters of collateral damage limitations tied into her orders. With the orders she'd been given, she could tell the platoon to kill them all, and that would be the end of it. She disliked it, and had made the personal decision to add check fire to the orders.

"Noble, what are your standing orders?" Hathaway came in on Icom.

"Smallest rounds, scatter rounds, civilian protocol." She responded. If he had a problem with it, he did not say, and the link went dead.

"Aperture contact in ten minutes." Hawkins called off, watching the monitor from the bridge. She bobbed in acknowledgment.

Niel watched the two dropships close distance with the orbital structure, neither one of the small ships attempting to disguise their approach or intentions. He was a little surprised as to the leeway they had been given in this mission. He was used to Fleet commanders studying his every move, but he floated here, only peripherally noticed by the Second Fleet, with no orders other than to allow Arien to do what she was here for. He liked the autonomy he'd been given. There was no one to check up on him, correct his mistakes, and lecture him yet again. There was only his sister ship and their dropships, alone to accomplish the objective. Carrier wasn't such a bad choice after all.

Brimstone disgorged its troops over the exterior of one of the cycle apertures, Hawkins and Moore first, Arien third, the remainder by squads. The marines floated towards the structure using their jets to maneuver in the vacuum. Methodically, they spread out over the surface of the structure assuming positions that afforded the platoon the best fields of fire. Covering the two marines nearest the aperture, Hawkins placed a magnetized charge to the lock, and Arien felt the noiseless concussion as it went off. She was not bothered by the silence of vacuum as some were; real sound within a suit was rare. She could hear her own sharp breathing, as that did not alter in vacuum, and she heard the intraplatoon chit chat over her communication lines.

The first charge did its job, the aperture lost resistance and shards of metal fell outwards from the opening. She motioned Hawkins and Moore into the first airlock, she herself remaining in the opening. Arien had never subscribed to the commander in the front school of tactical idiocy. She was not a coward, not even close, but Albemarle had done its job well on impressing certain unavoidable facts on her. The objective was everything. The Corps wouldn't have them here risking their lives and all those millions of monits in equipment if something was not to be gained in the mission. It was standard procedure for a platoon to scrub the mission if their commander was dropped, so if she went down, the objective was lost, and some other unit would have to come in and pick up the pieces. If she lost men attempting to secure the objective it was unfortunate, but it happened.

The internal lock blew, emptying the airlock of its atmosphere into space until the emergency bulwarks took over and sealed what could be sealed. Now, the platoon posed a problem for the station's defenders, as they hit the interior of the structure. The emergency bulwarks were designed to hold in atmosphere, not hold out Imperial Battlesuit troopers. Four troopers on full compensation could pry emergency bulwarks open with their suit hands, without actually damaging the bulwark doors. Arien barked out the orders for the platoon to do so, falling back on what she had been taught rather than actual experience. The door gave, and closed without fail behind the last of her platoon as he stepped through the bulwark's door, hopefully giving the system governing it the incorrect message that it had not been breached. The warning lights in the corridor behind the bulwark were amber, not the ominous red that would signify complete breach.

"Butterfly Alpha, this is Stone Alpha, over." She called, sending Moore's squad down the corridor in front of her.

"Stone Alpha, go ahead, over." Hathaway came back.

"We have breached the bulwark and the warning lights are amber, over." She hunched grotesquely over, sidling down the corridor. Drelanii engineers designed their corridors to make them deliberately difficult in regards to Imperial Battlesuits. All Drelanii buildings with military applications had ceilings built at 2.1 meters, 30 centimeters shorter than an average battlesuited troop. Floors that were not reinforced to bear heavy loads tended to buckle under the weight of a half ton suit. Sending an entire platoon into one of these structures was nothing short of a nightmare.

"Roger, Stone Alpha, same here, proceed towards designated target. Be careful, something doesn't mesh." Hathaway warned.

"Boss, intersection." Moore reported. Arien glanced at the warning lights spaced evenly along the ceiling, still amber. Surely they really didn't believe that they hadn't been breached yet?

"Affirmative, Butterfly Alpha, Stone Alpha out."

"Split into squads. You know the drill." Capture and secure the main control room was the standard drill here. The problem would be finding it in this labyrinth of corridors. The squads split at the intersection, moving away quickly. Arien did not like the feel of it. That gut feeling that had kept her alive so far was erupting with doom messages. Visions of armored rats in a maze kept filtering through her heightened sense of combat alertness. She felt like a giant, awkwardly winding her way through a child's world.

McKillip, running point for the squad Arien accompanied, triggered the trap. The floor dropped out from underneath him, and he was instantly vaporized as the anti armored personnel mine he landed on went off. The two troopers immediately behind him went when the floor collapsed concentrically from the blast. The section that supported her held, barely, as she reversed weight and direction, barreling into the trooper behind her. The second charge was triggered on the heels of the first, taking out the back of the squad and pinning Arien and the five remaining troopers with her onto a precarious section of flooring. She reacted blindly, choosing the option of 'do something, anything!' drilled into her by countless instructors. She surged forwards, towards the still flaming hole that McKillip and the others had disappeared into, hitting the suit's jets as she stepped over the rift. Jetting in a structure was a no go but Arien trusted instinct and her own abilities, and desperation was a strong enough reason to try anything. The trooper directly behind her, first unbalanced by her retreat and then by her violent motion as she propelled off of him, lost his footing and dropped into the pit. Arien wasn't certain which one it was, but she knew she had to do something to break through the trap. She landed on the floor well clear of the hole, indenting the panel she hit six centimeters. She continued down the corridor, aided by her forward impetus and escaping the third explosion that took out the remainder of her squad. Her HUD went crimson as the squad's signals were lost and she closed her eyes in rage. Her men were dead but she still remained.

She tore down the corridor towards the depths of the station, all thought of a minimizing the collateral damage gone in the consuming anger that built in her. The first live body that she encountered did not survive its head on collision with an Imperial battlesuit going full bore through the space it had occupied. The second died when she went to 150 percent compensation and placed her fist through his torso. Arien did not unlimber the quad tens until she ran into the small security force manning a barricade, and they died under the rain of small caliber rounds delivered at nine hundred rounds per minute. A battlesuit carried more ammunition than an entire infantry squad, and ran through it just as quickly.

Cold sanity was returning to Arien, enough Drelanii had died to slake her immediate frenzy and she regarded the computer jack and monitor mounted on the wall beside her. Her command of Drelanii was sketchy, but according to her comprehension of the language, one of the icons read map. She raised her hand, the suit glove coming apart around it and retracting into the arm assembly. She punched the icon, and the station map appeared on the screen. A truly evil grin crossed her face and she moved in the direction marked 'Central Control', if her spotty Drelanii was correct. The thought that it could be another trap did not occur to her. She found the control room quickly, and hit the door in her elevated rage.

The pressure door to the control room buckled and the station manager turned to it in dread. It took another four blows before it gave, revealing a lone battlesuit trooper. Screams filled the control room as the station personnel gazed upon the war machine. The manager had heard they were frightening, but nothing prepared him for this. The blood and gore that covered it were cooking into steam that rose from the null gray surface of the suit, surrounding it with a pall of smoke and the stench of burning flesh. He stepped back, and the empty voids of four barrels tracked him. He threw up his hands in a vain attempt to ward off his impending death. The rounds tore into him before the sound of them reached his ears, and he died before he heard anything but the gasp of his own indrawn breath.

Hawkins knew trouble when he saw it, and the trail of carnage that he followed to the main control room definitely appeared to be that. Whoever was operating this suit had not even bothered to unload ammo into most of the corpses he discovered, relying instead on a dialed up compensation and sheer brute power. The door to the main control room was off of its electric tracks, removed by repeated blows centered on the internal leverage mechanism. He stepped through the breach, not surprised that all of the people who had gathered within the dubious safety of the control room had died. Leaning against the far wall was a Battlesuit that his onboard sensor identified, but that he would have never recognized, even though it was the only Mark VII between the two platoons.

"Boss?" Congealed blood and carbonized gore splashed the once pristine paint job, and shining stripes of damage stood out in stark relief to the dread gray surface. Smoke rose from the gun vents that were fouled by what Hawkins guessed correctly to be some unfortunate soul's once interior parts.

"Control room secured." She stated the obvious in a cold voice. "We've lost Beta squad. What have you lost?"

"Three." Hawkins responded. "They have the station heavily rigged against us. I've had no contact with any of the Twenty Fourth since we breached the aperture, but that could be structural blockage."

Arien attempted to raise Hathaway through the suit to suit communication, but was rewarded by static. "Butterfly Alpha, this is Stone Alpha, over." She tried Icom, and the silence in her head was worse than the static. 'Hathaway, come back at me.' Still nothing. "I can't raise Hathaway." She stated, and Hawkins frowned. It was one thing for him, a squad leader, to be unable to contact another platoon's commander, but Noble had an Icom. She should be able to contact Hathaway through anything. "Devlin?" Arien tried her final squad.

"Yeah, Boss." His signal came in strong; he must be close to their location.

"Report."

"Lost two. Closing in on your position."

Arien sighed, she'd lost fifteen men. Completely unacceptable losses, close to fifty percent. And there was no telling what had happened to Hathaway. She attempted to contact Firestorm, and finally ended up relying on the Icom to break through.

"Captain, Icom link with Noble initiated." the comm officer stated, "Routing it to you, now, sir." Niel nodded, picking up the headset. 'Firestorm , this is Stone Alpha come in.' her voice was that of a stranger, correct in inflection and accent, horribly wrong in tone. He closed his eyes, steeling himself for her next words.

'Stone Alpha, this is Firestorm , go ahead.'

'Firestorm actual, we have subdued the station. We have heavy losses, I say again heavy losses and I am unable to raise any Butterfly units at all. I suggest informing Hyalinethat we have lost contact with them, they may be able to raise them from the outside.'

Niel leaned back in his chair, rubbing his brows with his thumb. 'How heavy are the losses to the Eighteenth, Stone Alpha, over?'

There was a long pause, and Niel wondered if he'd lost contact with her. 'I have lost fifteen effectives.' she finally returned. His mind did the math unbidden, forty seven percent.

'I will inform Hyalinethat you have lost contact with their platoon.' He drew in a deep breath, 'And, Arien?'

'Yes?' she asked cautiously. Using her first name on a channel was a little informal for him.

'Get back as soon as you can, Firestormout.' He stared unseeing for a long moment at his screens. "Comm, give me Hyaline." The man nodded, tapping the order in.

"Hyaline Splendor actual." Talie's voice came on, "What do you need, Firestormcontrol?"

"Hyaline Splendor , this is Firestorm . I've just been contacted by Stone Alpha. She unable to raise any Butterfly elements and she wants to know if you're in contact with them."

"No. We can't either." Bruhler's voice was clipped, and Niel flinched at the suppressed emotion in that answer. He had never empathized with anyone as deeply as he did with her at that moment. "Firestorm . Get your people out of there, while you still have them. Scrub the mission."

He nodded, locking stares with the comm officer. "Sound the recall."

"I want this place searched until we find the Twenty Fourth." Arien ordered. "Back track to their aperture and," The deep pitched, continuous tone of carrier recall cut over her transmission. She leaned her head back into the cushioned support of her suit, clamping her eyes shut. Arien could feel the sudden indecision of her men, caught between the orders to abort the mission and the urge to remain to seek the Twenty Fourth. "Back to the dropship, everybody." she ordered, falling back on her command voice. "Schrader, make sure the men get out." She sighed.

"Boss, don't do it, they're gone!" Schrader reached out to grasp the arm of her battle suit.

Arien brushed his hand away, pivoting out of his grip. "You heard me, Sergeant, now move!" She snapped angrily.

Unhappily, the remainder of the platoon followed Schrader out, returning to Brimstone's safety. Arien turned down the corridor, moving in the direction of Hathaway's last recorded position. Only minor resistance showed itself as she moved through the station. These encounters she dispatched with physical attacks, simply smashing her opponents to bloody gore. With panicked speed, she approached the Twenty Fourth's last position.

'Arien, what in the hell are you doing?' Her Icom sprang to life Niel's concerned voice echoing in her head.

'Not done here Niel, I didn't lose those men for nothing.' She coolly responded, continuing down the corridor.

'You were ordered to scrub the mission, Lieutenant.' Niel stated, dropping his former informality and returning to business, obviously annoyed by her refusal to fall into line.

'Hathaway's still over here somewhere and I'm going to find him. Noble out.' With that she cut off all Icom connections with Firestorm.

Niel snarled as she disabled his link with her Icom, ramming his fist into the sensor panel he sat at. He had never had anyone disobey a direct order from him, and he could feel the bridge crew's eyes on him. This mission had gone to hell and she seemed bound and determined to go down with it. If Arien was unable to contact Hathaway, then Hathaway was lost, and now they would lose another MC on this mission, his MC. "Get her back!" He ordered the comm officer and the man bent studiously back to his station. He knew the order was futile. Even the hyped up communications in her Mark VII were not equal to overcome the structural interference, and those could be disabled just as easily as her Icom had been. But the order, and the comm officer's quick response to it, buffered his ego. How could she do this to him?

The tell tale signs of explosions where evident on the walls and ceiling as Arien rounded the next intersection. Another trap had been triggered similar to the one she had encountered earlier; chunks of armor and charred flesh littered the corridor. She dropped down into the pit, cautiously, so to avoid detonating any remaining explosives. She sifted through the remains of one of the Twenty fourths' squad, looking for any signs of life. She eventually found Hathaway's upper torso under the pile of shredded remains. Everything below his pelvic bone was gone, his right arm and left hand had been completely blown off, but he still lived. The 'suit was a marvel of Imperial technology, designed so its occupant could survive catastrophic injury that would be impossible to survive without its ability to seal off sections of the suit. Acting as a tourniquet, the 'suit' could crimp off a damaged section, flooding the occupant with painkillers and stimulants to keep the injured marine alive for recovery.

"Noble, They're all gone, girl." Hathaway's words came through the Icom connection they shared.

"You're gonna be okay, Hathaway. I'll get you out of here." Arien moved to cradle Hathaway's torso. She knew instinctively that he would never fully recover even if he did make it to the ship. Imperial medical technology was equal to full replacement of limbs but not to handle severed spinal columns.

"Don't waste your time Noble the power's going. I'm juiced to the max already, only 30 seconds of power." His groans shook Arien to the core. Hathaway was dying and there was nothing she could do to save him. When the 'suit battery gave out so would the seals preserving the man's life and his contents would spill out like so much slush.

"I'm sorry, Hathaway, I..." Arien held him as he started to spasm.

"Not your..... fault, girl. It's just my time.......oooohhhhhh, shit." the battery was exhausted and as she had predicted there was no hope for him. The battlesuit convulsed and quivered as Rey Hathaway died painfully. Arien could only pray that he died quickly.

After he was still for a moment Arien laid his remains with those of his squad and moved away from the pit. She retraced her steps quickly to the insertion point. Her progress had not been hampered by the station defenders. They were either dead or too frightened to face the lone battlesuit trooper moving through the station.

Arien clumped through Brimstone's preparation bay, dejected, exhausted, and thoroughly worn. She stepped back into the gantry, feeling the magnetic locks take over, relieving her of the necessity to control the suit. She waited a long minute before dismounting, standing beside the suit. She could think of nothing to say to the twenty one remaining marines, nothing that would fill the void.

"Well, that was fucked." Hawkins stated coldly, but his gaze lacked venom when his eyes met hers. The message was clear, they had gotten screwed, but he didn't hold it against her personally.

"Turn in the ammo." She ordered. "Let's get everything squared away, people." The platoon fell to returning as much as possible to normal, but they went through the tasks with a mechanical mindlessness that tore at Arien's soul. She sagged against the suit, feeling decades older than her chronological age.

"Noble." Schrader came up to her, hesitantly offering her the ship to ship receiver. "It's Morrison."

Great big surprise there. She took it from him, composed herself, and replied. "Noble here."

"I'd like to see you when it's convenient." His voice lacked that self important edge she was accustomed to. He sounded smaller, but there was anger under his words. He didn't strike her as one who'd had to deal with any form of insubordination before, and he would be taking her response to his orders personally.

"I'm on my way." She returned the receiver to Schrader. "Hawkins, it's your boat." She headed through Firestormto his side, seeing nothing on the way. He stood alone in his ready room, watching the faraway fleet battle over one of the virtual portholes.

Niel glanced back at her, feeling his stomach sink at the unconcealed misery engraved upon her features. "What happened?" He sighed, losing the urge to vent his fury at her.

"They had rigged the structure. It's pretty easy to set charges to go off under anything that weighs more than two hundred kilos, lets people walk on it, but it gets us every time." She shrugged, "Hathaway...the entirety of the Twenty Fourth...they're gone."

He returned his gaze to the porthole. "We're going to have to leave soon." he had not gotten those orders, but he knew enough about Fleet deployment to know the Second was losing their hold on the battle below them When the Second broke, the two carriers would become fair game for that Drelanii fleet. They were not equipped to deal with sort of punishment, nor were they expected to try. Niel had no urge to die here above Cardiph in a fool's battle. With his people withdrawn from the station, he intended to jump out soon, orders or no orders.

Her dark gaze followed his. "They're going under?"

"Yes. We're going to lose this bid for Cardiph unless they're relieved." She made a noncommittal sound in her throat, and he turned to her. "We cut out of here, now." He continued slowly. This would wreck Bruhler, and it did him little good.

Second Fleet Flagship, Rolling Thunder

Apex orbit, south pole, Cardiph Prime

Admiral Adam Fowler stared at the tactical boards, praying to see something he had missed before. Nothing appeared, and he glared at them. "What forces will need to be evacuated from Cardiph?" There, he had admitted it, to himself, to his crew. The battle for Cardiph was a loss.

"We've got the Fleet, six ships now." Thunder's sensor officer came back. "And we have two carriers doing something over the equator."

"Carriers?" Fowler queried, staring back down at his readouts. He had been so fixated on the battle; he'd missed the two when they hopped in.

"Yes. They jumped in approximately two hours ago, deployed dropships and stood off of that orbital station we were tracking. There's a Lisbon, that would be Firestorm, and her sister vessel, a Gibraltar, Hyaline Splendor. Their dropships have returned, and Firestorm's jump engines are spiked. She's more than ready to jump out."

"Captains?" Fowler demanded. If they were Fleet vessels, he would have recognized their names and his mind would have called up their commanders. These were Carrier, unknowns to him.

"Firestormis captained by," The sensor officer took another look at his screen. "Lieutenant Commander Daniel Morrison." his voice returned to professional correctness. "Hyaline Splendorby Lieutenant Commander Talie Bruhler."

Fowler chewed on that information. Daniel Morrison the eldest of Admiral, no correct that, Senator Daniel Morrison's brood of children, captaining a Carrier bucket far from the fight? "Hail Firestorm."

"Sir, I know you requested to be left alone." The intercom cut in, "But we're being hailed by the Second's flagship."

"Put him through." Niel pulled himself together, sitting to be in screen as the visual came through. He recognized the man he faced, Adam Fowler. Admiral Adam Fowler, a little older than the last time Niel had seen him, but still the man who had stood on his father's porch, wine glass in hand, discussing Navy gossip. "Good afternoon, sir." he greeted, not attempting to force any sort of cheer into his voice. Fowler's expression flickered slightly, before he leaned towards the pickup cam.

"Good afternoon, Daniel. It's been awhile."

"Sir, if you wish to be familiar, I go by Niel."

"Niel, then. Give me your status."

"We have sustained heavy marine losses in neutralizing the orbital station; my platoon is down to fifty three percent. Hyalinehas lost one hundred percent of her marine contingent. We have aborted the mission to secure the structure, and Firestormis standing by to leave the system. Both ships are completely operational, as are both of the dropships."

"What sort of platoons are you transporting?"

"Armored Assault Infantry, Sir. They were double strength platoons." Fowler nodded slowly, obviously deep in thought.

"Best of luck to you, Firestormactual. I think you already know what is going to happen here."

Niel nodded, glancing over the screen at Arien. Her face was locked in a coldly accepting mask of dread, and he frowned slightly, before joining eyes with Fowler again. "Aye, sir. Best of luck to you." They were going to need it more than Firestormdid. The screen went black, and he stood, crossing to face Arien. He embraced her, feeling the tense steel of her stance. She stood unyielding in his arms, before she shuddered, and gripped him hard by his jacket front. Her breathing went ragged and she began to cry, deep, rending sobs into his neck. He stood motionless, head tilted back and eyes closed, listening to her let it go. The jump warning chimed, and he knew the crew was following his last orders, wait for Hyalineto confirm her jump status, and follow her into jump. He was not going to be the first one away from Cardiph, the chance was too great that Bruhler would elect to remain behind, and do something stupid. "Blow the station." he sighed into his bridge com, knowing that Bruhler could not give those orders.

"Aye, Sir." The comm officer replied distantly. "Blowing the station."

Some aspect of Niel Morrison's charmed life fell away in that hour, as he held Arien and gave the order to annihilate the Drelanii structure. He felt the vibrations as Firestorm's dorsally mounted main gun fired twice, destroying the structure for once and for all.

The second jump chime went off, and Firestormjumped away from Cardiph. He released Arien after she ceased sobbing, knowing that she had to return to Brimstone, to her demoralized men. He watched her go, feeling the emptiness grow inside of him.

Arien stepped into the barracks, gazing around for a long moment. The room was empty, except for Hawkins, who lay on his bunk, staring at the springs of the bunk above him. "Hey, Boss." He greeted. "Any word on where we're going now?"

"No." She sighed, sitting on McKillip's bunk next to him. "I'll leave that up to the drivers. Where is everyone?" He glanced sideways at her, shrugging slightly.

"Here, there. Avoiding everybody else. You okay?"

"Been better. Been worse." She stated, standing again. She lacked the ramrod straight Academy stance that he was accustomed to seeing her with, a sure sign that she was exhausted. "I'm going to rack out. Wake me if you need to."

"Aye, Sir."

She did not bother to change clothing, lying out on her bunk and covering her eyes with her forearm. Oblivion lurked, calling as she closed her eyes. Arien could sleep anywhere, any time. The more stressful the situation, the easier sleep came, pulling her away from her surroundings. It had been that way on Drummond, when the others cried and whined with the cold, the hunger, the pain, Arien had slept. The ability had saved her ass on Brefeton, when she had undergone basic training, on Dannen during Battlesuit School, and on Albemarle during the first year of her cadet training. So many places, so many worlds, Arien considered the many places she had been. Her mother had never left a patch of land roughly eight by thirteen kilometers in her entire life, but Arien had lived on six Imperial worlds in her twenty four years, been stationed on four more for layovers, like Ghaldin, and been committed to maneuvers on three Drelanii worlds. Not bad, considering the alternative. Every time things got bad, like now, Arien consoled herself with the alternative. Life on Drummond, living in the squalor of the Lee, or the Imperial Marine Corps. There was no contest, none at all, so she would rise in the 'morning' to pull the battered remains of her platoon back together.

Niel studied the coordinates. He did not need to look them up, he had been there before, and he had memorized these numbers earlier. Hevish. A world that had been bitterly disputed by earlier Imperial/Drelanii skirmishes, traded back and forth numerous times. One of those latest battles had lost Captain Arien Noble her leg, her unblemished service record, a lot of her pride. It was probably not a pleasant place in her memories, and he wished they were headed to another world. But Hevish was one of the closest Imperial worlds to the border, and it had become a major staging area for the current campaign.

He sighed. He was exhausted, but he was also too wound up to sleep. Worries that he had never had to deal with before, worries that were the concern of the captain, gnawed at him. Arien had lost a great portion of her platoon, people she was ultimately responsible for. How well was she going to take this loss? Marine units suffered crushing casualties all the time, forty, fifty, sixty plus percent dead in missions was not considered unusual. But he had never had to deal with the aftermath of such a mission before. That was the captain's job and he was now that captain. He wondered belatedly if he was up to it. He'd rushed into command, dropping his Fleet posting for the guaranteed captain position offered by the Carrier Corps. Now the top dog position was more than he'd dreamed, he was Firestorm's twenty six year old 'Old Man', and he felt that weight firmly on his shoulders. He lay on his bunk, but it was hours before he finally slept.

Arien wielded the scrub brush against her suit, mesmerizing herself in the work. She would not be content until every speck of carbonized Drelanii had been washed down the drains of the prep bay deck. The Mark VII was no longer a virgin, long gouges and indentions marred the dull gray. She would paint them over to regain the radar resistant surface, but it would never have that untouched look again. Hevish. That was the scuttle running through the men, they were returning to Hevish. Of course they must return to an Imperial base, Hyalinehad lost everything, and her platoon was gutted to a much less than combat ready status. She disliked Hevish, however. She knew it was only superstition, what happened to her could have happened anywhere. But it had happened on Hevish, and Arien was not about to forget that. And Arien was, by her very nature, superstitious. Most grunts were, their lives straddled that thin line between living and dying, and they saw the difference that 'luck' made in keeping them on the living side. Grunts commonly kept track of 'lucky' and 'unlucky' commanders and vessels, hoping to be assigned to a 'lucky' one, dreading the 'unlucky' ones. Arien had dubious luck, occasionally it was as if a hand guided her firmly along, and occasionally, fate was out to get her. She had been well named by the priestess who had named her a week to the moment after her birth. In the slurry language of the Lee, the ghetto which sprawled under the capital city of Drummond, Arien meant 'shadow', a 'spot of darkness'. It was a male name, one that had infuriated Lyret to no end, but out of her own superstition, Lyret had not changed it. She had occasionally called her eldest living offspring by her much more acceptable middle name of Lauré, until her patience had worn thin with Arien. Arien Lauré. It was the singly most contradictory name that Arien had ever known, but the older she got, the more sense it made. Arien, a male name, Lauré, a female name. Arien was a woman who resembled a man in appearance and mannerisms. Arien meant shadow; Lauré meant some beam of light, usually a sunbeam. Placed together, her name meant roughly, a light in the darkness.

Arien had been born when Lyret was sixteen, and at that time, her mother still clung to the religion and practices fading in the Lee. Arien had been named, accepted and inducted into the church of her mother's people at one week of age. By the time that Arien was cognizant, however, Lyret had fallen, and only observed the rites as baseless superstitions. Arien had raised herself, far from the influence of what structure still remained in the Lee then. Derleth had come long after Lyret had lost touch with what little humanity she'd ever possessed, and lacked even the slight attachments that Arien could claim to the ethnic basis of the Lee. Arien knew, and understood, the rites and beliefs of her mother's people, but did not follow them. Life was easier in the Corps without the messy entanglements of an esoteric religious sect, and she had never been raised to believe them anyway. And Arien was not a hypocrite in such matters. She followed the religion that was the Imperial Marine Corps, and that was enough for her.

The last sluice of soapy, dirty water went down the drain, and she studied her handiwork. She would let the suit air dry before touching up the paint job, but the suit was finally clean. Around her, the platoon was also working maintenance checks, choosing the anesthesia of repetitious work to dull the pain of their loss. When they actually reached Hevish, Arien could release them, letting them work things out on their own, but for now she had to watch them struggle in silence. Any words she could come out with would sound wrong anyway, so she chose to join them in wordlessness.

## Chapter Nine:

30 Dec 1192

Hevish, Imperial/Drelanii border

The jump end warning came eight days later, after Arien had gotten the Eighteenth in the best shape possible after the slaughter over Cardiph. All of the equipment was cleaned, stowed, and the barracks had the eerie marks of a unit that had lost personnel. The personal effects of every man lost had been carefully packed away, and their foot lockers rested on top of their bunks rather than beside them. The view sent shivers up Arien's back, and she would be happy to hand their personal effects over Graves Registration when they landed on Hevish.

Firestorm dropped neatly out of jump and began the run towards Hevish. She had come out in far zone, there were too many vessels stacked in the Hevish orbits to jump in any closer. When they had assumed their slotted position within the Carrier fleet, the marines began the wait for authorization to drop Brimstoneto the planet surface. Firestormwas orbital vessel only, she was too big to leave the relatively low gravity of space, and her crew would leave by shuttles.

Arien worried about the timing of their return to Hevish. It was a weekend, and the weekend before the Imperial New Year's. She was desperate to get the men off of Brimstoneand back into civilization, and knowing that there was a chance they would be forced to remain in orbit over the New Year holiday depressed her. She was relieved, and a little surprised, when the orders to drop to Hevish came quickly. Brimstone from Firestorm's belly and headed to the planet, bucking and weaving when it hit atmospheric turbulence. Two hours later it put down on Hevish's lift field, alongside eight other marine dropships.

Arien ran through the final procedures before releasing the men on Hevish. She chose to forego the usual pre-liberty speech. They'd heard it before, they knew it by heart, and she really didn't think they'd get in much trouble now. The men left quickly, silently, heading off separately, leaving their commander sitting on the lowered gangplank. The lift field security force, all marine, arrived on their heels to secure Brimstone, relieving Arien of the necessity of remaining with her ship.

She made the trip to the Marine Quadrangle, a trip horribly familiar to her. She had paperwork to file, tons of it, and she preferred to do it now, rather than having it hang over her head. She stopped under a tree in the Quadrangle, breathing in Hevish's air. It was a cool day, bright and sunny, nearly perfect. After Ghaldin, it was the answer to a dream, but it was still Hevish. Less than a kilometer east of here was the Naval Hospital, the first place she'd been medivaced to after the explosion that had taken her leg. She pulled herself together, striding towards the imposing Headquarters building at the head of the Quadrangle.

The Headquarters was quiet inside, and she passed through to find the main station room. Arien sat at one of the terminals to input her information, gazing for a long moment at the IMC cover screen emblazoned on the monitor. After a split second, the laser sensor triggered, and the screen went to a menu mode. She rapidly tapped in her necessary information, name, rank, Imperial ID number, pass code, and the screen came up with the sketchy information sent ahead by Firestorm's communication link. "Eighteenth Armored Assault Infantry platoon, stationed: Ghaldin. Last known deployment: Cardiph Prime, Drelan Front. Losses: high. Reported dead: 15 (identities, unknown) Operating percentage: 53. Unsuitable for deployment at present. CO: Noble, Arien, Lt. Attached: INC Firestorm, Captain: Morrison, Daniel, Lt. Comdr."

She began inputting the necessary information to bring the files up to date, informing the Corps exactly who was lost, signing off on the lives of fifteen men. The actual hard copy papers, the ones that would be forwarded to their families with her signature scrawled on them, would arrive for her inspection later. Those were just a formality. This information on the monitor was what the Corps would use for its internal record keeping. She finished, waiting for the information to go to the mainframe, and give her the accepted message. It came up, along with a notice that her presence was requested at the personal effects office of the Quartermaster. She went, already knowing what it concerned. When she was here on Hevish, she'd had carried a great many personal effects, souvenirs of her life and deeds. When she'd gotten slagged she'd been shipped to Dannen, but her CO had stored her belongings here on Hevish. Normal enough procedure, and normally, she would have requested that they be shipped to her. But she hadn't, choosing instead to disappear after her discharge. The items had remained here in storage, waiting. It had been years, and Arien no longer remembered exactly what had been included in them, but the Quartermaster here would like her to finally remove them from his shelves.

She laid claim to the box, watching the personal effects clerk's brows raise as he read the effective date. "Ah, this one'll be way in the back, Sir. It'll take me a little while to find it." He was a private, a very new private, fresh from Basic. Worry leaked from his every pore at having to deal with an officer without a convenient NCO to lean on. Arien had been there before; she was prior enlisted, although nothing on her uniform gave that fact away. She contented herself with a vague shrug.

"Not a problem, private." She told him, taking a seat in the empty waiting room, drifting on her thoughts. She had woken up in the hospital with her most valuable items accounted for; her Albemarle class ring had been on her dog tag chain, taped down to her chest. The tiny earrings that had been a gift from her squad at her appointment to Albemarle had been in her ears. They had all been transported with her on the medical frigate, and had reappeared in a plastic baggie handed to her by a corpsman when she was released from the hospital. She ran through what should be there in her mind. Her original identification papers, the birth certificate and Imperial citizenship papers, both emblazoned with the IMC crests. Her enlistment paperwork and commission from Albemarle, her saber, a gift from the Albemarle commandant when she graduated second in her class, commissioning portrait, rendered by the Academy portraiture officer, and her yearbooks should all be here. So many items she hadn't wanted back when her heart had filled with venom against the Corps. The few items she had removed from Drummond when she left, she vaguely recalled there had been a couple of pictures, and a copy of the holy book, scribed in the language she had spoken from infancy, but couldn't actually read. Things she had survived without for years now, but some of them would be needed again. She could not be correctly attired in full dress uniform without her saber, and if, on the offhand chance that she did something like have children or get married, she would need the original copies of her identification.

"Here it is, sir." The private hefted a foot locker onto the counter. "Sign for it." He requested, pushing a computerized clipboard and stylus towards her. Arien looked at the locker, with her name and IID number stenciled on it, still taped together with the sealant tape used to discourage theft, then scrawled her signature on the clipboard.

"Thank you, sir." The clerk murmured, "You gonna need some help getting that back?"

Arien tested the weight of the locker. It was about the same as her combat load. "No, I can manage it." She manhandled it up and returned to Brimstone. She left the locker on top of her current one, journeying back to the Quadrangle, to stop at the Postal Service Office to collect the platoon's backed up mail, still bundled in a canary yellow, bullet proof 'bucket' container. The PSO only sorted mail by units; the buckets were then distributed to the unit's CO. She took it back with her, opening it in the deafening silence of the empty Brimstone.

First, she sorted it by living and deceased recipients, putting the mail for the dead back into the bucket and sealing it down. The PSO would return the mail to the deceased soldier's families, and all mail returned to the Office by a CO was assumed to belong to someone dead. Then she sorted it again, by individual, and placed them carefully on each soldier's bunk. Her own mail was, predictably, all from the Corps, three letters and a box. She sat in her desk chair, studying them for some hint as to what they contained. She was still leery about opening Corps mail after her discharge.

She heard the footsteps, quiet in the deep silence, the steps of someone not attempting to sneak around, but of one who realized that normal steps were too loud in the ominously empty ship. "Arien?" The person asked from the hallway at the far end of the barracks, just above a whisper. It took her a moment to recognize Niel's voice.

"Here." She replied in a normal tone, which cut through the silence like the crack of a gun. The steps grew louder, and she felt his presence at the doorway of her quarters. "You found me."

"Yes." He looked around, "This is your quarters?" There was the edge of disbelief in his voice. Naval officers ranked much better in the living space department than Marine officers did. He had real privacy in his quarters aboard Firestorm.

"Yep. You can snag one of the chairs from the lounge." She suggested. He did so, pulling one of the antique marine issue chairs from the cabinet that they were locked into and dragging it into her quarters.

"Mail call?" He asked, sinking warily into the chair. Arien knew from experience that the chairs were much sturdier than they appeared to be, but Niel apparently did not.

"Yeah, all from the Corps, as usual." She sighed. "Letters from the Corps give me the chills, though. They seem to think I need hard copies of wonderful things like my demotion paperwork, for my records, they say. I don't keep those kinds of records."

"It can't be that bad now." He stated, he would be informed of any actions of the Corps that would affect her performance, and he would be the one to file almost any punitive motions against her.

"I know that. But the feeling is still there." She opened the first, scanning it. "Yippee. My bank accounts have caught up to me." She snorted sarcastically, but the figure on the bottom of the page was fairly impressive. He shrugged at the statement. An individual on the front could be difficult to keep track of, even for their own branch. She opened the second, her face contorting slightly as she read it. "The Corps wants me to set down the Eighteenth's shoulder patch designs. Want me to meet with a graphic artist." She chuckled. "We've survived long enough for our own insignia. I feel special now."

He eyed her, she seemed to be in a rare fine mood for her, especially given the past two weeks, but there was an undercurrent in her voice he did not like. She opened the third letter, and she froze as she read it. "Arien?" He asked in concern. She passed it to him, and he scanned it quickly. "Be it known, by order of the Commandant of the Imperial Marine Corps, that the following individuals have been promoted to the rank of Captain (O3) as of 17/10/93." He read aloud. Halfway down the page, highlighted in yellow florescent ink, "Noble, Arien, L. IID 11426992." She did not seem to be pleased, and he finally judged that she was saddened by the information. "What is it, Arien?" He asked, and she shrugged.

"Lots of little things." She admitted slowly. "Coming back to Hevish, for one. I don't really like this place any more. The Quartermaster requested that I pick up all my things today, all of the stuff I left behind when they shipped me away from here. I've just got a really bad case of déjà vu, is all. I'm a Captain again, on Hevish, just like before. I don't feel like celebrating a promotion, and I sure as hell don't feel like a wetting down."

"How about just a drink, then, if you want to skip the party?" He offered. "Something really discreet and low key."

"Sure. That would be nice." She broke the tape on the box, sliding its contents out on her lap. Niel recognized the leather bound boxes that newly presented awards came in, and was not surprised when she sighed and slid them back, placing the box far back on her desk. It was too early for this. She stood; moving to the two foot lockers stacked at the side of the bunk, and eyed them suspiciously. Arien opened the newly returned locker, pursing her lips. Resting at the top was her saber, the hallmark of an Imperial Marine officer. She lifted it out, balancing it carefully in her hands. "I left it all behind, Niel. Everything I possessed was in this locker. Everything I was. Everything I hoped to be." She shrugged, "And I've come back to it."

"Yes." He agreed. "You've come back. You begin again where you left off." She eyed him for a moment, placing the saber on her bed. There was too much time passed, too many faults committed in the interim for Arien Noble to begin where she had left off.

"So much stuff." She chuckled. "My papers. Oh my, I haven't seen that in ages." She removed a photograph, shaking her head. She turned it to show him, and he considered it. A gap toothed child, obviously Arien, awkwardly held up a blonde toddler up towards the camera. It was a cheap snapshot, grainy and dark, possibly the worst quality that Niel had ever seen before.

"That's my sister, Derleth. The blonde one."

"And you, I did recognize that."

"Thanks." she snorted sarcastically. "I was a lovely child."

He shrugged. She had not been, but she was aware of that, and didn't need him to say it. The younger Arien was a lean and gawky soul, even more painfully androgynous than as an adult. She had grown into all of those angles and planes, however, replacing them with a strong, graceful handsomeness. Arien was handsome. Of all of the adjectives Niel could come up with, that one fit the best.

"No comment?" She laughed. "A wise man knows when to hold his tongue. How about this one, then?" She passed him another photograph, framed, so far beyond the first in quality to be incomprehensible. This one had been taken by a professional, of Arien in the full dress uniform of a Marine officer, backed by the flags of the Empire and the Corps. He recognized a commissioning portrait; he had one like this from Thackeray. But her expression in the portrait caught his attention, and he had to smother a laugh. She had the same half evil, half seductive stare she had the first time they'd been together.

"What's so funny?" She demanded, and caught, he let the laugh go. "What?"

"Your expression." He choked, and she picked the portrait up. She had seen it a thousand times and did not get what was so amusing, but most men, and some women, reacted in some odd way to it. Arien had finally given up and packed the portrait away, lost over whatever brought out the reactions. Niel collected his wits, "Um, Arien, do you remember when you first came to me on Ghaldin, to work things out?"

"Sure. How could I forget it?"

"That's the expression you had on your face then. Seductively evil. What, was the photographer good looking, or something?"

She studied the photograph. "Nah, not particularly, as I remember. I was in a really good mood though. I had found out my graduation order that morning. Me, second graduating cadet, class of '88. Me. I couldn't believe it." Her smile was a reflection of times past, and he watched her brighten before his eyes. "I wasn't ever going to be anything. I was worthless. And then, suddenly, I was second in my class, at one of the finest schools in the Empire. My mother couldn't even read, and I was an honor graduate from the Imperial Marine Academy at Albemarle. Until I enlisted, I had never gone to school a day in my life, and I had a college degree. You don't know what that meant to me."

"I didn't want to go to Thackeray." He admitted slowly. "I hated every minute of it. I hated the thought that I would become a naval officer."

"And now?" She began to pack the items back in the locker. She reached the portrait, pausing, before offering it to him. It was common for a pair to have portraits made at the beginning of their partnership, something he was going to suggest while they were back on secure Imperial soil. But he doubted if hers would have that expression, the one that reminded him so much of their first encounter. He accepted it slowly, tucking it under his arm.

"Now that I'm away from Fleet bullshit, I'm beginning to like it. People in Carrier Corps are willing to judge me as me, not the spawn of Senator Daniel Morrison. I've wanted that my entire life. I don't want to ride his name forever, Arien."

"You don't need to, Niel." She opened the wardrobe under her bunk and pulled out her jacket. "Get the box out of the second drawer from the top, would you?" She jerked her chin at the drawers holding the other end of the bed up, the drawers behind Niel. He obliged, removing the box that must contain her insignia and awards. He had one just like it in his cabin. She changed out her lieutenant rank to captain, and pulled the jacket on.

"You ready?" He asked, and she nodded.

"What's on your mind?" She asked, her voice carrying under the din of the Officer's Club. She could sense he had thoughts going on under that wonderful exterior. He chuckled, slowly, darkly, not the sort of sound she was used to hearing from him. The more time Arien spent with Niel, the more editing she ended up doing to her first impressions of him. Niel Morrison was not nearly the perfect man that his father's public relation machine made him out to be. She would step carefully if she ended up on his wrong side, and she would watch her back.

"You don't want to know." The statement was a challenge. He wanted her to go for it, and just because of that, she considered dropping it. She waited long enough to worry him, and then sighed gustily, artificially.

"Fine." She stated. "I'll go for it anyway. What?"

"I was wondering if you'd spend the night with me." He said, and she considered his words. Not quite what she was expecting. They had been together many times before, but he put a lot of emphasis into this request.

"Sure." She shrugged slightly. "What's the big deal?"

He grinned, swirling what remained of his drink in the bottom of its glass. "I got a hotel room when I first got down here. It's going to be impossible to get quarters the day before New Year's, so I took some liberties. I didn't think you'd mind."

"No. It's better than sleeping on the dropship." She replied with her usual pragmatism. He nodded in agreement, putting the glass down on the table, and standing to leave. She followed him, leaving the Hevish base behind.

Arien studied the lobby of the hotel as she passed through, deciding what Niel considered a hotel and what she considered a hotel were not necessarily the same thing. She gave a hotel "nice" status if it had room service instead of vending machines. This was opulence, beyond anything that Arien had ever encountered. These were the surroundings of an Imperial Senator's son, and she wondered just what she had gotten herself into with this one. "What are we doing here, Niel?" She asked.

"Staying." He answered, hitting the button to the elevator. She nodded, less than thrilled. Marine company grade officers did not warrant surroundings such as these. Arien had been much happier assigned to the BOQ or with him, although she believed him that quarters were not going to be available for the holiday.

He opened the door to their room, suite, motioning her inside. The only time that Arien Noble had seen a place such as this was the time she had been invited to the Albemarle Officer's Ball at the Commandant's, and that was Commandant as in of the Marine Corps, not the Academy, mansion. "Relax, Arien. Enjoy it." He chuckled. "Have a seat." He motioned to the table, and she sat, watching him suspiciously. She knew he was up to something, but she couldn't quite figure out what. "I'm going to be in the bathroom for a while." He said, "Make yourself comfortable."

She waited for him with the studied patience of a long time soldier, taking the time to absorb the room and its contents. About half an hour passed before the bathroom door opened, and Niel appeared again. He wore his full dress uniform, navy coat over black trousers, and she stared at him in awe. There was something about a man in uniform, and even more so about this man, in uniform. He stood proud, graceful, and she instinctively mirrored his stance, pulling herself up slightly. "Good evening, Captain Noble." He stated in that perfectly clipped Capital accent of his. "I asked you here tonight for a reason."

Arien had realized that, and she also realized that his reasons had nothing to do with what she had originally thought. "Yes, sir?" She asked.

"I needed you to be here tonight. There's something I have to do." He said, and she frowned at the steely tone. "You," He continued, "Are a duly sworn officer of the Imperial military."

That observation, while obvious, disturbed Arien slightly. The statement 'duly sworn' was usually brought up when the task at hand was unpleasant. "I am." She agreed warily. She was beginning to wish he had brought her up here to sleep with; this was starting to unnerve her greatly.

"Then you are authorized to accept this from me." He stated cryptically, and Arien's stomach dropped. He held up a hand to stall the rush of words he must have seen rising to her lips. "Listen to me, Arien. This is something I have to do. I took my oaths to the Empire eight years ago when I entered Thackeray. I was eighteen, and I didn't want to be there, and I didn't want to take the oaths, but it was expected, so I did it. But I didn't mean them. Things have changed, Arien." he sighed, "I am directly responsible for the lives of eighty individuals, and that doesn't count your platoon. Indirectly, you can add thousands, millions more to that, people who count on me, who count on that oath that I didn't mean. Like you do every time you trust me to drive you in, and drive you out. I need to take the oaths again, and they must be witnessed by a duly sworn officer."

Relief boiled up in Arien, and she almost laughed, but his solemn gaze stopped her. "I will do that, Niel." She agreed. "I would be very honored to do so."

She listened as he reiterated the oaths of an Imperial officer, his voice low and steady. He ended with the time honored ending, "May the Imperial Navy stand forever." Arien replied as generations of marine officers had before her, "Imperium fidelis, Imperator fidelis, semper fidelis."

"Thank you, Arien. This has been bothering me for a while." He moved to the sideboard, plucking the napkin from over the ice bucket and removing the bottle of champagne he had stowed there earlier. He uncorked it with the ease of long practice, filling two glasses and passing one to her. She nodded, raising it slowly. "To the Navy." it was an odd toast for her, but it was the traditional one for the situation. "The Navy." he echoed, bringing his to touch hers. The champagne was excellent, dry and deep on his tongue. "To the Corps." he offered back. "The Corps." she returned.

"To his Imperial Majesty, Phillip, and his Empire."

"Imperator, Imperium." She gave the responses long drilled into her. Every official military gathering gave these toasts; they became second nature to the individuals giving them. He glanced at her, raising a brow. "We don't seem to have any ladies present, so I suggest we forego the toast to them." he chuckled. "I'd like to bring another toast forward."

"Yes?"

"To us. May we become the banes of Drelane."

"To us." she repeated. "To Firestorm's crew, to the Eighteenth, to us." He nodded, pulling her close.

Arien lay in the great, four poster bed beside him, wide awake as he slept. She stroked his wavy blond hair, watching him sleep and thinking of his words. In the language of the Lee, her native language, there was a bogey monster, a great force of implacable, unstoppable terror called a baenriyi. She remembered looking through her copy of the holy book when she was still a child on Drummond, looking at the pictures. One was of the baenriyi, and the image came into her mind of the drawing within the book. The closest interpretation to 'baenriyi' in Imperial standard would be 'bane'. She would take that image to the artists, and let them turn it into the blazon for the platoon. That problem solved, she let herself drift to sleep in the haven of his arms.

Someone's carrycom woke her, and she snagged it with the ease of long practice. "Noble, here." she stated in the wide awake voice she'd perfected. A glance at the clock beside the bed proved that she should indeed be wide awake, it was 0830. She was getting old and lazy.

"Your voice has changed, Daniel." A strange, male voice noted after a pause. "May I speak to Commander Morrison?"

"Of course, sir." She elbowed Niel awake and he took the receiver, pulling her closer with his free arm.

"Morrison." He said in the same very awake voice. She smiled slightly, tucking her long body in closer to him. She felt him tense slightly against her, "Ah...yes...sir. It is good to speak to you again too. Of course, sir, I'd be honored. No, not too short of a notice. I'll be there." He put the carrycom down, laying his face back into the nape of her neck.

"Who was that?" She demanded.

"Admiral Adam Fowler." he murmured, nuzzling her neck seductively.

"Fleet admiral?" she sat bolt upright, staring down at him. "That was an admiral? I answered your com to an admiral? Oh, that was good."

"Calm down, Arien. He was calling to give me an invite to tonight's New Year's reception, that's all."

"Do you often get personal invitations from an admiral?"

"More often that I care to consider. He's an acquaintance of my father's." Of course, most of the Navy's admirals were acquaintances of his father. He had no illusions that he actually deserved personal invitations from an admiral, but Fowler undoubtedly remembered his presence from the horizon reaches of Cardiph. She grumbled slightly, and he ran gentle fingertips down her bare back. "You'll come with me?"

Arien bit back her initial refusal. It was unseemly for him to go without her. "Of course." She sighed. These things were bad enough when they were thrown by the Corps, at a Naval sponsored function; she was expected to become part of the scenery.

"Thanks." He said, strengthening his touch to rub down the muscles of her back. "You are," He sighed. She twisted her head to send him an inquisitive glance over her shoulder. She had that unguarded, youthfully feminine cast to her features, softly unarmed against him. "Magnificent, Arien. Truly magnificent."

She chuckled deeply at that statement. "You know, Niel, you don't have to do this." She stated, and he felt the bitterness under her voice. Her guard came up in force once again, and he lost the simpatico he had felt with her just seconds earlier.

"Do what?" He asked grimly.

"This." She motioned sharply around. "The nice hotel, the champagne, the sweet words. I know how it is. You know how it is. Why are you doing this?"

"I know how what is?"

"Us. You don't need to do any of this to get me in the sack. Asking will do it for you; you don't need to work at it."

"I....." This reaction flabbergasted him. He had felt badly that he had not been more romantic with her before, but circumstances had intervened earlier. His earlier lovers had expected this kind of treatment from him, and now, she was pissed. But she hadn't been pissed before. "It bothers you that I find you attractive? That I want you?" Anger built up in her eyes, and he grasped her shoulders. "I see. You don't believe it. That's the problem right there, you don't believe I really feel this way. You think," He followed this sudden enlightenment to its conclusion. "God, Arien, I'm not using you. I don't need to. I wanted you the first moment I saw you. Tell me....."

She closed her eyes, taking in a deep breath. "It's hard to believe that a man like you wants me."

He twined his arms around her waist and rested his head between her shoulder blades. Her breathing was deep and even, and he could hear the sound of her heart beating. "I want you so badly that it keeps me awake those nights that you aren't with me." He admitted. "I have never wanted anyone like that before. I thought you felt something, too."

The laugh that rocked her body was dark and mirthless. "I felt something. I've felt things before, not like that, but things. I've learned to keep them to myself. Why would you want me?"

He weighed his options. Arien was no fool, she would see through any of the fancy sentiments he would normally toss up as flak in this sort of battle. "I don't know." he stated coldly. "I really do not know. I find you devastatingly attractive, on some gut level, but you're not pretty. I do know what I didn't like about the others, if that helps."

"What?" She demanded, and he chuckled at her sharp tone.

"I always felt like I was with something so very breakable. I had to watch everything, what I said, what I did. They were so delicate, mentally, physically. I couldn't be myself, I could only be the son that my father made me be. I had to be Daniel Morrison for them, Daniel the great catch. Daniel with the name, the power, the money. I'm not Daniel, Arien, I'm Niel. You let me be Niel and that's all I ever wanted."

"I've been ugly my entire life." She muttered angrily.

"You are not ugly." He disputed, pulling her back into the fine sheets. "I, the great Niel Morrison, do not sleep with ugly women. The universe would cease to move if that happened."

"Modesty, modesty." She retorted, but most of the edge had vanished from her voice. He laid his head on her shoulder, feeling her calm down and stop resisting his touch.

"Damn straight." Niel chuckled, "Don't you forget it, either." He pulled the bedspread back over them, relaxing against her. It was the last day of December all of the base activities would be pared down to the barest minimum, and there was nothing they would be getting done today or tomorrow. His stomach growled impatiently with the first stirrings of hunger, and she laughed at the sound.

"Hungry?" She asked softly.

"Yes. Come on, lazy woman. Let's go eat." He pushed against her weight, only succeeding in budging her a few centimeters away from him. She sighed, standing to retrieve her uniform from its resting place over one of the chairs. Arien sent him an acid stare when he only watched her from the warmth of the bed.

"Yes, I'm the lazy one." She agreed, buttoning her blouse. "You got me up, pretty boy, you better feed me, and soon."

"So I like watching you dress. Hardly a crime." Niel noted, standing to dress himself. Her lips twisted in amusement as she watched, and he paused. "What?"

"Nothing." Arien said, "Something I need to get used to."

"What would that be?" He demanded curiously, stepping into his trousers.

"You have hair. I'm not used to men with body hair." She answered, and he surveyed himself. He did not have a lot of it, but yes, he had pale brown hair in a line thickest between his nipples and tapering towards his navel. It was probably not as disturbing to him that she had none; most women he knew went to great pains to keep it down.

"You have two navels." He retorted, and she laughed.

"Fine, fine, you've got me there." she conceded, buckling her belt. "I do indeed have two navels, if that's what you want to call it. Why, does it bother you?"

"No." He snickered, "As long as it doesn't get in the way."

She grimaced at him. There went another one of those statements that she found hard to believe came out of Niel Morrison. "No it doesn't get in the way." She grumbled, pulling on her jacket. He flashed a smile which completely lacked the regal amusement he usually showed, a smile that was warm and sincere. Something inside of her melted, and she returned it slowly.

"When is this thing tonight, anyway?" She asked, finishing up her breakfast. "I need to fix my dress."

"It starts at 1700. You can count on being there until at least 0100." He stated, gazing around the hotel's restaurant with the air of one who belonged. Arien had spent her time remembering the etiquette drilled into her by several well meaning and stubborn Albemarle instructors. Table manners were not a concern in the Lee, and only minimally required at marine mess. Every scrap of manners that Arien possessed came to her from the four years of Albemarle training she'd endured. Niel had the effortless manners of someone born to the upper classes.

"Of course." Arien said. It was a New Year's reception. It would go on into the New Year, that was a given, and probably well past it. Then the senior officers would retire, and attendance would go from compulsory to voluntary, and the fun would start. Arien knew how these things went. They were monthly occurrences at Albemarle, as the Corps pruned its young cadets to get them ready for the military social scenes. "I need to go then." she noted, "I have some things I need to get done."

He nodded, opening his paper. "I'll pick you at the dropship at 1600." He said. Unlike civilian functions, military parties began promptly, and the brass frowned on tardiness.

"1600." She repeated, leaving the hotel to return to the base, to the dropship. It had gotten around to the platoon that she had distributed the mail, and the men were all present, reading, arguing.

"Officer on deck!" Schrader barked, and they went to a decent semblance of attention.

"As you were, men." She said immediately, "I need to see you, Schrader." She said, and he followed her into her quarters.

"Congratulations, sir." He offered, eyeing the rank insignia on her shoulders.

"Thank you. I hate to do this to you, Schrader, but it can't be helped." She pulled her dress uniform out of the wardrobe, handing it to him. "I need it back from the cleaners no later than 1500, tonight."

He sighed, nodding, and leaving with it quickly. This was part of his job description, and he did it without outward complaint, which was all she asked. It had been years since Arien had been required to wear dress, so all of it needed to be cleaned, shined, and buffed back into its former glory. "Hawkins!" She barked, and he appeared quickly in the doorway.

"Yeah, Boss?" He asked. She took the box with the medals and tossed it to him.

"Distribute these with my compliments to the men." She ordered, getting down to the details of creating an officer fit to stand beside Lieutenant Commander Niel Morrison at a formal function.

"Yeah, Boss." Hawkins agreed, "Anything else?"

"Yes." She stood, opening her older footlocker, removing the saber and the holy book. She placed the saber on her bed for later buffing and flipped through the book until she reached the rendering of the baenriyi. She placed the ribbon bookmark sewn into the binding at it. "I need this taken to the Graphic Arts office. Tell them that what they wanted from me is on the marked page, and that I will eviscerate anybody who damages that book." She dropped back into the plastic binder it was kept in, and passed it to him. Her toothy smile showed him that he was included in that threat.

"No problem, Boss." He stated, leaving quickly.

Schrader returned triumphantly before 1400 with her uniform slung over his shoulder. "Got it done, Sir." He said with a smile, infected with the good mood that mail always seemed to bring to the men. Arien wished the PSO sent it around more often, it would make her life easier. "Something special going on tonight, sir?"

She looked up at him from the manual she was reading. "Admiral Fowler called this morning, personally, to give Morrison an invite to the New Year's reception. One of those sorts of things you don't say no to, even if the notice is nonexistent."

"Jump? How high?" Schrader chuckled. "Hawkins said these were for you." He placed a presentation box on her bed and hung the bagged uniform from a hook on the wall. "Anything else you needed from me, sir?"

"No, and thank you, Schrader." She said, and he nodded, rejoining the other men in the barracks. Arien took the new presentation box down and opened it curiously. A drop ribbon for the assault on Gragel and the newly issued Drelanii assault medal. Basic pat on the back, good marine stuff. Nothing spectacular, nothing that she couldn't have gotten without even firing a shot. It said she'd been there, and everyone else who'd been there deserved, and got the same. She put them where they belonged, and stepped into her private head for a shower.

She dressed in the masculinized version of the female dress uniform, studying herself in the mirror. She looked like an incompetent cross dresser in the usual female uniform, and she had been one who had applauded the Corps' decision to allow women to wear trousers with all uniforms. It had occurred in her second year as an Albemarle cadet, freeing her from the embarrassment of the ankle length, beige dress skirt for all of her upperclassmen years. A year after allowing the trousers, the Corps had broken down and finally redesigned the entire affair, ending with what Arien now wore. Whoever had authorized it received Arien's praise every time she put it on. The coat was black, same as the male coat and the earlier female coat, but it fell to a length stated as exactly "halfway between knuckles and knee." instead of the waistcoat worn with the skirt. The beige trousers fit tightly, with just the hint of a flare under the knee. The only touch of femininity was the retained white dress shirt, with ruffle and the bib tie. Nothing could be perfect, and Arien was willing to settle for close. The uniform had been a gift immediately upon her graduation, given in gratitude from the fourth graduating cadet's well heeled family after he'd told them Arien's instruction had been instrumental in his graduation. It had been painstakingly hand tailored, at a cost that had boggled Arien's mind, and she was pleased to see that it still fit. It was as fine a piece of work and equal to what she'd seen Niel wearing the night before, no second best tonight.

She hung the belt, automatic pistol on her left hip, saber on her right, opposite of the uniform regulations, as per her offhandedness, and then, as the final touch, pulled on the white gloves.

"Spiffy." Hawkins commented from his bunk when she stepped into the barracks. "Five thousand monits on the hoof, Boss."

She gave him a raised brow, and then shrugged. He had it about right. The new female uniforms, while authorized by order of the Corps, could not be purchased off of the rack at Clothing and Sales. Each one of them had to be tailored. Add all of the accessories, shoes, belt, and the saber of a top ten graduate from Albemarle, and the price tag on what she wore would hover at just about five thousand imperial monetary units. What Niel wore last night would be about the same, he lacked the expensive saber, but he made up for it in the slightly higher quality of his uniform.

"Bite me, Hawkins." She chuckled. "I have to look good for the brass. And it's the only dress I have."

"Heaven forbid you wear marine standard." He noted.

She wrinkled her nose. "Me in a skirt only works after the toasts have been given, and preferably a few more drinks after that. And the Corps refuses to believe that I'm male, contrary to popular opinion, so it holds me to uniform regulations, bra and all."

"Like you follow that last one, sir."

"I did in the Academy, and I do any time I may be inspected." Arien shrugged. "The boat is yours, Hawkins. Don't do anything I would."

Adam Fowler, the Second Fleet's admiral, watched the comings and goings. It was still early, but those with an eye to punctuality had been arriving steadily for the past half hour, when Daniel Morrison and an unknown Marine officer arrived. For the slightest moment, Fowler thought the marine was a joke, until he got a better look. She was female as her uniform proclaimed, he decided, a female just a bit taller than Adam's own height. Morrison stood a little taller than she did, just barely, but Senator Morrison's eldest was tall, as Fowler remembered. "Ah." For a split second he almost greeted him as Daniel until he recalled the terse response to that before. "Niel." So the boy's tired of living in his father's shadow is he? It was easy to see why, this one had all that his younger brother Matthew, lacked. "It's good of you to make it on such short notice. This is?" He inclined his head towards the Marine, who stood a respectful two paces away, left hand clenched oddly behind her back.

"This is my Marine commander, sir. Captain Arien Noble." Niel stepped aside slightly, opening the way for the woman to step forward. She shook Fowler's hand with a steely grasp.

"A pleasure to meet you, sir." She bade, and Fowler placed that voice, and finally her name. She was the woman who had answered Morrison's comm this morning, the woman who had piqued Fowler's curiosity slightly. Unfortunately, she did not resemble her voice in any way, and her position as Morrison's MC explained her answering his comm, and the extremely close proximity she had been to him when the call came in.

"Likewise, Captain." He stated, scrutinizing her. He always had trouble getting over how young the Marine commanders tended to be, and the Carrier captains as well. Fleet commanders tended to be well matured; it took time to climb the ladder to the top. Morrison was now in his middle twenties, Fowler had been present on Capital when he was born, and now he captained a vessel. His Marine commander was young, also perhaps in her mid twenties, although she wore a five year stripe on her sleeves. Perhaps he was just getting old, and they only seemed so young. But both of them had the same dark edge in their eyes, hers more than his, and he mourned that the Empire sent in its youth to die like this. "So, Niel, how long have you been in this one?"

"Five months, sir." Niel answered.

"And you two have been together how long now?" This union that the Carrier Corps put so much stock in confused Fowler. To the less prestigious arm of the Navy, these two had a relationship akin to marriage, as sacred a bond as that was supposed to be.

"Almost seven months." Niel said after a slight pause, obviously counting it back in his head. "We've been together almost seven months. She took me on Ghaldin this past June." That same pride that every Carrier commander exhibited when discussing his MCs choice of them as driver was prevalent in Morrison's voice. The woman only smiled a dark, enigmatic smile that lacked mirth, and Fowler nearly shuddered despite the room's warmth and the heavy dress uniform he wore. He wouldn't have this snake any closer to him than was necessary, she was a killer, and the look in Niel's eyes echoed hers. It had been a long time since Fowler had seen Daniel Morrison's eldest, and he wondered if the Senator knew what was happening to his son out here.

"Well, enjoy the party." He stated and they smiled back as one. He shook his head slightly as they left, painting a fresh smile on his face to make his next greeting.

"You enjoy this too much." Arien accused, watching Niel mingle like a politician. She would like nothing more than to saunter over to the corner where the marines were congregating and stay there for the rest of the night, but he seemed determined that she physically adhere her hand to every important Navy person he could find, and there were quite a few of those. And all of them were more than willing to talk to Senator Morrison's son and his MC.

"Trust me." He said. "Give me long enough and the Corps will never consider discharging you again." The caught expression on her face brought a slight smile to his. She was not gracefully manipulative, as he was, but she knew what side her bread was buttered on, and he had realized long ago why she had been so willing to enter into a partnership with him. "Don't look so found out, Arien." He whispered. "Even when you've been caught, leave them doubting. You're playing the game so play it well." She did not fade into the scenery, which was good. With her stature, cleanly chiseled features, and that uniform, she stood out. Being memorable was more than half the battle; the other part was being well remembered. Once prodded into speaking, that voice of hers and her intellect carried her image into the top brass's memory as Niel Morrison's marine commander. "Nice uniform." He noted in passing, nodding politely at passersby. He had been a touch surprised, not that she had chosen the optional uniform, but that it was as nice as one as he possessed. He could spot cheap from far away, and it wasn't.

"I'm allergic to skirts." She stated. The thought of Arien in a skirt made Niel chuckle slightly. "Yours is nice, too." She continued.

"Hm, mine are supposed to be nice." He said in that voice and she gave him a regally unimpressed look. Very, very, nice, he thought, watching her features transform into stately boredom. Whoever had taught her, had taught her well. Nothing of the ghetto she was born from showed in her impeccable appearance, she was all class. Good enough to stand beside him tonight, good enough to be forever linked with him in the minds of the naval brass that congregated in this ballroom.

"You are a snob." She retorted, and he shrugged. "Truthful, but a snob. Some things are better left unsaid." Her voice sharpened to pure Albemarle, and a touch of a smile graced his features.

"If you say so. How'd you pull that uniform?"

"It was a gift." She replied, pulling on the points of her jacket to straighten it.

"A gift?" He echoed slowly. He had expected the 'saved my paychecks for months' sob story, not the blasé, 'it was a gift' line.

"Get your mind out of the gutter." She stated, raising her glass in response to a Colonel's passing. "There was a guy in my class who couldn't hit the broad side of a bunker at three paces. Had everything else, but guns threw him every time he got near one. So I spent my vacation, and his, teaching him marksmanship. I didn't have anywhere else to go, so I wasn't really put out anyway. Turns out, this guys' parents own Transtel Shipping." Niel's glance was suddenly pure granite interest. Transtel was one of the ten largest interstellar shipping companies in the Empire. Arien pulled some aces with that hand. "He writes home how I saved him from ignominious defeat at the hands of Albemarle's instructors. When he graduates, fourth in our class, his parents insist on it. I saved their family honor and all that total bull. Who am I to dispute them?"

"Of course not." He agreed. "One good turn deserves another."

She nodded. "So there's the story." Arien continued. "Why I have this uniform. But, I tell you, I would do anything not to wear that silly skirt."

"I can't see you in it." He agreed, watching the gathering like a predator loosed amongst the prey. He drew distinctions within distinctions, junior officers flush and stupid with freedom, putting down drinks before the toasts were called. The middle corps of officers, such as he and Arien, a wary lot who had seen enough of how the machine worked to hold their liquor and their tongues. The senior officers, showing up for the obligatory social affair, judging their underlings' potential and behavior. The women, butterflies, matrons, and others working the crowd and showing off. The marines on one side of the ballroom, navy on the other. This was the usual for a gathering, but this one had undercurrents he was not accustomed to. Tension filled the air, and the senior officers' gazes were sharper as they studied the young officers, the knots of huddled marine officers tighter as they discussed the business of war. The stories tossed around about conflicts were new, unheard, not lamely recycled and exaggerated tales of skirmishes that bordered on historical anecdotes. There was an edge to the group, many of whom had already seen the front. They needed to know the individuals they fought with, fought for, and many measures were being taken.

Carrier captains kept constant touch with Niel, the news of Bruhler's loss had gotten around, and they offered the requisite commiserations, but their true intentions were less noble. Until Bruhler chose to replace Hathaway, both she and her ship were out of the fight, or until the Carrier Corps buckled under pressure and replaced Bruhler with a captain who would bring a platoon back to Hyaline. But the Carrier Corps were not going to wait for that to reassign Firestorm sister vessel, so Niel and his ship were an open commodity. Any Carrier captain at Hevish without a sister ship could be assigned to join him, and they judged him and his marine commander with the cold callousness of people who knew their lives rode the line.

The stewards began to bring around the glasses for the toast, and as if an inaudible bell had rung, they gathered around the highest ranked individual in the room, Admiral Fowler. He called off the toasts, and the room responded.

The prettiest of the butterflies surveyed her pickings. This was a dour crowd, full of gloom and doom about the war. The senior officers were the most prestigious, but most were married already, and those who weren't went for women of a certain vintage, which she wasn't yet. But there was a note of interest in the group, a very, very big note of interest. He had come with an immense dyke, and had remained close to her, but his eyes followed everyone, including the butterfly. Daniel Emery Morrison, the fifth, she recognized. Eldest son of Senator Daniel Morrison. One hell of a fine catch. She watched until he left the Marine officer's side for another drink before making her move. She crossed the ballroom floor in a rush of blue taffeta, stopping behind him expectantly.

Niel heard the rustle of gown behind him and sighed to himself. He knew what had made its way to him and he turned. A young woman, perhaps twenty, stood behind him, clad in a blue dress that clung precariously to her curves. He surveyed the view through hooded eyes. Very nice indeed.

"Commander Morrison." She extended her hand to him. "Hello. I'm Amanda Travis." He swept the hand up, planting an exquisitely perfect kiss on her knuckles.

"My pleasure, Miss Travis." He bade in a smoothly precise voice. Oh, yes, this one would do perfectly, she decided. He had it all. Money, power, looks, a rising career, but not the perfect little naval officer's wife. And she could be that perfect little navy officer's wife. She'd give him the wonderful parties, be the sublime little woman on his arm who knew when to speak and when to keep silent. She'd give him an heir or two, and they could lead one of those carefully orchestrated pairings where she knew her place and he knew his. "I saved this dance for you."

He raised an eyebrow, but swept her into a politely correct grasp as the music began. Too far away, she decided, pushing in closer. Damn, he was big, she realized, craning her neck to look up at him.

Niel looked down at what he had in his arms, way, way down, virtually to her navel. The very low cut gown she wore combined with her significant attributes and her rather awkward head tilt left little to his imagination. She smelled strongly of an expensive perfume as she leaned further into him, getting the desired effect of pushing her breasts up against his chest. He felt a surge of lust, but he controlled it under the mask of utter correctness he donned in these surroundings.

Arien watched the scene through narrowing eyes. The part of her that was proud, nobody's fool, rose to lurk barely beneath her surface. Niel was hers, her lover, that part screamed at her, and how dare this little bitch even think? The other part of her, the quiet, contemplative side of her backed away, told her that Niel wasn't hers; they had no commitments to each other, none at all. Where did she get off feeling this, jealousy over him? Niel was gorgeous, there were bound to be others who saw that. Perhaps if she had a leg to stand on, this interloper wouldn't threaten her so deeply, but the woman was everything that Arien was not. Through the simple conspiracy of genetics, the woman in Niel's arms was delicately beautiful, with pale blonde hair several shades lighter than his, and artistically outlined blue eyes. The knowledge that her fragile neck would snap easily did little to soothe Arien's infuriated soul. Fortitude was not a quality prized in butterflies, it was a quality prized in Marine officers.

Finally she decided discretion was the better part of rage, and she retreated to the solitude of the balcony overlooking the Navy Quadrangle. The air was pleasantly cool and fresh after the crush of the ballroom, the sky lit by an engorged moon that reflected back to illuminate the night almost to day. She stared up at it, visually picking out the larger ships of the Fleet against what remained of the star field.

Just when she thought she had everything in place, when all seemed good and Arien was as close to happy as she felt she could be, something like this happened. She was transported back to a bundle of doubts, clad in a very nice marine uniform. "You'll never amount to nuthin', girl." She told Hevish's rising moon, mocking her mother's thick accent as she did. Lyret, for all of her scheming and working, would have never made it anywhere near the Navy's New Year's Eve reception. Of course, Niel had been the one invited to this, not Arien, and she had done her job standing beside him through the introductions. Enough of this shit, she decided, she was out of here. The balcony emptied to two grand stone stairways on either end, and Arien took one down to the garden.

The music ended, and the woman was slow to let go of Niel. He recognized the promise in her eyes, and he considered the idea for a long moment. She was willing of course; she wanted a hell of a lot in return. But it was nothing he had to give, and nothing to keep him from leaving first thing in the morning. He'd done it before, and slept soundly the night after. He glanced in the direction he'd left Arien, to judge the expression on her face. She was gone, and he craned his neck around in sudden distraction. A scan of the ballroom told him the same; she was nowhere to be seen. "Excuse me." He said, shaking himself free of the butterfly's grip and going in search of Arien.

He finally found her in the garden, sitting on a marble bench and watching the moon shine in the reflecting pool. "Arien." He sighed, sitting beside her. "Why did you go?"

The lie, the one she could have told easily, lodged in her throat, and she shrugged, watching the bright fish scoot from shadow to shadow in the water. The play of light and dark in the water had numbed her, as she watched her namesake captured in a small pond. "What does Daniel mean?" She asked slowly.

That question came out of nowhere, and Niel frowned at her. "Um, something about judged by God, if I remember, why?"

"Just curious." She said, her eyes never wavering from the pond's surface. "They put a lot of weight into names where I came from. Meanings, and such."

"Why did you go?" He asked again, after that enigmatic statement. For a terrible moment, he thought she was high, until she looked over at him through calm, level eyes.

"I couldn't stand to watch that woman throw herself at you, and not be able to do anything about it." She admitted. "I know we don't have any sort of commitment, so I came out here instead. What are you doing out here?"

"Looking for you of course." He draped an arm around her and pulled her closer. At first, she stiffened, but relaxed after a moment, and he rested his forehead against the back of her neck. He drew in her smell, unblemished by any perfume. Her smell, musky and clean, the newly pressed smell of her shirt, the wool of her dress coat, the slight smell of alcohol, brandy, he decided. She had been drinking brandy earlier. Soap, nothing fancy or scented, just plain soap.

The vague interest he had felt earlier for the butterfly surged back with a vengeance. His grasp tightened, his breathing deepened, and she leaned back into him slightly. "So what does Arien mean, then?" He demanded huskily.

She tilted her head, motioning toward the pond. "Water, fish, pond?" he asked, his eyes following the gesture.

"No." she chuckled, laying a gloved hand over his. "Arien Lauré is that, the colors in the pond."

"There are no colors in the pond, Arien." He noted quietly. "Only shades of gray."

"Arien means shadow, Lauré means light." She translated. "The pond reminded me of that." He nodded, studying the ripples. He found it interesting, and a tad bit unnerving, that she was exhibiting jealousy over him. But, if the situation reversed, would he feel any differently? He desired Arien as he had never desired any one else in his life, and he rested securely in the knowledge that he had few, if any, competitors for her. It had required a blatant come on before he had been interested in the butterfly with the displayed wares, and that urge had faded quickly. Arien sat, attired in full marine dress, which showed nothing of her body, and yet her very smell drove him crazy. She spoke in a calm voice about the meaning of his name, and he wondered if he could get away with seducing her in the Quadrangle garden. Of course, he wouldn't get away with it, the thought of wallowing around in the grass with the beige trousers she wore boggled even his mind, but the impulse was there to try it anyway.

He slid his hand between her jacket and blouse, feeling the pulsation of her heart under his palm. She felt so damned alive; the deep beat of her heart, the measured rhythm of her breathing. Arien had stopped speaking, and he could feel her unadulterated attention on him, his touch. He liked it when she silenced, and she normally did when he touched her. Niel could see her lashes resting on her cheekbone; he knew her eyes were closed, closed because of the feel of his hands on her. He deftly unfastened one of the middle buttons on her dress shirt, one obscured by her coat, and he placed his hand on her bare flesh.

Arien had been surprised by his initial gentle overtures, and was more surprised when he went no further. His hand rested inside of her clothes, against her left breast, but he only held her in silence. After a long pause, he lifted his other hand and studied his watch. "It will be midnight, soon." He sighed. "We should make our appearance for the occasion. And, Arien."

"Yes?"

"I fully intend on leaving this function with only one of the women here." He gripped her slightly harder, "You, come on."

She pulled her coat straight, dropping into step beside him. As they made their way up to the balcony, Niel frowned, seeing the butterfly staring at them with a cold glare. Arien contented herself with a mildly victorious glance, stepping back into the ballroom. Niel only shrugged, following Arien back to the party, feeling the icy stare on his back. She had seen too much, he knew, but there wasn't much she could do. Public display of affection, but there hadn't been enough witnesses for it to qualify as public. It would be her word against his, and he would win.

At midnight, the carillon of the Quadrangle boomed out twelve, and the Empire entered the year 1193, firmly entrenched in warfare. Soon after the hubbub faded, the senior officers took their leave from the reception. The volume in the room rose immediately, and chairs were brought in. Arien sat, relieved to be off display for a while, as the gathering heated up into 'party'.

Niel was less at ease during this time. He did not allow his private side to show in public, and he felt like a stick in the mud when the tempo changed from minding your manners to having what passed for fun at a formal function. He placed his hand on her shoulder, the first time he had touched her in public. It was the closest he could come to any affectionate display towards her. She tilted her head ever so slightly in his direction, an acknowledgment of his presence, but continued her animated discussion on suppresser versus 10 mm arrays for battlesuits with an entranced young marine lieutenant. It was unseemly for them to leave this soon after the senior officers had retired, so Niel bided his time, listening to her talk shop.

After a good amount of time, she stood, giving her regrets to the lieutenant who had not budged during the entire discourse. They left, returning to the hotel in relative silence. "Well, that's over." He said, peeling over his jacket and hanging it carefully over one of the chairs. "I never got the chance to tell you just how good you looked."

"Thanks." She pulled off her own jacket, laying it over his. She recognized the look in his eyes, and knew sleep would be a while in coming this morning.

## Chapter Ten:

22 April 1193

Corudin, Drelanii Invasion Zone.

"Sprang!!!!" The high pitched ricochet of a round woke Arien out of a deep sleep, and she groaned, opening her eyes to artificial darkness. A split second after she focused, the suit's view screens popped up before her eyes. "Damn it all." She snarled, kicking the suit into full motion. So much for sleep, a lighter, lime green colored spot was fading back into dark green on the suit's diagnostic readout as the self repair sealant worked on the hit. Arien was exhausted, ass dragging tired. She was also hungry, filthy and exasperated, worn to the very edge of losing her control. Only the knowledge that losing that control was what the snipers wanted from her kept her from unhinging. Arien was holding her cool by simple dogged willpower, using the victory of her own self control against the incessant snipers. The snipers watched the battlesuits, choosing to shoot them with ineffective small caliber rounds only after they had been immobile for a long period of time, achieving nothing but waking up the suits' occupant. At first, this was merely annoying. Now it was infuriating beyond anything that she had ever experienced. Arien wanted, no needed, desperately to sleep. She had been locked into the suit for five weeks and counting, without a break. She, and her men, were pushing the envelope for encapsulation, six weeks was the maximum the Corps tolerated in a noncombat situation. More worrisome than her fraying temper and insidious exhaustion were the spots that had gone from mild pain, to real pain, to numbness as the antiseptics flowing through the suit were spiked with contact anesthetics. Arien knew she had pressure sores caused from continual contact with the suit. They couldn't take much more of this.

When they had landed on Corudin, six weeks ago, the victory had been easy. Most of the defending units had gone deeper into Drelanii space, leaving this remote and less than noteworthy world to the Imperial invaders, or so it had seemed. Nothing could have been farther from the truth.

The Imperial Marines, especially the battlesuits, were set up and trained for a stand up fight. Guerrilla tactics wore on them hard, and those were the tactics that the remaining Drelanii defenders had chosen. It took everything that the Imperial commanders could muster to keep the units together, to keep them from total dissolution. Arien fought the urge to open up blindly on the hip high grass that the shot had come from. The sniper was long gone, and she would just incite her men to do likewise. A lot of ammo down the drain, several shredded trees and a few dead birds later, and nothing accomplished. Finally, in complete exasperation, she began to dig.

"Where's Noble?" Hawkins demanded shortly of Jamasi. The private pointed to a dimple in the ground, and Hawkins scrutinized it with curiosity.

"She went and buried herself." Jamasi stated. "She's been asleep for a few hours now."

Hawkins nodded. Desperate measures were called for, but even this could not hold off the inevitable for much longer. Sleep would help, but the extremely long buttoning down had to end soon. Noble had been doing a fine job of clutching the Eighteenth together, however, their new sister unit's commander lacked her patience and considerable experience. Something was going to give and soon. His only hope was to pull his neck in and ride it out, and pray that the trouble came from and stayed with the young Forty Second AAI platoon that rode their flank.

"Firestorm actual Stone Alpha, go ahead, Stone Alpha." Hawkins recognized Morrison's voice over the platoon's comm link, and he waited for Noble to answer, but was not surprised when she didn't. She undoubtedly had the volume in the suit turned way down, relying on the emergency override to rouse her in case of trouble. Unless Morrison kicked up the urgency of his call, she would sleep through it.

"Firestormactual this is Stone Beta, over." He replied. Noble's eroding temper had led her to cut down on unnecessary communication with Morrison, probably hoping to spare him from her acid comments. There was little Morrison could do for them, anyway.

"What's Stone Alpha's status, Stone Beta?" Morrison's retort was a touch bitter. The carrier was free of the incessant guerrilla attacks, but it was not free of the clenching boredom of riding high guard for six straight weeks.

"Firestorm actual," Hawkins replied. "Stone Alpha is currently catching up on some much needed sleep."

"Roger that, tell her to check in when she's conscious."

"Affirmative Firestorm , Stone Beta out." He promised. The link dropped, and Hawkins sighed. This stalemate tore at everyone, and nobody had ever said that a Marine/Navy partnership like theirs was easy. Hopefully, the frustration would bleed away later, when they had a chance to argue it out. Until then, they must all cling to every scrap of decorum in a blind hope of staving off conflict. Noble had pretty much stopped talking to Morrison, except for a terse, "I'm alive." That was apparently all he was interested in, because he still called every day.

Hawkins dropped his compression for a few moments of wiggled extremities. The only thing that made this bearable was that Noble, and the rest of the platoon had been buttoned down as long as he had. He was going to resemble a side of meat when he finally made it out, and he wasn't looking forward to that. He lay down on the dirt beside her dimple and drifted, ignoring the sprangthat sounded when he had been motionless for about half an hour. Nice shot, he noted, seeing the damage come up on the diagnostic. Noble had forbidden any retaliatory fire against the snipers, a logical, if frustrating rule. Revi, the Forty Second's CO, had not imposed such a rule on his troops and one of them returned fire, running through rounds quickly. The Forty Second had to be down on ammo, Hawkins judged, while the Eighteenth still sat at three quarters capacity. Noble was no fool. The snipers did no physical damage to the troops, but firing back at them wasted precious ammunition, and Hawkins recognized a set up when he saw one. They would wear down the troops, incite them to fire away ammo into trees and grass, and then, finally, assault. He knew Noble saw it as well, and he could only hope she sustained the level of control she had managed so far. The ground surged, and she emerged from the dirt with a gust of debris from her fouled intake valves. The sight was awesome, some demon borne from the earth, still smoking from the pits of hell, as the breeze carried away the ejected dust.

"Who the fuck is firing?" She demanded.

"One of Revi's pukes." Hawkins stated. "Surely that didn't wake you up?"

"No but I was running low on air." She explained, stepping from the cascade of earth. She sounded alert, sharp, and he grinned. A little sleep never hurt anyone, even if it was done while encapsulated in a half ton battlesuit, asleep under the haven of dirt.

"Morrison called, sir."

"Hm." About the response he was expecting.

"How are you doing?" He asked.

"Pretty badly." She admitted after a long pause. "I've got numb spots, spots that don't go away if I drop compression and wiggle. I'm gonna scrub this one, Hawkins. We can't take this any more."

"I agree." He despised the thought of bowing out, but this kind of waiting was murder on battlesuited troopers.

"They tell me they've got regular troops due in later today. We're out then." She bobbed, relieved to have finally made the decision. She had done all she could, and she went to find the Marine commander on Corudin to tender her abortion of this mission. He took the news in silence, only nodding slightly before she even got to her reasons.

"Of course Noble." Colonel Maluskin sighed. "I hate to see you leave, but I understand this is not what you are here for. I'm very glad you stuck it out as long as you have. I'll rotate the third to relieve you. And what about Revi?"

"I don't know, sir, this is my decision for my platoon." She returned. "I am certain that Lieutenant Revi will make his own decision for his platoon." Undoubtedly the wrong one, but Arien was not about to say that out loud. Revi had the command ability of a brain dead slug, something she was certain that Maluskin must already be aware of. Any sane commander would get the hell out. Revi was going to stay; she felt it in her bones. His loss.

"Brimstonecontrol, this is Stone Alpha requesting pick up." She ordered, grinning at the immediate response from Hassen. Just a couple more hours, and the Eighteenth would be back with her carrier.

Hawkins watched the new troops arrive warily. He recognized trouble when he saw it, and he was extremely relieved to be leaving Corudin's surface. None of these were regular troops, none had real unit designations, these were what the Corps sent in when they didn't want the reputation of their real units sullied by atrocities. They were here to crush Corudin, all rules and moral calls aside. Noble was a glossy, an officer turned out by Albemarle, an individual who at least made some attempt to uphold the etiquette of civilized warfare. She often cast that mindset aside when the circumstances went bad, and she went into killing mode, but she always began the fray with those rules in mind. These people had no intentions of giving morality the shadow of a thought.

"Nice." One grumbled at him, pointing a stubby finger at the new unit insignia painted onto Hawkins' right shoulder plate. "Don't recognize the unit."

"Eighteenth AAI." The new blazons had been in use for a few weeks now, some sort of dark red reptilian or saurian beastie with jaws unhinged to bite at a planet. It had been the picture that Noble had sent him to the graphic artists with on Hevish. He had no idea what the hell it was supposed to be, but he'd seen worse.

"Gettin' the hell outta here, I heard." The man, who on very close inspection proved to be a corporal, stated with a slight smile. Whatever else he said was obscured by Brimstone's engines as she dropped for pickup. The man wanted a fight, but Hawkins was more than willing to let the Corudin defenders have their shot at him first.

"Hawkins!" Noble bellowed, audible through her external mikes. "Let's go! Move it!" she barked, and the man stepped back from Hawkins as the battlesuited marine spun his bulk around to obey the order.

Arien popped the top when Brimstonehad linked back with Firestorm. Air, not pure, but much cleaner than the repeatedly recycled stuff in the suit, flooded around her. The fluid that gushed from the suit was pale pink in her hands when she cupped them, and she bowed her head. Hemocontamination. Blood in the glycerin mixture that flowed through the suit, her blood. She didn't want to know how bad it was, and she forced her uncooperative fingers to disengage the catheter. It was painful as it retracted and she fought back a coarse comment, choosing instead to clamber unsteadily from the suit and stand on her own two feet for the first time in weeks.

Schrader moved in behind her, surveying the damage. If it was close to the level he exhibited, she was bad off. "It's pretty bad, Boss." He said. "Not to the bone, but you're gonna be sore for quite awhile." She nodded, watching all of them. It was bad, really bad. Arien did not often let herself doubt command decisions, and the unit had been needed to hold Corudin until the rats arrived, but it was a bad command to have a unit this badly marred by suit injuries. Her eyes fell on one of them, and she frowned.

"Rasmussen!" She barked and he flinched from his study of his belly. He stood to attention slowly and she bit back the curse that rose to her lips. He was pale, but red streaks marred his abdomen, red streaks that weren't external bleeding. "Damn it." She snapped, motioning Hawkins and Devlin to his side, and tapping her mike.

Niel leaned back in the captain's chair, studying the ceiling of Firestorm's bridge. He finally had his unit back, and they would be going someplace now. Any place would be good now. "Sir." The comm officer said, listening to ship's communication. "Brimstonehas docked successfully. One of the marines has been brought on board for immediate medical attention."

"Who?" Niel demanded. With only thirty six of them, chances ran high that Arien could be the one.

"Rasmussen. Can't quite get what's going on, but Noble is on board."

Arien leaned against Firestorm's medical bay wall, watching them work on Rasmussen. Never once had he complained of the symptoms that must accompany that level of infection, and she cursed inwardly. To have a troop die of suit related complications was bad, really, really bad, but they were giving her little chance here of otherwise happening. "Arien." She recognized Niel's voice, and she fought down the urge to either start the fight that had been brewing for two weeks, or make up in the best way possible.

"Yes?"

"What's going on here?" She could see his eyes drop to the bloody bandages taped over her collarbones. "Are you okay?"

"I'm fine." She responded, "Rasmussen may die."

"Why?" She had given him no reports of real trouble, and now she was calmly stating she was going to lose yet another of her men.

"He's gone septic, his catheter became infected, and he didn't handle the problem, never told his squad leader or me so we could handle it."

"I see." He wanted to ask about her, but to show that much concern over her when one of her men lay close to death seemed a little callous. She looked bad, but she stood tall. He would have to accept her words and believe that she was going to be okay. He wanted to ask her to come to him, but that was entirely inappropriate given the circumstances. "I'll see you later, then." He offered, a little lamely, turning to go to his cabin.

Arien appreciated the undercurrent of the conversation, reading in between the lines of what he did not say. She was infuriated with the situation, but it was now out of her hands. She returned to Brimstoneto sleep off the exhaustion that still clung to her.

She woke to pain, the deeply burning ache of several large sores released from the numbing pressure of her body and the anesthetic properties of the glycerin fluid. "Ow. Ow. Ow." She mumbled to herself, carefully sliding from her bunk and standing awkwardly in the middle of the floor. She dressed in the loosest, most deeply worn of her clothes and trundled barefooted down to the medbay on Brimstonefor attention. Firestorm's medbay was saved for real emergencies in the case of her marines, and these did not qualify.

Devlin was there, and he slapped clean bandages and soothing ointments on her with the callous ease of someone not very concerned with a bedside manner. She found that much more tolerable than the flip side, she despised doctors, nurses, medics who tried to push too much care on her. "There ya go, Boss." He said, giving her a slap on an uninjured spot of her back.

"Thanks." She sighed, continuing through the flip into Firestorm's belly. A query to the ship's computer informed her that the ship's captain was in his quarters. Arien knew the layout of a Lisbon's more important features, if Firestormwas boarded; the Eighteenth comprised a good portion of her security forces. She made her way to his quarters, lightly rapping on his door. The buzzer was guaranteed to get his attention, but it would wake the dead from their sleep.

"In!" He snapped, and she pushed in. "Arien." He said with relief, rising from where he was reading on his bed. She looked around at his quarters; the room was perhaps three times as large as hers, with a real bed bolted down to the deck and a large desk. "You've had me worried." He admitted to her, patting the bed beside him. She accepted the unspoken invitation, lying beside him. His proximity felt good, and the desire to begin a fight with him died down. "We're going deeper, according to our coordinates." He stood and looked down at a map pinned down to his desk. "How familiar are you with Drelanii space?"

"The immediate border, very familiar. But we've gone so deep."

He tapped a dot that represented a world a third of the way to the center of Drelanii space. "This is our objective, Relmier."

Her eyes dropped to the map. "Niel." She began. "We're in for a war."

"I know." He stated. He'd already been in longer than he thought the conflict would last. They were headed toward a year together, with no sign of the border cooling down. "We get a war mentality, Arien. We stop charging around trying to make a name for ourselves, and we start trying to live through this. I don't want to be a dead hero, and I want us to make it through."

"I have a much lower life expectancy than you do, Niel."

"I know that, Arien. Just tell me you'll try."

"I have no urge to die." She replied, and he nodded. He knew that, but these things needed to be said out loud.

"I'm worried about this Relmier drop." He said. "First reports I'm getting are that we're expecting heavy resistance. The Corps intel guys talk to you yet?"

She shook her head. "No. Do you think this is where the Home Guard has decided to start their defense at?" All of the drops before had tossed militia, sappers, guerrilla units, minor regular Army troops at the Imperial invaders, but the elite Drelanii defensive units had been conspicuously absent from the mix. Arien did not look forward to locking horns with these units, but their absence from the previous engagements bothered her. She'd rather have them accounted for, than continuously wondering where they were going come at her from.

"Could be. The Fleet is going in first, should be interesting." He sighed. More than a little part of him wished he was going in with the Fleet, but he'd just be a navigator on one of the Fleet vessels at this juncture in his career. At least Firestormwas his.

"Rethinking this Carrier deal?" She asked slowly, hearing the edge of self doubt in his voice.

"Aren't you rethinking this?" he asked. "Relmier is beginning to look bad. We're sending in both the Third and Fourth Fleets to break the line for the carriers."

"I can't rethink this. You have choices, Niel, I don't." She met his steely gaze with a slight shrug. "If you changed your mind, they'd be happy to reassign you to Fleet. I've been offered no other choice. I signed on the dotted line and this is where they put me. The earliest I can get out is three more years from now. This is it for me. I have to make this work or die trying."

"Be careful." There were so many things he wanted to say just then, but they sounded too cowardly for words. He was urging discretion on a front line assault troop, and he could tell by the deepening lines beside her mouth that she found the concept almost amusing.

"No Niel, I won't be careful. I can't afford that luxury. I hit hard and hope to come out the other side. Careful gets you killed, and I don't want to die. Give 'em all you've got, Morrison." He was scared, she realized. He lacked her greatest attribute as a commander, the edge that came from an unspoken urge to kill, or to be killed. He had never been enraged to the point where somebody was going to lose their life in the skirmish. That required losing control, and she doubted if he ever had done that. He had never lost enough to give in to that kind of rage. She had seen it in his eyes before, but it lurked, unsummoned and unchanneled behind those iron gray eyes. Niel needed to strike out, to throw the book over his shoulder and dive into his command. But she couldn't tell him that, words meant nothing here. He would have to learn it on his own. She hoped that he did, and soon, for all of their sakes. For all of his abilities and training, Niel was still a green commander, and she worried about that often. When would he let himself be driven by instinct instead of book learning? "I'll let you know when I have some sort of mission briefing pulled together. Mine are always behind yours, anyway." Orbital resistance was easy to ascertain, ground defenses that had a year's warning were more difficult to quantify. She preferred the up to the minute briefing anyway. It gave her less time to second guess herself. Arien Noble was a commander, who liked to go with her first gut reaction to a battle, she was usually correct that way.

"Also, Relmier is labeled a "must take" objective. We are not backing down from this fight. Fleet brass has a real hard on for this one."

"They can hold that thought as long as they're the first ones in." She chuckled. "So we go in loaded for bear, expecting the worst. Well, it was nice to have worked with you, Morrison."

His answering expression was pained, and he returned to the bed, embracing her carefully. "No Arien, I'll see you on the upside." Niel stated firmly.

"On the upside, then."

## Chapter Eleven:

19 May 1193

Relmier, Drelanii Invasion Zone

5 hrs to end jump

"Okay, people listen up." Arien called, crumpling the situation report in her hand. The platoon stood to attention, all eyes on her. "We are assaulting a world called Relmier. It is believed to be defended by one Drelanii fleet and two Home Guard brigades. Expected resistance is as you can guess, high. According to our latest intel, the planet is expected to be evacuated of all civilian population. They've know we're coming, so no reason to doubt that one. Exact landing and mission objectives are still not set as of this time. It's beginning to look like one of those "need to know", and we don't, type of circumstances. We carry full combat loads, one hundred percent or higher compensations at your discretion. Give up the stupid pride, people, this is serious. You will not, and I repeat, NOT, drop below one hundred on this mission. We are lean, mean and mechanized killing machines."

"Oorah!" They barked in response.

"We are expecting heavy naval flak on exiting jump. You will be mounted and at full compensation no later than 10 mikes before exit. That is all."

2hrs 11 minutes to end jump

Arien looked at the canisters she loaded into the Mark VII. Forty thousand rounds of 10mm ammunition, ten thousand per gun port, each port feed separated from the others by several layers of ceramic steel in case of an accidental ammo breach or jam. Enough ammunition to load up a ground squad, all racked into her suit. On a mission like this, it would probably not be enough. At that point in time, any thing went as a weapon.

"Combat loaded." She called out. "Forty thousand."

"Check." Devlin said, "Noble, forty thousand ten mike mike. Sure that's gonna be enough stopping power, Boss? We still have time to switch out the systems for 12.7mm or bigger." Usually the stopping power statements were jokes; good natured ribbing over her preference for larger quantities of smaller rounds, but today, Devlin was serious. For a moment, she considered changing up to the pinnacle of marine stopping power; two guns each tapping a reservoir of twenty five hundred suppresser rounds.

"No I'll go my standard load out." She decided, and he shrugged.

"Your decision, Boss. We'll drag you out of the fire."

"Yes, and I'll be firing to cover your retreat." She retorted. It bothered her that he inferred that she could become a liability in this upcoming conflict.

"Two hours until end jump." Jamasi called off.

She glared at Devlin, pulling out the links for a full systems check. Once she was down, it would be too late for these checks, and she would rather do them in some semblance of peace, but the platoon was becoming nervous. Ordinarily, she would call Devlin down for that comment, but this late in the game it would only unnerve the men more.

She spent the last hour and a half before mounting up detailing the checks to ensure that her suit and every other suit in the platoon were at full operational status. At last, she slid into the suit and dialed up the compensation. She felt the suit ease her motions as the reading rested at 110 percent. Weightless, powerful, she loved the feeling of full compensation.

"Drop from jump in ten, nine," Niel stood, his eyes on the black screens. This was the worst part of this for him, dropping blindly into a system that knew he was coming, and was none too happy about his arrival.

"Screens at full." He ordered.

"Five, four, three, two, one, drop." The scanners lagged a split second before coming on line with the newest information. Even without that lag, it would have been too late for the materializing Firestormto avoid the fate that awaited her above Relmier. Niel barely had the chance to recognize what he had gotten into before the aging Lisbon hit the minefield strewn around Relmier's horizon. His fingers convulsed on the screen edge as the immense ship hit the inevitable line.

Arien clumped towards the drop latches, still caught in the repetition of tasks she'd done many times before. Suddenly, she was airborne; her half ton weight tossed the forty meter length of Brimstone's preparation bay, to collide with the farthest wall from the drop latches. Every reading in the suit went from comforting green to red and black when she hit the deck. Brimstone's warning alarms began a belated screaming, and the prep bay lights went red. Arien was vaguely aware of these occurrences through her shocked haze.

"Abort drop! Abort drop!" Screamed over her comm, and she recognized Hassen's urgent voice, as the dropship pilot called off their assault on Relmier. Something had gone terribly, terribly wrong, and if her mind would start working, she could do something about it.

"Hassen, sit rep." She demanded muzzily. He was the one screaming the abort; he must have more of an idea of what was going on than she did. Something must have happened to the carrier, the first coherent thought formed in Arien's mind since her meeting with the wall.

"Sit rep, aye, sir!" He sounded relieved to hear her. She must sound better than she felt. "The carrier has struck an anti-ship mine full on. The collision has damaged the attachment umbilicus, it's reading as locked, sir. We can't detach from Firestorm!"

"Pull yourself together, Hassen. Squad leaders, sound off!"

"Schrader!" "Hawkins!" "Devlin!" "Malov!" They barked back, and Arien awkwardly regained her feet. She could hear them begin checking up on the men, accounting for their charges. Panic had been trained out of them. This scenario was frequently simmed. Arien was groggy, she had been the farthest from the end wall when the collision occurred, but sense was returning quickly. Unfortunately, her suit did not come back on line with the same ease that she did.

"Everyone capable to boarding stations!" She ordered, cautiously peeling her way free of the unresponsive battlesuit. Adrift, the carrier was ripe for boarding, and that possibility fell squarely under her expertise. "Hassen, are we drifting?"

"Affirmative, sir. We are drifting, and I cannot raise the Firestorm."

"Can you read the other mines?" She demanded, opening her locker and carelessly plastering her assault gear onto her wet body. Time was of the essence. She forced her body to continue, while her mind screamed in impotent fury and fear. Niel! Losing him was a thought she didn't want to consider. Finally, there was someone out there who just might be for her, a man tolerable to her innately high standards. Someone who thought Arien Noble was special in other ways than as a trained killer to be slipped from her leash. And that someone may have just winked out of existence, gone in the suddenness that death visited with on the battlefield. Never before had Arien railed against such a fate, but now her mind refused to grasp the idea that Niel might be gone.

"Not in the direction of drift, Captain, we're drifting in Firestorm's direction." Her ground pounder mind chewed on that. Firestormlay beneath Brimstone, so they were falling. Not the most correct envisioning, but it worked for her. For Firestorm, they were drifting upwards, the ships attached belly to belly. The dropship up was carrier down, and vice versa. The carrier lay between the dropship and her direction of travel. If they struck another mine the carrier would once again bear the brunt of damage, good for the much smaller dropship, but she wasn't certain how damaged the carrier already was.

She ran barefooted down the corridor to the ship's umbilicus, flipping through it to come through Firestorm's lowest deck. There was already a battlesuited marine at the umbilicus, one of the main entry points to the beleaguered carrier. He raised his hand in salute and recognition as she bore down the corridor, before lowering his ports back down the hole that she had emerged from.

Arien dashed down the corridors, ducking and bobbing around the carrier's crew on her way to the bridge. At first, the damage did not seem severe, but it worsened steadily as she neared her destination.

"Calling all command officers." The voice issuing from Firestorm's intercom did not belong to one of her marines.

"Noble, here." Her carrycom was forgotten on the prep bay floor, the Mark VII's superior comm suite left behind in the suit. She used the Icom to attempt contact.

'Firestorm's comm suite is off-line.' The Icom computer helpfully noted. About what she was afraid of.

'Initiate emergency override all Firestormcomm systems.'

'Overriding Firestorminternal communication systems.' There was a click and then static as the computer transferred the carrier's intercoms to her chip.

"Noble, here." Her voice issued, eerily audible, from the intercom system.

"Noble?" It sounded like the speaker did not recognize her, of course, she didn't recognize him either. "Oh, yes, ma'am. Where are you?"

"I cannot give you that information on an unsecured line." Young imbecile, she decided, attempting to make some sense out of chaos. Definitely not one of Firestorm's bridge crew, but at least there was someone alive, and trying to restore the ship to some sort of order.

"Please clear the line for emergency communications." She responded.

"Ah yes, of course, ma'am."

"Noble, this is Chadran. All lines to the bridge are dead. Will you authorize an override to the dropship's systems?" The Brimstone's engineer came on, his voice terse with worry. "I will." she agreed. That would transfer all guidance to the dropship's bridge and would hopefully assert some control over the drifting carrier. It was the best that could be done in these circumstances.

"Firestorm actual this is Werewolf , respond."

Werewolf? That was not one of the carriers, she assumed it was one of the Fleet vessels, but Arien was not privy to the Imperial Naval Fleet's deployment. If they were coming through her Icom, however, then they must have a valid Imperial IFF signal. 'Werewolf this is Stone Alpha, go ahead.' She answered.

"Icom? What? I've got an Icom link?" The speaker sounded confused and suspicious, and those words were obviously not intended for Arien's ears. "Identify yourself."

'This is Marine Captain Arien L. Noble, 11426992, currently assigned to Firestormas marine commander. Firestorm's comm suite is down, and we have been unable to raise the bridge. Until we have some contact with the bridge crew, I am the only command officer here,' Those words hurt. By now, they should have some contact with the bridge crew, but there was still none. Panic had started to stir in Arien's gut. The damage worsened as she neared the bridge. It was all she could do to remain calm on the channel.

"Stone Alpha, do you require assistance? We are reading you are adrift. Please proceed to the following coordinates to clear the mine field, if that is possible." Arien envied the speaker her calm, coolly controlled voice.

'Werewolf , we are attempting to override the carrier systems with the dropship's computer. Stand by, if we are able, we will have attitude and thrust control over Firestorm, and will use those coordinates to affect the desired move.'

"Affirmative Stone Alpha, standing by." The woman replied as Arien finally made it to the bridge. She had outdistanced her platoon, and for a horrible moment she feared that she couldn't get into the bridge, but the door accepted her override and opened.

Thick smoke billowed out, and the filter in her riot mask kicked on. The bridge was a scene from hell, lit by crimson light coming through the eddying smoke. Arien stood awkwardly, trying to get her bearings in the haze and uncertain light. "Niel?" She shouted, her voice artificially amplified through the mask. "Damn it, Niel!" It was unseemly to stand there yelling for him, but she didn't care.

The fire suppression system had kicked in, but scorched sections of the bridge marked a fire's progress. The first of the bridge crew she stepped over were corpses, pure and simple, ravaged by the explosion that must have rocked the bridge. Suddenly Arien wished she was somewhere else, anywhere else. She didn't want to see this, but she continued her deliberate progress towards the captain's chair, driven by some nameless part of herself. She found Niel wedged between the screen array and the chair, and he was limp when she grabbed him. "Niel!" She shouted, but he did not respond to her. There was blood, lots of it, splattered wetly across the floor, black in the emergency lighting, but his chest rose and fell under her hand. She pulled her filtration system's buddy system out, covering his nose and mouth with the extra mask she carried as part of her riot gear. She was only certain it was him from the dull pink of his hair and the captain's insignia on his shoulders. His face was black with blood, and she couldn't be certain where it came from.

"Boss?" Devlin stepped onto the bridge, his bulk eclipsing the light from the corridor. "Gods." He whistled, viewing the wreckage. "You find him?"

"Yes. I've found him. We shouldn't move him."

Devlin looked around. "I don't think we have much of a choice, Boss. This whole end of the ship may go. Move him, while I check the others." She nodded in near shock, grabbing him and awkwardly bearing his weight. Too much blood, and in the hellish illumination of the bridge, it was impossible to figure out where any of it came from. She bore him into the corridor, cursing her luck to have a naval commander who happened to be larger than she was. She had one of the operative battlesuit troopers move him to Firestorm's medical bay, safely positioned towards the center of the carrier.

The medical bay was brightly lit, and under the white light, Niel's face became vividly scarlet, his uniform shirt splashed to his chest with shining red arterial blood. "No." She hissed, "You are not dying on me." Where was it coming from? She heard Rasmussen move up behind her.

"Need a hand, Boss?" He offered, standing slowly, and moving to the bedside. "Damn." He said, getting a good look. Arien nodded, running hands over Niel's familiar body, searching for the wounds that bled so profusely. Her fingers found the rivulets of flowing blood and followed them to his welling arm. She raised his arm, and fought down her horrified gasp. Most of the arm's skin and musculature was missing, the bone showing through as a long pink streak. Arien was not really accustomed to this sort of wound, if a battlesuit was breached, the occupant usually died, and if they didn't, they were returned to a medical facility in the suit.

"Oh damn." She breathed. The arm was a loss, and if she didn't move fast, he would die. She went work, putting her feelings aside. She was dooming Niel to an amputation, but she saw no other choice. She wanted him alive. Any situation that included that was acceptable to her.

"Where in the hell is the doctor?" She demanded tersely, binding the arm in a tourniquet.

"I'm here." A strange voice cut in, and a smallish man wearing the lapel pin of the medical corps pushed Arien back with a remarkable strength. "Damn. That arm is a loss." he grumbled, viewing Niel's arm. The doctor immediately began working on his patient. "Corpsman get him a medical evac, we'll transfer him to Deschamps." He glanced up at Arien at the start of her complaint. "It's a medical frigate. I can't do much more than get him stabilized here."

Hawkins appeared around the corner in time enough to hear Arien's tone, and he paused in step, one of her uniforms hanging over his shoulder.

She quickly dressed never more than a foot from Niel's side.

"I'll keep him alive and do what can be done for the arm." He started cutting that tattered remnants Niel's uniform. "You marines did all you could do. He's lucky you got to him before he lost too much blood."

She felt Firestorm's normal engines kick in slowly, moving the crippled carrier out of the minefield and away from the fray. There would be no assault for the Eighteenth today, now they would just try to keep out of the way.

Hawkins put a hand gently Arien's shoulder. "Look, Boss. He's a Morrison. He'll get the best treatment. It's time for us to go."

She ignored him, bending over Niel. "You come back." She ordered, falling back into the melodic flow of her native language as she tended to under stress. "You can't leave me out here like this. They'll take good care of you. And I'll be here, waiting." No more words would come, but she removed her Academy class ring and pressed it into Niel's good hand, and pressed a sudden kiss onto his blood streaked forehead.

"Right." Hawkins agreed, turning her away and walking her back to the dropship. "The crew's onboard and ready to go."

It took three hours before one of the engineering vessels arrived to tow Firestormfree of the battle, to the rear line established well out of the planet's horizon. If the battle lines held, she would be towed into jump for the nearest Imperial held planet. If not, she would be a casualty, and the engineers threw themselves into freeing the trapped, but recoverable Brimstone.

"We're pried free." Hassen's voice came over Arien's link, and she sighed. A lot of the edge of adrenaline and fear that had kept her going this far had worn off, to be replaced by a monster headache and an odd disorientation. The obvious made sense, if she focused on it, but everything else had retreated away from her. She had to puzzle for a moment to understand what he was asking of her.

"Get on the squawk and see if we can't beg another ride out of here." She finally ordered, led along by her training more than any coherent thought. Firestorm severely compromised, and might not survive her trip through jump space as mauled as she was. It wasn't safe for Brimstone remain with her. Therefore, they needed a ride out.

"Affirmative Sir." Hassan replied. "I got confirmation that Sandersall be our ride. Rendezvous in fifteen mikes."

Arien grasped at her own fraying sanity, pressing the heels of her hands against her temples. She stepped down from the flight deck, "Lasecki, I need you in the lounge."

"Aye, sir, on my way."

"It's a concussion, definitely. I don't want to handle it." Lasecki shook his head. He was a combat medic, his job was to try and keep bleeders from draining. "I'll send word to Sandersall's doctor and we'll get you up to the carrier. They can monitor you better than I can, sir."

"Roger that." Was her only reply.

Niel came to, slowly, in a dark, soothingly quiet, barely punctuated by noises he could not readily identify. His mouth was woolly, and he had been lying in the same artificial position long enough to stiffen and ache.

"What?" He managed through cracked lips. There was a pain, a wrongness, that he couldn't pin down, and when he focused his eyes, he saw a hospital room. The noises were from monitors, machines, and he felt a sudden rush of panic. He'd never been hospitalized before. His entire life, he'd been a paragon of health, coming down with nothing more grievous than a couple of broken bones and a handful of colds.

"Good morning, Commander Morrison." A male voice, sharp and competent. Something to hold onto. Niel blinked, trying to concentrate.

"Where am I?"

"Sutter Memorial Naval Hospital. On Hevish. You were WIA."

Wounded in action. On Hevish. Sutter Memorial. The words came with an eerie sense of déjà vu. He'd heard them before, but where? Arien. Arien had been WIA, on Hevish, and probably taken to this facility. And, "Sutter?" He echoed dismally, and the smooth, competent voice sighed in exasperation.

"Seems to be the reaction of the week." The man snorted.

"You failed to do an adequate job on my marine commander, so why should I think you'd do any better for me? Why am I here, anyway? What's wrong?" He didn't feel bad enough to be hospitalized. Sick call, bad, definitely, but not taken off the front and sent to Hevish bad.

"We had your MC? And failed her?" The man asked, tapping a machine.

"Sure did. It would have been more humane to take her out and shoot her, than what you idiots did. This charming place damned near killed her. Why I here?"

"You've lost an arm. You're scheduled for a graft. Six weeks,"

"Eight weeks, tops." Niel parroted back. Dear God, he was hearing the same words that Hathaway had used back on Ghaldin to describe Arien's predicament. He managed to gain enough height with his head to look down, and then wished he hadn't. His left arm ended much too quickly under that blanket. "I've heard this before."

"Oh? Your marine, I presume. So, what actually happened to her?"

Niel stared at the ceiling, since that was the only comfortable thing to stare at. If he followed the man's words correctly, Arien knew. "Lost a leg in the field. Rushed to Hevish for a graft. Have her back in the field, eight weeks, tops. No problem. You guys discharged her six months later, lame as hell, and addicted to narcotics. It took her two years to fight her way back, and then the Corps gigged her for wrongful use."

"We'll do our best for you, Commander." The doctor said reassuringly. "We really do have a fine record with these types of surgeries, in spite of what you've heard."

Unlike Niel, Arien had a hell of a lot of experience with hospitals and medical bays. She recognized her surroundings immediately upon awakening. She was in a carrier's medical bay. She did a quick wiggle of extremities, and all fingers and toes were accounted for. At the motion, a young woman came over, and took her wrist, checking her pulse.

"I'm alive."

The corpsman raised her eyebrows, then turned Arien's hand over and ran a finger down the incision scar that began at the wrinkle of her wrist and faded out halfway to her elbow. "Not for lack of trying."

That was the last thing Arien wanted to talk to this stranger about, and she snatched the hand back. "Which carrier is this?" It wasn't Firestorm; she had enough recollection to know that Brimstone been jettisoned over Relmier.

"Sandersall." The woman said, peering at a chart. "We lost our dropship over Relmier."

"Sorry." Arien offered, pulling herself up to a sitting position. It was hard to lose a ship, and then take on another.

"None of your doing. What happened to your carrier?"

"Hit the minefield. We were still with her. Firestorm, captained by Niel Morrison. You don't have any word of her? Of him?" The woman glanced up, her eyes falling on something in question.

"My understanding is that Firestorm been returned to Ghaldin." A new voice answered her question. The something in question stated, and a carrier captain moved into Arien's view. "I'm Commander Kerrslag, welcome aboard. Commander Morrison has been removed to Hevish for treatment of his injuries. We are following your carrier back to Ghaldin. So now Captain, I suggest you lay back and let my corpsmen work their magic. You'll be back on the line soon enough."

Arien nodded, dropping her eyes. Back. Of course she'd be back; she went where the Corps sent her. And they'd send her right back into the fray, with or without Niel.

They grafted the arm three days later, and Niel awoke once more from a drugged stupor into the quiet darkness of a hospital room. A hand, gentle and cool, stroked his brow. "Welcome back to the world of the living, Commander Morrison. The operation was a complete success, I'm glad to say. We'll have you up and running at full capacity again within weeks." Niel couldn't place the voice; it was female and soft, just above a whisper.

"It's over?" He asked, trying to clench his left hand, raise the arm, but he felt absolutely nothing.

The stranger chuckled. "It's going to take about a day before the first nerves knit. You'll start getting sensations then, and unfortunately it won't be a pleasant experience."

"But it's going to be okay?" He demanded, willing himself to feel something, anything in the arm, but there was nothing, only an empty feeling where he should have an arm. He dared to look down, and there was a noticeable large lump under the sheet where he should have an arm. It was a pleasant view after seeing flatness there for these past days, but surreal in the lack of sensations he got from it.

"It's going to be just fine, Commander." She replied soothingly. "I'm Carole Hanson I will be your physical therapist during your recovery. It's my job to help get you back on track."

"Ah. Call me Niel, then." He said, extending his other hand in her general direction. She grasped his hand, hers tiny and fragile in his grip. He had to force himself to hold back on the strength of his grasp, too used to Arien's steely presence in his hands.

"I'll do that." She said an edge of humor in her voice, apparently unaware of his sudden discomfiture. "Well Niel, I will see you again tomorrow morning. I like to be here when my patients come out of the anesthesia, makes it easier for them to trust me, you know?" She stood, and he could see her outline against the murky light of the window. She was much, much smaller than Arien, if he were upright; he would tower over her by several centimeters. He found this prospect more than a little annoying, realizing that she was one of those tiny fragile little women that he was going to have to watch his every move around. It was going to be a long couple of weeks, he decided, sighing.

Niel fought down a snarl, infuriated at both his arm, and this woman. "Again." She smiled, tossing the ball. And again, he missed catching it by several centimeters. His clumsiness with the new hand was bad and her gradually more and more obvious interest in him was pushing him to quick distraction.

"So," She began, bouncing another ball at him, which he missed again, but not as badly as before. "Do you have someone at home waiting for you?"

"No." He snapped, waiting for the next one. She frowned, prettily, too prettily to be a natural response, he decided.

"No?" Her voice was sweetly surprised. "I would have thought that someone like you would have a woman waiting."

There it was, that dreaded 'someone like you' statement. Niel was tired of the hospital, of the therapy, of Carole Hanson, who had apparently decided that he was her pet project. It was time to start tearing his way out of this entire situation, before he completely lost what remained of his sanity. "I do have a woman waiting for me." He stated, and she blinked in barely coated dismay, her aim so poor with the next ball that he wouldn't have had a chance to catch it even with the arm he'd been born with.

"But you just said." She almost squeaked the sentence out.

He sighed, staring around the brightly antiseptic therapy room. "I said I had no one waiting for me at home. She isn't waiting for me at home. She's waiting for me on the front. I'll see her again as soon as I return to my ship. How much more of this do I have to put up with?"

Apparently not much more after that statement her brows furrowed and she shook her head. "You're free to go whenever you please, Commander. If you keep doing the exercises, if you don't favor the arm, it will regain all of its lost abilities in due time."

Niel resisted the urge to gloat. He needed to get out of here and away from Ms. Hanson. It was time to get back to the front, back to his ship, back to Arien. He turned and walked out of the therapy room leaving Carole in stunned silence. He moved down the hallway at a cautious pace, telling the corpsman at the admissions desk that he wished to leave the hospitality of Sutter Memorial Naval Hospital for the time being. The man only nodded, handing him the requisite clipboard laden with paperwork. It took him a long moment to handle the board with his functioning hand; finally he laid it on the desk and braced it against his thigh. He signed, and the man gave him a sealed plastic bag emblazoned with the biohazard symbol. "Your personal effects, sir." the corpsman stated. "Make certain that they're accounted for, and then sign this."

Niel opened the bag, pulling out his id tags. Flaking spots of maroon ash came off of on his fingers and he rubbed his own dried blood off on his trousers, grimacing in slight disgust. He buffed the tags against his thigh, before replacing them around his neck. He then emptied the bag out into his lap and frowned at the two rings which gleamed on his black trousers. One, he knew well. It was a class ring from Thackeray, white gold and deep blue sapphire, the lettering raised and darkened at the base of the carving: I.N.A.~ Thackeray 1188. He habitually checked the initials engraved on the inside: D.E.M....Daniel Emery Morrison. It fit like a part of him when he finagled it onto his finger. The other, however, was a mystery to him. He picked it up and scrutinized it cautiously. It was virtually identical to his in design, but the band and setting were thinner, the metal yellow gold, the stone a brilliant orange red. It read: I.M.C.A~ Albemarle 1188, and the initials engraved on the interior were about what he suddenly expected: A.L.N. Arien Lauré Noble. Where in the hell had he come up with this? The corpsman must have seen his confused look, because the man shrugged.

"According to the note attached here, sir, you had that in your hand when you were brought to surgery. They assume you know who it belongs to."

"It's my MC's." Niel identified. Arien must have slipped it to him sometime when he was unconscious, there was no accidental way he could have come to possess it. She normally wore it around her neck on her id tag chain, he remembered from their earlier encounters. As normal for military personnel, neither of them removed these tags voluntarily, she must have slipped the ring off to leave it with him purposefully. He fingered his own tags under his shirt, feeling almost himself with their return. They had undoubtedly been removed in the hospital as a safety measure, replaced by the soft bracelets he sported that had his pertinent information printed on them.

The man nodded. "We figured as much, sir. Have a nice day."

## Chapter Twelve:

28 Sept 1193

Ghaldin Shipyard, Ghaldin II

Talie Bruhler stood on the Yard observation lounge, watching ships mill around Ghaldin's shipyard and orbits. Hyaline Splendorwas fine, ready to go as soon as she had a new MC, but Talie enjoyed the view and the solace here. It had been hard returning to Ghaldin without Rey. It was harder to begin the tentative motions of courting another MC, a replacement for Hyaline's empty umbilicus, but Talie had begun just that. There would be no replacement for Rey to Talie, but Hyalinemust have another dropship, or Talie would lose the ship as well. Losing Hyalinewould be the final blow, the blow that Talie would not recover from. So she had dropped herself back into the mix hoping for a decent replacement that she felt was competent enough to ride her ship. There would never be the simpatico she had felt with Rey, the near telepathic responses between the pair of them, but she must have a MC. She would not make the mistake of becoming so close to that replacement, but her life, and her career would continue.

As she watched, a tow vessel emerged from jump, pulling the remains of a carrier behind it. More detritus from the bitterly contested battle over Relmier's orbit, she knew, but this one caught her eye for a long moment. It took a good moment before she recognized it through the damage. The ship was a Lisbon, her entire front end peeled away as if by a desperate and incompetent surgeon, and Talie's keen eye caught what remained of the gatecrasher modifications, the bulked up front end that had saved the ship from whatever had created such carnage on her. A Gatecrasher Lisbon, Firestorm! Her experienced gaze measured the damage to the hulking ship. Firestormhad been penetrated three sections back; the bridge must have gone with it. Morrison would most certainly have been on the bridge when that happened.

Talie pushed herself back from the viewer, striding down the corridor with a purpose. Her sister ship was there, dragged back from the front, and she had a right to know what had happened. She had a right to know if Niel Morrison had survived whatever had eaten his ship into that virtually unrecognizable hulk. Devry would know, and Devry would tell her.

A thought welled up within her, if Niel Morrison was dead, then Noble would be cut free to seek another carrier. Noble the MC that Rey had thought so highly of, the individual that Rey had considered the second best marine commander on the front, after himself, of course. It was a heartless thought, and one that Bruhler tried to squash. Actually considering how she might benefit from Niel Morrison's death was a little much to ponder right then. She left the Yard, hunting for Devry. He would be her best source of information.

Captain Devry was not surprised to see Bruhler arrive at his office. The obvious proof of Firestorm's appearance, both physically and spatially, would bring up many questions in her mind. "What happened to Firestorm, and where is Morrison?" Bruhler demanded quickly, dispensing with all pleasantries.

"Firestormhit a minefield over Relmier." Devry sighed, "Right out of jump. There was absolutely no way she could have avoided it." Morrison was not exactly one of Bruhler's favorite people, but she harbored him no ill will, not any more. Devry wanted it obvious that no incompetence on Niel's part had caused the incident. "Commander Morrison is on Hevish for medical attention."

"He survived that?" Bruhler demanded in disbelief, "Wasn't he on the bridge?"

"Commander Morrison was on the bridge. It was not actually breached by the explosion, and five of the bridge crew survived the explosion."

"How bad is he?" She asked after a long moment of considering Devry's words. Morrison injured so badly that he had not followed his ship to Ghaldin, instead going, or being sent, to Hevish. The thought was more than a little upsetting. Disregarding everything she held against the man, Niel Morrison was a competent captain.

"He is expected to return to duty without impairment, eventually." Devry stated, turning his stylus over in his broad hands. "If the graft takes, he lost an arm." It could have been worse, Devry thought, much, much worse. It was a miracle that the explosion hadn't taken both Firestormand Brimstone out of service. Together, the ships had a crew compliment of one hundred eight. Somehow, most of them had survived Relmier. Luck, the modifications on Firestorm, the quick actions of the marine dropship crew, the Fleet vessels who had taken fire while the crippled carrier waited, all of these contributed to the survival of the crews. It was still an uncertainty about Firestormherself, but her crew was irreplaceable. "Noble was not seriously injured, and she has returned here." Talie considered that. If Firestormhad materialized on top of a mine field, then Brimstonewould have still been securely attached at the umbilicus. Both ships would have been in danger of loss then. "They were lucky." She finally stated. Incredibly lucky, from what she'd seen dragging behind the tow vessel.

"I've heard you've been courting." Devry noted gently. The whole Firestorm/Morrison situation was out of his hands. He had done his job by throwing Morrison and Noble together, and thankfully, they seemed to have stuck. But Bruhler's lack of a dropship was his problem as much as hers. He felt badly about losing Hathaway, felt even more badly that the entire campaign was heating up so much that Bruhler was forced to move for a replacement this soon after the man's death. But this was a war, and she seemed to get that on her own, without him needing to make gentle hints in that direction.

"Yes." She stated. "I have been. You and I both know I don't have the luxury of waiting." Her expression was set, unemotional, and he sighed. Bad, bad predicament, but she was correct. There was no luxury in war, unfortunately, and Bruhler would be tossed back into the fray as soon as possible. It might be better for her that way, to get her mind off of the situation.

"I hope it works out well for you." He continued, shaking his head slightly. "But, was Firestorm's appearance over Ghaldin the only reason you wanted to see me?" The battered hulk that had been an Imperial senator's eldest son's ride would start all too many rumors flowing, hopefully he could squash some of them right here and now.

"Yes." Bruhler affirmed darkly, and Devry frowned at her tone. There was little actual concern in the woman's expression, and Devry shuddered internally, but kept his expression guardedly neutral. It was time to drop the news on her.

"Noble's returned to Ghaldin, and since you haven't found a dropship, I'm going to assign Brimstone you as a temporary force."

Talie considered his statement for a long time. It would show the brass she was willing to hit the front again, show them that she hadn't completely lost her edge. It would solve a lot of her immediate problems; give her a little breathing space to consider exactly where she was going with career now.

"I can go for that." She stated after a long pause. Devry didn't like it, but he had no choice. They still didn't have Relmier and they needed Noble's force there. "Understand that this is strictly a temporary reassignment, once Morrison and Firestormare fit for duty, she's off your carrier."

"I understand, Captain. Noble's only with me as long as she wants to be."

"The objective is still Relmier."

She knew that, if even one quarter of the rumors flying around Persher were correct, then Relmier had turned into a real meat grinder. The Imperial invasion force had been fighting for the upper hand five weeks now, a sobering amount of time for a force whose specialty was hit and run assaults. "When do we leave for Relmier?" she demanded, already turning the timetable over in her head.

"As soon as possible. I'm going to call Noble, she's good at the no warning lifts, besides it'll shake her up well and keep those apes of hers on their toes." he smiled, but Bruhler did not return any part of it to him. Her face was set, her eyes dead.

"As soon as possible." She finally muttered, "I have a shuttle to catch."

Arien watched the platoon busy themselves, proud to see that they weren't much further behind than they would be if she hadn't been absent. It was Hawkins's doing, she recognized. Schrader was a good aide, but without her, he was a pushover, something she knew the platoon had concluded ages ago. But Hawkins rode them hard, kept them in line, and she appreciated it. Her carrycom, stashed in her back pocket, went off, and she answered it absently. "Noble, here."

"Noble. It's Devry. You lift in two hours. You're with Bruhler for this drop. Your orders will be uploaded when you rendezvous with Hyaline. Your pilot should be receiving telemetry very soon now. Good luck." He was gone without pleasantries, and she frowned. Hell, she'd rather ride Parveloni's ship than Bruhler's right now. But that was an order, no room for debate given.

"Hawkins! Moore! Malov!" She barked, unconsciously mimicking her drill instructor from Brefeton. An ordinary Albemarle trained officer would have called the three together rather than yell at them across a hangar, but Arien preferred the straight forward way of dealing with her squad leaders. They appeared before her as one entity, the massive Hawkins, the taciturn Moore, and Malov, the smallest of the platoon, well made up for by his excessive attitude.

"Yeah. Boss." Hawkins, as the senior and most experienced, spoke first.

"We lift in two hours. Pick up mission with Hyaline. Go." They nodded and dispersed, filling the air with their own high decibel orders. As always, the monotony of life dispelled with an actual aim besides eternal readiness. The Eighteenth was returning to the front, the incessant waiting and preparation was over once again.

October 2, 1193

Arien sat in Hyaline's ready room, morbidly listening to the Gibraltar class's differently pitched jump engines run. She could feel Bruhler's eyes on her, waiting for Arien's answer to the question still hanging in the air, and she finally lifted her own to meet the woman's stare. The feeling in Arien's stomach required two deep swallows to budge, and then it only dropped to become an empty knot. Why did she feel like this? It wasn't anything she could put a finger on, exactly, but Bruhler touched off every warning bell that Arien possessed. The woman was competent, yes. Much more competent than Morrison, Arien had to admit, Bruhler knew the drill backwards and forwards. She anticipated Arien's every thought, every little need, all without crowding or interfering in Arien's job.

Arien struggled to keep her cool, to not flinch, under Bruhler's gentle gaze. No one had reduced her to this level since she was ten and had finally left her mother. That was it, finally. Bruhler reminded her of her mother. Not in looks, not in action, but in the deep dread she spawned in Arien. Utterly ridiculous, she chided herself. Bruhler had done everything by the book. Better than by the book, she'd been perfect, and the book wasn't perfect. She was everything Arien had ever wanted in a naval commander, competent, cool, supportive, yet distant. McCloskey had been an interfering ass, checking up on Arien's every move, every order, Morrison had started out clueless, leaving every thing that involved the platoon and dropship to Arien. Bruhler had years of experience under her belt, and it showed in every tiny detail of her command.

"Well Noble?" Bruhler prodded gently, and Arien shook her head. Right about now she wanted a berth with anyone else's carrier, Parveloni hell, even McCloskey. There was no way in hell she would take a permanent berth on Hyaline. Arien trusted her gut instinct and that instinct was screaming negatives in the depths of her heart and mind.

"No. Bruhler. This is a temporary posting, and I prefer it that way." Arien would prefer that it wasn't even temporary, that it had never happened, but she was determined to make the best of the situation. How bad could it get? Bruhler would drop them above Relmier, they'd do the mission, and she'd pick them up. Return to Morrison, if he came back, and that would be the end. Simple. Noble would do her job, Bruhler hers, and they'd each have another assault on their records. So why did Arien's stomach roll sickly and her mind quaver?

Bruhler looked over at her, and Arien's heart stopped, becoming a ton weight in her chest. She recognized that look. Her mother had that look under certain circumstances, not as well camouflaged as Bruhler's was now, but that same look in her eyes. That same dead cold stare that said all too loudly that Arien had screwed up and was about to pay for it. When Lyret's eyes did that, her face contorted into a mask of hatred, but Bruhler's face only momentarily flickered before returning to pleasant remorse. Arien wanted to be away, far away, away from Bruhler, away from Hyaline. Anywhere but here. Arien found herself perversely praying for the drop on Relmier. Although she was not deaf to the rumors coming off of there. Relmier was bad. Very bad, but Arien wanted off of Hyaline.

"Well, that's your call, of course, Noble." Bruhler was continuing, and Arien had to focus on her words to make sense of them beyond the clamorous noise in her mind that demanded she get as far away from Bruhler as quickly as she could get. It was sheer stupidity to behave like this Arien soothed herself. It must be guilt. Guilt over losing Hathaway. Her imagination was pinning Bruhler as a nut when absolutely nothing the woman said or did supported that belief. Of course Bruhler missed Hathaway. They'd been a pair for a long time, years. But that didn't mean she'd gone off the deep end and was going to exact revenge on Arien for his loss. Maybe Arien wasn't nearly as mature as she gave herself credit for. She schooled her features into a less alarmed smile, and called on her repertoire of pleasantries to deal with Bruhler.

"I'm certain you'll have no problems finding another MC, you're the best I've ever served with." That was the truth but Arien still found her intolerable. She had handled McCloskey's blatant hatred with more aplomb than she handled Bruhler's easy competence. Perhaps Arien was the one losing it. She rose to her feet, nodding slightly at Bruhler. If she was losing it; she would do it away from Bruhler's presence.

Talie Bruhler watched Arien leave Hyaline's ready room, her steady gaze falling apart when the woman was gone. Bitch. Talie had done everything right. Never before had she had a lift go off like so much clockwork, everything correct down to the split second. There was no way that Morrison could have brought off this kind of competence. Just because she was screwing the man didn't mean he was the best choice for her NC. She was just like him, though, cold and distant, backing furiously away from Talie's every attempt to break her ice coated exterior. At least he had some sort of excuse. Morrison was spoilt rotten, fed the holier than thou line from birth, pruned and preened for excellence. Noble was a rat with a put on Albemarle accent, trash from some backwater cesspool, well beneath Talie's middle class upbringing, but the dyke laid on the manners of a fine officer. It blew Talie's mind that Niel would have anything to do with this gutter born snipe, much less actually screw her. After all, Niel had refused to sleep with her back at the academy, but he would do it with this one.

And here, Talie had offered her a wonderful chance, a great opportunity to advance her career. To take Rey's place as Hyaline's MC. Not as prestigious as serving with Niel Morrison, certainly, but Talie was a solid officer, carrier all the way. Niel was going to dump Noble in a heartbeat when this was over, dump the Carrier Corps just as quickly. Noble was a fool, Rey had obviously been duped by her. Talie had heard Noble referred to as a 'combat slut', marine vernacular for a person who got off on bloodshed. Close, but not quite. Noble was a slut, pure and simple, following Morrison for reasons that had nothing to do with the well being of her men. But the pair did well and Devry had bent over backwards for them while he ignored Talie. And they would continue to do well because the brass cleared the way for them. Morrison had his nice assignments and an Albemarle graduate at his side and Talie was left with nothing but driving his bitch of a marine around. She had seen the darkness in Noble's eyes, felt the woman's bridling temper. Talie had no illusions about the woman, Noble hated her. And she returned the favor. Morrison's little pet. Without Noble he would be nowhere fast, except back to Fleet where he belonged.

Noble returned to Brimstone, avoiding Hawkins' eyes as she made a beeline for her quarters. He knew something was wrong, but she didn't want to try and explain what she herself didn't understand about Bruhler. What in the hell was she supposed to say? "By the way, Hawkins. I think Bruhler has gone off the deep end and is going to take us with her?" The men were already sold on Bruhler. Her smooth competence had lulled them as Morrison couldn't. She was like them. Carrier trained; a little middle class scrapper who'd fought her way into Thackeray, fought her way through. Morrison awed them, but he likewise made them feel less. Arien had heard it but had remained silent. All of the arguments she could come up with in his favor sounded distinctly self serving, and she wished to avoid that at all cost. Of course the men knew they were intimate, but she hesitated at the thought that she put Bruhler off because she and Morrison were lovers. It couldn't all be due to the guilt she harbored over losing Hathaway, Arien refused to believe she'd gotten so sentimental. She didn't even feel particularly sentimental over Hathaway. She'd liked the man, she mourned him, but she hadn't really known him.

Hawkins watched her disappear. He couldn't come up with a description for the brewing situation with Bruhler. Noble walked on needles, her temper flaring at the slightest problem with the platoon. The men liked Bruhler, wanted Bruhler, but he could sense it wasn't going to happen. The very mention of the woman made Noble's face freeze. He noticed how Noble balked at every interaction she had with Bruhler, the swiftness that she returned from their meetings. She hadn't even been this bad with McCloskey, and the entire platoon had breathed a sigh of relief when she'd canned that pairing. And he would breathe an equally large sigh of relief when this ended. Morrison wasn't as competent as Bruhler, and Hawkins had no idea why Noble had decided she despised Bruhler, but she did, and she was the Boss, and to him that was all that mattered. If she wanted Morrison, then they kept Morrison. He'd just be happy to get Relmier over with. Unfortunately, Noble was so unwound with Bruhler that she wasn't paying the attention she ought to over the upcoming drop. That disturbed him more than anything else going on here. At least with Morrison driving, Noble had focused on her job. Hopefully she would regain her edge before they dropped tomorrow.

Niel hunched over, hyperventilating in short, rasping pants through his clenched teeth. His good right hand clenched the paler, smaller forearm of his newly grafted left arm, but he did not feel the death grip as anything more than a vague pressure. This was not pain, but he would prefer pain to this torture. Pain could be dealt with, drowned out with drugs, but this was beyond his ability to cope with. The grip he held the limb with prevented the worst of the spasms, but the hand still jerked of its own accord, eerily disjointed from the commands of his mind. The sensations that returned had begun as a bare trickle, and at first, he had been elated. This had to be the worst experience in his entire life. His world had contracted to a mere shadow of its normal breadth. It was now just him, and this perverse hunk of limb he'd been saddled with. It had been two days since they'd completed the so called 'total success' graft. If this was a total success, then Niel wanted nothing to do with a failure. It took him to the edge of understanding why Arien had fallen to drugs. It sounded like a fine enough idea to him right now. How much of this would he take before he either went crazy, or followed her into that reprieve? Probably less than she had, he guessed, a little bitterly.

He buried his face into the pillow, breathing the suddenly sparse air with measured hisses. He could handle this. He would handle this. The mantra he kept repeating, over and over. Other, lesser men had handled this. He could conquer this. He must conquer this.

It was too quiet. Niel lifted his head and listened. He decided it was safe to drag himself to the kitchenette for something to settle his rebellious stomach. He did so, struggling to manage such a simple task as a soup mix. He finally managed it, and pulled a drawer open to hunt for a spoon.

The sight of the knives captivated him for a moment, and he entertained the sickly thought of ramming them into his palm until he felt pure, real pain instead of this numbed, twitchy, prickly hell. Sanity prevailed, and he sat at the tiny table with his soup. There would be some 'minor discomfort as the neural pathways reconnect' the doctor had stated so blithely, that was bullshit. Niel would like to show him some 'minor discomfort'. The acts of violence playing through his mind heartened him slightly. He wasn't so bad that he couldn't imagine carnage heaped upon the poor unsuspecting doctor's person. Maybe he was feeling better after all.

He wanted his ship back. He missed her, his ungainly hulk. The latest news was that she was under repair, and that the work had commenced on Ghaldin while his work was done on Hevish. Both in the shipyard he grimaced at the thought. He was becoming as bad as some of the old captains he'd run into, likening himself to his ship. He missed Arien as well his other ungainly hulk. He was Daniel Morrison, damn it, tall, regal, suave, perfect. He didn't know how to be this struggling, pathetic man, nothing in his life had prepared him for this at all.

Devry sighed, looking out over the view of Persher from his office window. Morrison was due back on Ghaldin within the month. Firestormwas due back on the front within two months, and somehow, he had to make this one work. Firestorm's lack of a bridge crew and sister ship was more of a pressing problem. He would have to make some strange bedfellows in this mix to get Firestormback in formation by the due date given him. Very, very strange bedfellows. He frowned. Morrison and Parveloni could be an explosive combination, and not in a good sense, but he had little other choice. It was bad enough that he had to saddle Morrison with a much less experienced bridge crew than his earlier one had been. To put Morrison with a fresh out of the Academy individual captaining his sister ship would be too much. Parveloni was an ass, but he was an experienced ass and he'd cooled a little in his first few real battles. And assigning Parveloni's ship to Firestormthrew Parveloni's inexperienced young marine commander under Noble's firm tutelage. Or, if the situation got bad enough, under Nobel's direct command. It was Devry's opinion that with Rey Hathaway's loss Arien Noble was one of the strongest MC currently on his front, and he needed to use her as such. Let Parveloni and Morrison knock heads, he needed them both on the front. He smiled, calling Parveloni in. This would almost be enjoyable.

## Chapter Thirteen:

October 21, 1193

Second Assault on Relmier

Noble managed to shake the uneasiness that Bruhler gave her, and had handled the task of readying the platoon for drop with her usual ease. Hawkins was heartened to see her return to her normal self. Relmier was supposedly a mess and he didn't want to be riding shotgun with Noble on edge.

"End jump in five minutes." Hassen called off from Brimstone's cockpit. She sighed, wiggling restlessly in her suit, doing everything to keep herself from fixating on the time running down in sharp digital precision in the lower left hand corner of her HUD. She shut her eyes, feeling the ship suddenly shudder as the carrier's jump engines followed by the catch of reality as Hyaline Splendormaterialized in real space over Relmier.

"Releasing, its hot guys." Hassen warned. True to his word, the flak began buffeting the ship the second Brimstonedropped from Hyaline's belly. The heavily armored dropship danced its way past lancing bolts of energy and missiles. Several glancing hits tossed the ship violently but her hull remained inviolate.

Arien instinctively grabbed the edge of gantry, feeling terror beginning to well in her stomach. It seemed like she'd been experiencing that feeling all too often lately and she pushed it from her mind. Silence equaled fear, and the men expected her to lead them through it. Forget the fact that she herself despised drops worse than most.

"We knew it was hot coming into this, just chill Marines. Enjoy the ride." She was amazed and inwardly pleased at how collected her voice was. Arien quickly scanned her instrumentation. Where in the hell was the jump link? Her jump computer was still scrolling, searching, and vainly trying to collect information that did not seem to be forthcoming.

Brimstone shuddered again, and Arien bit her lip to stop the sudden exclamation that threatened to rise to her throat. The men could hear every breath she took and she didn't want them hearing anything but the calm, cool officer leading them down.

"Hassen, talk to me." Without any sort of telemetry from her jump computer, the dropship crew were her eyes and ears.

"It's too hot Noble, do we abort?"

Her orders had been explicit. They were not to abort, not unless Brimstonewas rendered incapable of making the drop run. Minor annoyances such as lacking jump information, and dropping hot didn't matter on this mission. She could almost feel the platoon perk up at the question.

"We do not; I say again, do not abort." She snapped. It had been ages since she'd done a blind drop, but it appeared that this was the order of battle for today. And she'd never done a blind drop in a hot zone. Could this get any more fucked up than it already was? Arien knew the answer to that one and they weren't even on the ground yet.

Hassen listened to the sparse communication in Brimstone's prep bay, and he knew that the platoon already understood the way this was going. Noble's refusal to abort, even under this heavy resistance, said it all.

He handled the dropship masterfully, feeling the ship reluctantly responding to his commands. Brimstonecame in like a rock, not maneuverable enough to even consider evading the majority of shots sent at her. Fortunately the Eighteenth the dropship was built for this kind of punishment, even if Hassen's nerves weren't. Without jump computers, his judgment on where he would drop the platoon was all they had going for them.

There, that was about as good as it got. It would be a rush drop, but he was drawing fire like crazy, and every second he waited increased the chance that the Eighteenth would not make it to the ground.

"Noble, I've got your drop zone. Bay doors opening now."

"I copy, Hassen. Okay, people let's move it. We're going down the ramp." She ordered, hearing the heavy bay doors retract. Immediate chaos sounded from outside, and she fought her beleaguered courage into shape. Up until this, the hairiest drop Arien had ever done was an insertion to retake Hevish, and she judged that to be much tamer than this. The chaotic scene unfolding in front of her was both spectacular and horrifying. It was as if the very ground was erupting with lightning. Ground laser batteries, missile platforms, and anti-aircraft emplacements were filling the air with their deadly discharges. Arien stared horrified as a marine dropship flanking Brimstonevaporized into a molten fireball. Tiny specks of metal, possibly battlesuits, dropped earthwards.

"I'm behind you, Boss." Hawkins' voice cut over her Icom, assured of privacy. "Go.'' Morrison had been a pretty prize, but Arien would be lost without Hawkins. He always stood solid when she needed him most. Niel was never around when things got rough, it wasn't in his job description, but Hawkins was the one there when the situation went to hell.

She moved down the ramp, not giving herself the chance to balk. She never actually took the step to commit herself to drop on Relmier, the jolt as another shot hit Brimstonedid that for her as she was tossed unceremoniously out of the dropship. The dropship was running fast now, and the sudden hit of inertia and dense atmosphere when she dropped registered as a significant impact on the suit's sensors. Without the jump computer, she had no idea exactly how fast she'd been dropped at, but it was much faster than any actual drop she'd taken before.

She automatically slid her glance to the jump computer feed on the HUD, which would normally tell her how far off she was from her assigned landing zone, but there was only gibberish. Without that, she didn't even really have an assigned LZ, so worrying how far off she was from it was a complete waste of concern. More deserving of her concern was the fact that they were taking heavy fire from the upcoming and the quickly rushing ground. "Holy crap!" Hassen had dropped them close. "Heads up people! We're low."

"No shit!" Hawkins snarled, "Way low."

Hassen listened to the bickering on the platoon comm channel, used to it by now; you could never make grunts happy. He'd done his best, now they had to deal with it. His duty now was to get Brimstoneout of here in one piece, so he could brave the hellish planetary defenses again and pick them up when they were done. That is if there was anything left to pick up, he amended, watching the scene fade from his monitors. He hoped they'd do all right, but there wasn't anything else he could do about it, once they were off his ship, they weren't his problem. He punched up the engines of the dropship, feeling her surge forward, and racing back for his carrier. There was telemetry coming in from Hyalinealready, that Bruhler knew her stuff.

Arien cursed, loudly, fluently, in both Imperial standard and the dialect of the Lee. She had been on Relmier one whole hour now, and to describe herself as bogged down would imply that she had actually managed to move forward at some point. That hadn't happened at all, the Eighteenth was securely pinned to their drop point. The real estate her platoon held barely measured one hundred square meters and had already cost the life of two of her troopers when she tried to break out of the kill zone. The enemy had paid dearly for those lives but in a contest of attrition that the marines would eventually lose. Her suit's HUD displayed the platoon's ammo inventory. We've already expended thirty percent of our load. Another couple of hours of this shit and we'll be down to rocks and clubs,she thought. Obviously the military intelligence twerps had finally gotten something correct this time. Relmier was defended by the previously unaccounted for Drelanii Home Guard troops, and Arien was betting the Home Guard count was much, much higher than that given during the briefing. Hawkins had landed only 10 meters off to her left, but she hadn't even managed to rejoin him, much less the remainder of the platoon scattered over hell and gone. Besides it didn't make any sense to bring Hawkins to her, after all, he was closer to the rest of the platoon than she was. At some point, she had committed to the inevitable and decided to go for it.

"Hawkins."

"Yeah, Boss." He returned immediately.

"I'm on my way, cover me."

"Yeah, Boss." He repeated, but his tone was less morose than it had been when she had contacted him earlier. This would be doing something, anything, and that was always better than nothing.

Arien sighed, nodding, and hopped out of her cover, hitting full compensation to close the space between herself and Hawkins as quickly as possible. As she appeared, he cut in with the suppresser rounds, missing her by mere centimeters as he fired over and around her towards the nearest enemy positions. The Drelanii defenders immediately opened fire on her as she leaped across the pock marked battlefield, each gunner hoping for an Imperial kill to mark on his records. They had learned quickly the art of concentrating their firepower on one target at a time to achieve the destruction of a battlesuit. She ignored the vicinity of the shots, ignored the sudden stream of shots fired by the enemy, ignored everything but her dash to Hawkins' position. Arien hit the depression he had sheltered in, bleeding off momentum by dropping compensation quickly and rolling. "Damn, they're thick." She grumbled as the low thud of Hawkins' suppresser died down. She checked her status, relieved to note that only a few minor hits registered on the suits monitor. No internal damage as of yet and none of the primary systems were down either.

"Yep." He agreed. From what he could gather, most of the Relmier line was like this, so they hadn't been particularly unlucky in their drop zone, but the comm traffic was too thick to make much out of the chaos.

"I'm going to take a look at the situation." She said, and Hawkins moved to cover her better. At her command, the HUD flashed into a more complete map of what was known of her area, obscuring most of the other input coming through the 'suit's computer. "Thirty Third is holding our center, they're behind us." She noted, watching the icons that represented the platoon come up on the digital map. Marine units were scattered over a fifty kilometer swath across the target area. Some Imperial pockets were as far as a hundred kilometers from any major concentration of Marines. Those poor bastards aren't going to make it out of this one, she thought. Enemy icons were slowly encircling the far flung units, ensuring their inevitable demise. Her own position was not much better, a quick fall back action was in order. "Damn." She muttered, "This is a mess. A big fucking hairy mess. Okay, listen up Marines. We're going to regroup on the Thirty Third. I say again, regroup on the three three."

It took the platoon the better part of an hour to fight their way back while maintaining some semblance of cohesion as they slowly leap frogged their way into position. The Drelanii did not press the Imperial marines once the supportive fire of the platoon became too great. One third of her remaining marines' suits were already showing signs of significant damage and the extended fire fight was depleting their ammo stores at an alarming rate. Ammunition would have to be redistributed before the push for Thirty Third's location was made. "Schrader, even out the ammo and patch up what we can, we move in ten."

"Sure thing, sir." The marine moved to carry out her orders.

"Nearest Imperial unit is that way." She bobbed in the appropriate direction. "I figure with this mess, they'll need some cover. Arien nodded, waving Taylor to take point. His guardian angel was working overtime, and she would use that luck to her advantage.

The platoon set off towards the Thirty Third's position, making excruciatingly slow progress through Relmier's tricky terrain and thick vegetation. The Drelanii planetary defenders pursued, keeping themselves a respectful distance and out of the range of the marine weapons. They had already suffered staggering casualties during the initial phases of the Imperial invasion. As the marines killed, dozens maybe hundreds more would appear, thrusting themselves in the gaps created by their murderous fire. It was only necessary for Arien's men to fire on the Drelanii twice when they mounted hasty attacks in an attempt to catch the marines off guard. Even under the best of conditions it would have taken them over an hour to reach their objective.

Talie stood on Hyaline's bridge, eyes automatically scanning across the bank of monitors in front of her. Brimstonehad returned in good time from its drop on Relmier, and all carrier sensors read green. From her incoming communications, it was obvious that the entire Imperial offensive planet side was in shambles, pure and simple. She smiled slightly at that knowledge; it would take a miracle for Noble to come out this drop as cleanly as she tended to.

A light blazed into sudden redness and Hyaline's jump proximity warning bell wailed. Talie frowned, waiting for the sensors to work out the specifics. Right now, this just meant that the end focus of a jump had been discerned by Hyaline's delicate sensor arrays. Anything with an active jump drive arriving in the Relmier system would trip the warning, incoming Imperial or Drelanii relief. No, Talie would wait for three things before drawing any conclusions. First would be the Naval Fleet's response to the newcomer, they were forewarned before any Imperial vessel jumped in over Relmier to prevent friendly fire. Secondly, would be the mass reading when the bogey crossed the turnover and was committed to appearing in real space. Lastly would be the ship's IFF signal, which would penetrate real space mere moments before the ship it identified would materialize.

Four Imperial cruisers changed course to converge on that spot. Obviously the newcomers were not expected. "Give me end point dimensions." she ordered, and the sensor chief nodded, bending back to his station, attempting to measure the area of the jump disturbance created by the foreigner.

"End point dimensions 30 kilometers." The sensor chief stated after a moment, and her eyes widened slightly.

"Helm back us off from there to," She surveyed the map and set a point further down the planet's high horizon. "Here." It would take Hyalinefrom the optimal point of pickup for the Eighteenth, but would give her much more breathing room from what appeared to be a very large incoming enemy vessel.

"Incoming mass reading, sir, scrolling it up." The sensor chief's voice edged slightly, and Bruhler leaned over to watch the numbers add up, growing consecutively larger as they went.

"Incoming Drelanii fleet." She identified, watching the four cruisers change course yet again, this time retreating from the spot they'd been so intent to converge on just moments earlier. "They're coming out over our pickup window."

"Go to secondary pickup, sir?" The helmsman inquired, his fingers already flying over his panel.

"No, continue to the coordinates I gave you." She ordered tersely, and he frowned, his eyes straying from his station to her.

"But, sir, that will take us out of a position to recover the dropship."

"I am aware of that." She snapped coldly. "It's too hot to stay in recovery readiness. That fleet is going to appear right over the Eighteenth. Are you suggesting that I can somehow change that inevitability?"

The helmsman stared at her through outraged eyes. "No, sir, but." He ground out. "If we go to secondary recovery window we will be well out of that fleet's way, and we can affect a recovery from,"

"I gave you an order, mister!" Bruhler stated curtly. "I am not going to send the dropship in under an entire fleet." Not surprisingly, the dropship's line came on, with Brimstone's pilot demanding to know what the hell was going on. "We are not going to risk your ship in this. Stand by, Brimstone."

Arien sighed, kicking up her compensation up five percent to cut through her growing weariness. The 'suit lightened and her motions eased slightly, and she fought the insidious urge to dial it all the way up, leaving it at 85. She was tired of trudging along, seeking the nearest grounded Imperial unit. The 'suit's sensors beeped, and a blue dot appeared on her tactical screen, inbound targets moving at a high rate of speed to Arien's left. Imperial air superiority craft, the 'suit identified after a second, flying nape of the earth at supersonic speed, heading towards main concentration of Imperials. It was joined by four others, and the flight roared over the platoon, oblivious to Arien's men as they passed overhead.

"They're in a hurry." Hawkins noted quietly. "Wonder what's got 'em that bugged?"

Arien didn't have the slightest idea. "Stone Alpha, Brimstone ." The link to the dropship kicked on.

"Stone Alpha here, go ahead, Brimstone." She replied.

"I'm not sure what's going on up here, Stone Alpha." He began, his voice edged with concern, "But my sensors show that Hyaline's moved off of the pickup window, and the fleet is scrambling left and right."

"Hyaline is not in position for a pick up?" Dismay colored Arien's voice.

"That's a negative, Stone Alpha. She is not in recovery." Hassen affirmed slowly. "And," He continued, foreseeing Arien's next question, "We are not continuing to the secondary or tertiary pickup windows. Hyalineis completely off of recovery status, and she keeps telling me to stand by."

Bitch! Arien's mind snarled, but her voice was still steady. The comm link in her 'suit sprang to life; the message was from Corps command giving the orders for a planet wide recall of all troops. They'd give the order to evacuate Relmier of all Imperial troops immediately. Bruhler had only seconds to restore whatever little faith Arien had left in her.

"Has Hyalinealtered her course?" Arien asked.

"Negative, sir, Hyalinehas not altered her course, and has not released the umbilicus." Hassen reported, and Arien nodded. The bitch meant to leave them in the grind on Relmier as the planet was evacuated around them. Well, Arien hadn't been at her job this long without considering that possibility. Thank the gods for the paranoia that Stephen McCloskey had instilled in her.

"You know the drill, Brimstone, to it." She ordered slowly, bringing up the map and setting a pick up spot. "You should be receiving my recovery zone, now."

"That's an affirmative, Stone Alpha."

"See you there." She sighed, cutting back over to platoon wide frequency. "Taylor, change of direction, zero fife six zero mils." She ordered, changing the direction of travel towards the nearest clearing large enough for Brimstoneto affect a landing.

Hassen gave the readings one last look, his expression darkening. Abandoning a unit when pickup was still a possibility was the worst crime a carrier captain was capable of, and Bruhler had just done it. Worse, she'd done it to his unit, without even an attempt of explanation. "Chadran." He barked at Brimstone's engineer, "Throw the umbilicus locks." Noble had ordered Brimstone's umbilicus locks tampered with when she'd been riding McCloskey's ship, making it possible for the dropship crew to manually override the locking clamps that secured the dropship to the carrier. It was a move that touched on illegally tampering with Imperial equipment, but Chadran had done it, and nothing had ever been done in the interim to place the locks back to their standard configuration.

"Throwing the locks." The engineer echoed.

The umbilicus status lights on Talie's screen went from green to amber to an unwavering crimson in moments, signifying a breach with Brimstone's umbilicus locks. "Brimstone?" She finally contacted the dropship, something she'd been avoiding since her order to move the Hyalineout of recovery. "We are reading an umbilicus breach."

"I am aware of that, Hyaline ." Brimstone's pilot, Hassen, as Bruhler remembered, returned tersely. "There has been an evacuation order given, and we are proceeding to recover the unit."

"But," Talie stuttered. How in the hell had they disconnected the dropship? The controls to release Brimstonewere on her panel, still in the locked position, glowing an angry red. She looked up at the bridge screen, watching Brimstonetear out from under Hyaline's belly, flipping itself upright as it set up for its recovery run. Without a dropship, Noble would be stranded on Relmier, doomed to be picked off or captured by the incoming Drelanii relief. With a dropship, however, she had the possibility of begging a berth with a carrier whose dropship had been destroyed during recovery. "Damn it all." Bruhler snarled, hitting the umbilicus lock to convince the ship's computer to read it as opened by her. Noble was crafty. A very crafty bitch, indeed. Talie could feel the furtive glances of the bridge crew on her, as the crew cautiously measured what had transpired. She had been outmaneuvered, caught during an attempt to do the unthinkable, and it was time to start bluffing her way out of this one. She stood, proudly, and continued barking out orders to remove Hyalinefrom the oncoming fleet's area.

The damning silence from Hyaline's bridge crew ended when the Sixth SG Fleet finished materializing, and the Drelanii ships flowed into the Imperial forces. Bruhler's own contradictory orders ended then as well, as Hyalinebegan to draw fire from the smaller, faster Drelanii gunboats which zipped through the Imperial fleet line to harass the carriers as they tried to hold position to retrieve the dropships. "I knew this was going to happen!" Bruhler growled, using the lie to bolster her position with the bridge crew. It worked marvelously; they nodded with outraged assurance at her words. Of course, she realized, if she had continued on her original heading, she would be well away from the gunboats. Conspicuously silent were Noble and her dropship crew, although both entities appeared to be intact and functional, as judged by Bruhler's tactical screen. Noble wasn't talking, nothing much new there, but Talie didn't believe that Noble was going to let this one slide.

"This is the pickup." Taylor stated, more to listen to himself than for any wish to inform. Noble's latest orders had been issued in a dead snarl, and he no longer wished to bring her wrath down on him. She bobbed shortly to show she heard him, but did not reply, her face plate turned towards Relmier's sky, towards the incoming dropship. The platoon settled down forming a defensive perimeter around the impromptu landing zone to wait in silence, their commander's stony quiet contagious.

Arien's initial shock and disbelief was fading, replaced by a cold rage she hadn't felt in years. The Navy bitch, she'd left them without as much as a word. That thought kept running in Arien's mind, gaining momentum as it circled. Nobody tried to screw Arien Noble over like this and got away with it. Not anymore. Arien and her men were not expendable. Not by Talie Bruhler's measurement of expendable, anyway. The need to snatch Bruhler up and shake the life out of her welled in Arien. This wasn't how the game was played! Some token attempt, no matter how pathetic, must be made to retrieve them. If McCloskey hadn't shaken Arien's belief in that game, she'd be stuck on Relmier, waiting to die. For the time being all that really mattered was that the dropship was on its way.

The dropship arrived before schedule with Hassen pushing her engines to the red line. The platoon, most still oblivious to what was going on aboard the carrier took their positions. "Status, Hassen?" Noble demanded, as the dropship blew its way from Relmier's surface.

"Well, sir, according to my readings, Hyalinehas finally decided to wander over to our secondary window."

"Great, so I know where to find the bitch." Arien grumbled, only minimally pacified by Hyaline's belated return to support. As hot as things were getting, any hesitation on Bruhler's part right now might cost Arien her life. "How's the evacuation going?"

"Touch and go. The Sixth Stellar Guard has arrived. They're kicking butt and taking Imperial names. Guess the brass isn't gonna get Relmier as soon as they'd hoped." Hassen answered.

Talie watched the fleet battle dissolve into a free for all as the defender's relief hit the Imperial lines; the Sixth SG was composed of many more but smaller ships than the combined Imperial Second and Fifth Fleets. These fast gunboats ran through the blockade of massive Imperial cruisers, making their way into the mid orbit occupied by the Carrier Corps. "Prepare for engagement." She ordered coldly, eyes falling to her tactical readout. It was too late now, Hyalinewas committed. "Tactical, give me the specs on those gunboats, tell me what we've got coming."

"They're Fast Attack and Boarding vessels, sir." The young man standing at tactical read slowly. Talie cursed inwardly, boarding action. Without Noble's marines, Hyaline vulnerable. Hyaline's internal security force was there to police her crew, not to repel a boarding party. That was Noble's job, and right now, Noble was unaccounted for somewhere on or over Relmier, and she was undoubtedly not amenable to aiding Talie right now.

"Kick up the hull defense lasers to one hundred percent." She ordered coldly, steeling herself for the upcoming tussle. She'd always come out on top before, there was no reason to think she wouldn't come out on top of this one.

But the Drelanii SG was a caliber of antagonist that Talie Bruhler was unaccustomed to, their tactics designed to breach the line of Imperial carriers while their larger ships went up against the standard Fleet cruisers. Three of the FAB vessels zeroed in on Hyaline, two drawing and returning fire while the third headed in for close vicinity with the struggling carrier.

"Contact." Bruhler's sensor operator reported, and she growled in response. "They're blowing aperture three." he continued, oblivious to her snarl. "We're being boarded"

"Noble." Hassen cut in on Arien's private line, "Hyalineappears to have been boarded. She's not talking to us, but her transmitter may have been picked off."

"I'm coming." Arien replied, sliding as much of her battlesuited frame into Brimstone's cockpit as would fit. "What have we got?" She retraced the visor, casting a quick gaze over Brimstone's readouts.

"Three Drelanii FAB's, two playing chicken, one in boarding position, looks like." Hassen's fingers flew over his board, like all of Brimstone's crew; he had centralized his training for the Lisbon class carrier after Noble had formalized her pairing with Morrison, which left him somewhat unfamiliar with Bruhler's Gibraltar class carrier. "Aperture three just aft of the mainline battery."

"They're good." Arien noted slowly. Half of her screamed to let the Drelanii have Bruhler, let her suffer the consequences of her defection. The other half screamed that only Arien was allowed to tear into Talie Bruhler, the Drelanii would have to take a number. Finally, her sense of duty, combined with the latter, kicked in. Bruhler may have been responsible for the attempted abandonment of the Eighteenth, but Hyalinecarried a crew of eighty nine Imperial naval personnel. And Arien was responsible to and for these people, as Hyaline's MC. It didn't hurt that she wanted to be the first at Bruhler, as well.

"We retake Hyaline." She ordered, feeling Hassen's eyes on her. It was the only acceptable order, and he nodded. "Okay, marines." She went to the platoon wide frequency. "Looks like our ride has been boarded. My best guess is that we have one FAB group actually docked with Hyaline, their first target appears to be her mainline battery. You know the drill, move!"

The men flew into motion, dumping the full bore suppresser rounds for contact anti personnel rounds, and hefting 'suit framed scatter guns. "Hyaline's mainline is down. She is dead in space." Hassen yelled back, and Arien nodded tersely. Next target would be Hyaline's bridge.

The bridge lights flickered, returned, and Talie heard the bridge auxiliary battery kick in. "Mainline is down." The ship's crew chief's voice was anxious. Without her battery, Hyalinecould not enter jump space and flee Relmier. "Our transmitter is down. Our receiver is down." Talie listened as the man ran down the litany of systems that were no longer functional. She understood doomed when she heard it. Without Hyaline's compliment of marines, the ship had been taken quickly. Everything from here on out was simply window dressing, putting up the good fight. A fight to the last man.

Arien studied the Gibraltar class's blueprints, her mind running a constant conversion between attack and defense. She tended to think in the realms of attack, trained to hit defenders and take objectives. Now she needed to flip her perspective, use her ability to attack to come up with the worst possible defense. Arien must now do what she would dread a defender doing to her. "We enter here at aperture six." The appropriate point glowed momentarily on the platoon's tactical maps. "We continue to the mainline battery, here." A point directly opposite to the Drelanii's probable position highlighted. "We blow the atmospheric seals, evacuating the battery system to micro atmosphere. At the best, we flush their engineer out over the sublight jets, at worst, we create a headache." FAB units were not shielded well enough to handle the emissions of a carrier's mainline battery. Evacuating it would give the Eighteenth unlimited access to the battery line, and if the Drelanii had not destroyed it, Chadran should be able to bring Hyaline's battery back on line and they could complete the jump away from Relmier.

"We leave Chadran and a couple more at the battery, get it online is a priority, if not possible let me know quickly. We secure the bridge," it glowed, and then its accesses glowed, "By coming up through here, probably the same way that the Drelanii will have come through to get there. Bruhler has to have the whole ship locked up, which may slow them down long enough for us to make the bridge first." If Bruhler hadn't gone completely off of the rails, right about now, Arien wouldn't be surprised if the bitch had laid out a picnic for them.

The thud of Brimstone's guns rattled through her frame, and Arien calmly grasped a handle to keep herself upright. Hassen was finally getting to unlimber his ship's weapons as the dropship bullied her way back to her carrier. A little bit of a squabble was expected, but Arien had full faith in her ship. Dropships were big, heavy, toting large engines and massive turrets. The bigger the better, that was the Imperial mindset, while the Drelanii favored speed, more ships, smaller ships. "Leave the FAB that's boarded intact." she ordered, ignoring Hassen's slight groan. Drelanii were also more likely to retreat than their Imperial counterparts, and Arien didn't want to cut them off and force them into a standup fight. They were running out of time, Hyalineneeded to outjump soon, or she was lost. And likewise, her platoon would be lost; Arien didn't trust the winds of fate to get her off of Relmier. Bruhler's ship was going to do that even if Arien had to cram her sidearm far enough up that bitch's face to drain her sinuses.

"Copy that. Leave boarded FAB intact." Hassen sighed, leaving the pretty target that the Drelanii vessel made alone. But the boarding vessel's two friends made fine, if short lived, targets. The first blew apart quickly, and the second ran just as quickly. "Lining up on aperture six, opening cross bay door now, brace for vacuum."

Arien's atmospheric readings flattened and went to red, and she had a momentary concern. She'd been shot at on Relmier, shot, what if the 'suit really hadn't sealed? What if the 'suit's systems still read green when she hit vacuum? She pushed the babble from her mind. Time to rescue Hyaline kill Bruhler in the process.

They secured the mainline battery with textbook precision, blowing the core atmosphere out and freezing the battery's systems in place. "She's just shut down." Chadran noted after a moment. "Should take me less than ten minutes to get her up and running once the atmosphere is replaced."

"Do everything but push the button." Arien ordered, "We're going to want out of here quick enough. Remember men we give them the way out at all times. If we have to, we jump unsecured, but we do not take the FAB with us."

Hawkins digested the orders for a moment, feeling the younger men bridle at them slightly. They disliked giving the boarders such a free escape, while Noble was aiming to give them as smooth an extraction as possible to minimize the fight to secure Hyaline. It was the call of a more mature and experienced commander, one perhaps not appreciated by all her troops. It was the right call and one he supported. A group of desperate boarders, knowing Imperial procedure covered jumping with a compromised vessel, would put up a fight, damage Hyalineto keep her in Relmier's orbit rather than being taken back to where ever the Imperial fleet was jumping to. Yes, it was better to give them an off, rather than risking being stuck here on Relmier with a crippled carrier. He was glad to see that the entire situation with Bruhler had not affected Noble's ability to think her way out of a problem.

"Stone Alpha." It was Hassen, buzzing Hyalinein weapons ready status, "The FAB's engines are spiking she's gonna make a run for it."

No, she was doing what Arien would have her men do. Be ready to go at a second's notice. The FAB unit was still putting up a game attempt to get Hyaline's bridge. Arien could hear Hassen's urgency, and she knew she had to keep a strong hand on him.

"Back off, Brimstone. Let her know she can run any damn time she wants to." Please let her run. Arien prayed, letting her mind encompass the Fleet status reading displayed on the interior of her visor. The Imperial Fleet was evacuating fast, leaving fewer and fewer targets for the incoming Drelanii Fleet. "Set up for the umbilicus, link it yourself. We're running out of time here."

Time to drop all subtleties, Arien knew, sending the platoon into the midst of the boarders. FAB units wore armor, sealed against vacuum, but they lacked the sheer, massive killing power of the Imperial battlesuits. "We have boarders on Hyaline's bridge." Malov cut through, as Arien herself reached the bridge and barreled in. She was the first of her platoon to make it there, and she cut loose with a barrage of contact antipersonnel rounds, skipping over Bruhler as the woman stood dumbly in her arc.

"The FAB is running for the Drelanii fleet, I'm attaching umbilicus now." Hassen reported.

"We still have minimal boarding presence on the carrier." Hawkins came on.

"Refilling battery core now, should startup in five." Chadran, "You can tell Bruhler she'll have power then."

Arien retraced her visor, staring at Bruhler across the bridge. "You'll have power in five minutes. Prepare to jump."

"The jump coordinates are already computed. You just have to push the button." Bruhler motioned slowly at the bank of screens to Arien's left. A flick of her eyes in that direction proved Bruhler's words true, the jump system read go, and the battery reading was jumping by increments towards 100 percent.

"You were going to leave us, bitch, and that was a big mistake." Arien snarled, and Malov looked up in confusion from his scrutiny of the battery readings.

Bruhler's lips tightened her eyes hard. "I was going to leave you, yes. You should be the one dead, not Rey. You don't deserve to live."

"I did all I could for Hathaway!" Arien snapped, "Listen to me, you stupid bitch. He died before the station blew. I was there, I know!" Arien moved to close the distance between herself and Bruhler, but froze as the woman pulled up a marine issue sidearm; pointing it unwaveringly at Arien's unprotected face. If Arien were hit with one of those rounds, she would have no chance; the 'suit itself would contain the concussion, maximizing the damage.

Malov froze in confusion, before slowly bringing up his scatter-gun to bear on Bruhler. "Don't even think about it." He growled. "Put the gun down or I blow your ass away." She appeared not to hear him, her gaze never budging from Arien's face.

"Niel Morrison gets everything he wants." Bruhler began in a singsong voice, "He's just going to dump you when you're not useful anymore you know. You could have come with me. I'm a better driver than he is."

"Yeah." Arien agreed, eying the weapon. Locked. Loaded. The tiny unevenness of the rounds barely visible through the side of the clip showed her that at least one round was gone from the magazine, probably resting now in the chamber. "You are a better driver; I'll give you that one. And if you weren't completely insane, I would have considered your offer."

Malov's indrawn breath was loud over Arien's link with him. He obviously considered baiting Bruhler a bad idea, given the circumstances, but Arien refused to back down to Bruhler, no matter what the woman held at her face. Bruhler laughed, but her eyes were lost. "I'm insane? No, you're wrong there, Noble. I'm fine now. I was trying to kill you, but you'll get yours in the end. You deserve Morrison. He'll fuck you up worse than I ever dreamed of. Push the button Noble, the engines have cycled up, and your ship is attached in the umbilicus."

Malov scrutinized the readouts for a long hard moment. "I think she's right, sir." He finally stated. "Hassen, talk to me." Arien demanded, still staring down the large bore barrel of the pistol that Bruhler held on her.

"Link is secure, sir. We are good to jump." He replied. Arien nodded slowly, reaching out and hitting the button. She didn't have much of a choice; the Drelanii Fleet was coming in fast, the Imperial line shattered behind them. Hyalinescreamed into jumpspace, and Bruhler smiled.

"You'll see that my ship, my crew make, it back, Noble?" The tone of her voice changed for an instant, filled with sadness. "Of course you will, she's your ride back, isn't she?" Bruhler mused, still apparently oblivious to Malov's scatter-gun pointed at her.

"Of course I'll see the ship back." Arien agreed cautiously. "I want to get home, too."

Bruhler nodded as if that was no surprise, pulling her clenched left hand to her chest. The pistol wavered, but before Arien could consider closing the distance and wrestling the gun away from her, Bruhler put the barrel to her temple and pulled the trigger.

The noise was deafening, jolting Arien out of her carefully frozen state, and she jumped as she was splattered with gore. The smell, thick, rich, meaty, and metallic filled her nostrils. She forced herself to remain calm. The panicked urge to do something flooded her, but she consoled herself that she was not injured, that Bruhler had only stolen her chance at revenge. "Damn." Malov muttered as Bruhler's body hit the deck.

"What in the hell is going on?" Hawkins demanded, "We have a gunshot on the bridge. Who's still on the bridge? Malov? Noble? Sound off."

"Noble here." "Malov here." They echoed, as Arien moved to Bruhler's side. The hand unit of her 'suit retracted. Arien gently pulled the pistol from Bruhler's hand and laid it on the deck. Arien moved her other hand away to check her for any signs of life, just a formality judging by the blood, bone, and gray matter splashed across Hyaline's deck. There was the bell like chime of metal striking metal, and Arien glanced down to see a golden ring, inset with the fire quartz that signified the Imperial Marine Corps, spinning on the deck. She plucked it up, viewing it for a long moment.

"You're back with him now." She whispered, placing Hathaway's Corps ring in the carry bin of her 'suit.

"Is she dead?" Malov asked morosely, knowing the answer.

"Yes, she's dead."

## Chapter Fourteen:

October 25, 1193

Ghaldin

Arien watched Hyaline's jump clock cycle down, knowing that Ghaldin was waiting just on the other side of reality. There would be an investigation, of course, but it should be fairly straightforward. Platoon moral had sunk and Hyaline's crew was still stunned with disbelief. They all knew that Bruhler had tried to leave marines behind. Arien focused on getting Hyaline Splendorback to Navy control at Ghaldin. "When we come out keep us at a far orbit and we stay there." she ordered, watching the helmsman nod in understanding.

The clock read 00:00 and Hyalineappeared over the ruddy gold ball that was Ghaldin, far from the Imperial Fleets and the precious Shipyard. "Hyaline Splendor , this is Deadly Honor. Why are you standing off?" There was a distinct edge of suspicion in the voice.

"Deadly Honor," Arien returned, "This is Hyaline Splendor. We have been compromised, and request a security detail as soon as possible."

"Hyaline Splendor," The man continued in that same highly suspicious voice, "We wish to speak with your marine commander."

"This Stone Alpha, go ahead, Deadly Honor." Why was Honoreven bothering to speak with Hyalinein the first place? Yes, Hyalinehad been compromised, but undoubtedly there were several other ships standing off in far orbit, waiting to be cleared by Imperial Security before going to the Fleet staging area or the Shipyard.

"Identify yourself." He had the same wary disapproval in his voice that her tribunal judge had when she had fought her way back into the Corps, and she swallowed down the sudden dread that his manner spawned in her stomach.

"Noble. Arien L. Captain, Imperial Marine Corps, Eighteenth AAI platoon, Imperial ID number 11426992." she rattled it off without a second's pause, rote memorized to second nature.

"Voice match confirmed." A tiny, tinny, digitized voice carried over the link, and Arien frowned. They were voice matching her? "Good to see you're back, Captain Noble. Where is Captain Bruhler?"

So the brass had noted Hyaline's defection. The realization heartened Arien slightly. "Captain Bruhler is deceased, sir. I am currently in charge of HyalineSplendor per security breach protocols."

"Affirmative, Stone Alpha. We'll inform Imperial Security that you need a detail then. Welcome back, Hyaline Splendor." The man's voice returned to its business as usual crispness, cutting off the link with her. Arien nodded slightly, time to begin the time consuming process of clearing Hyaline and Brimstone. Security liked to do things by the book. Arien was not looking forward to it at all.

Niel sat on Firestorm's bridge, practicing close combat maneuvers with Parveloni's vessel Shining Example, when the first trickle of evacuating Imperial ships began appearing over Ghaldin. At first he took them for damaged ships returning for repairs, until an entire Imperial fleet materialized in Ghaldin's far jump horizon and ran quickly for the closer orbits, obviously clearing the jump point as quickly as possible for more traffic. The trickle became a flood, ship after ship appearing and moving quickly off.

"They're the ships we sent to Relmier." Parveloni identified over the close communications link that they had been running the maneuvers over. He was correct, this was the Imperial fleet sent to secure Relmier, Niel knew without checking. "Clear us completely out of the incoming lanes." he ordered Firestorm's helmsman, feeling his ship's engines catch to remove her from the path of the sudden influx of ships arriving without warning over Ghaldin.

As the relatively undamaged vessels cleared the lanes, their places were taken by the less lucky, mauled by whatever had opposed this latest push for Relmier. "Wow." Parveloni wondered, "What in the hell happened to them?" Niel wasn't certain, but there were still ships coming in. This was an evacuation, obviously, so where were the carriers? More to the point where was Hyaline, and where in the hell was Arien's dropship? Suddenly a carrier appeared, and then another, as the carrier fleet began arriving. Niel waited but still no Hyaline. The evacuation slowed to a trickle again, and he swallowed down his stress and eyed his comm officer.

"We've been pushed from Relmier." The man stated the obvious, eyes closed as he tried to make sense of the multitudes of separate conversations. "One of the Guard fleets showed up and broke the line. They're saying we left a lot of people behind."

Those were the words that Niel dreaded. He'd had a bad feeling from the beginning when Arien had been paired with Bruhler, and something was definitely wrong here. Of course they had dropped Arien into the thick of things, and everything after that was an uncertainty. It didn't matter that she was big, mean and competent; did her luck run out at Relmier?

Niel watched Hyaline's icon appear on Firestorm's screens. Far orbit, he noted, and not moving in, a bad sign. Brimstone's icon was present, overshadowed by the brighter signature of her carrier's signal, but still legible underneath it. "Contact Brimstone." He ordered, fighting the relief that threatened to cross his features. It was still too early to exult.

"Sir," The comm officer reported, slightly confused, "I'm not able to raise either Hyaline Splendoror Brimstone. There's a communications black out."

Before Niel could contemplate the reason for this isolation the comm officer received a transmission. "Sir, you have an urgent message from Command, Captain Devry."

"I'll take it in my ready room." Niel knew something was wrong but he must accept what trickled down to him from the brass until he could speak to Arien in private. It would do no good to push for more information, the Navy would spoon it out to him as it saw fit.

"Aye, Sir, routing now."

Niel sighed, sitting down at his desk and keying the line to Devry. "Morrison here Sir."

"Good morning, Commander Morrison." Devry's voice was all business. "You will not be permitted to contact either Hyaline Splendoror Brimstone they have cleared Imperial Security inspection. I am at liberty to inform you that Captain Noble is well." He recognized the man's cautiously neutral tone as the beginning of news that Niel didn't want to hear. "Additionally, there has been an incident on board Hyaline."

Incident, a Navy euphemism for just about anything that the brass considered bad. Niel did not speak, instead forcing Devry to find his own way through what he had to say. But Devry was either wise to Niel's thoughts, or too busy to indulge. "Noble is being taken into Impsec custody pending an investigation. You will, of course, have access to her during this time. She should be on Ghaldin by the end of this afternoon. Good day, Commander Morrison." With that the transmission ended, no more information, no pleasantries, leaving Niel to consider this newest turn of events.

Niel nodded slowly. At least everything was beginning to seem like it might be fine, and as long as Arien was all right, just about anything else could be fixed. He keyed the bridge comm slowly. "Ready a shuttle. I will be returning to planet side as soon as possible."

Niel renewed the link to Parveloni. "Yeah, Morrison, go ahead."

"Parveloni, I have to return to Persher. Noble has apparently been arrested by Impsec, and she needs me as counsel."

The laugh that Niel was expecting never came. Instead, after a long pause, Parveloni's voice was somberly mature. "I copy that; will continue drills at a later time." He stated.

Niel stood waiting at the lift field lobby, watching the Imperial Security shuttle land in a billow of orange dust outside. He had managed to beat the security shuttle to Ghaldin, allowing him to meet Arien and her entourage before they could get her to Impsec HQ and begin questioning. Of course, Arien was entitled to representation at all questionings, but anything could happen.

A group disembarked the shuttle and crossed the life field. Arien and her security entourage came into the lobby. Niel eyed her carefully. The four guards did not seem overly concerned with her; indeed, two of them left her to use the head. The other two who remained seemed calm enough, almost relaxed. Arien caught sight of Niel as he closed distance with her, and her gaze was even, a slight touch of a welcoming smile on her lips. No, he decided, she wasn't particularly upset. He saw a little agitation under her calm exterior, but it was well hidden. She motioned towards him as he came, catching the eye of the nearest guard with her, her lips moving slightly as she said something in a short sentence to the guard. The guard nodded his expression void of the contempt usually seen in this type of circumstance.

"Good afternoon, Commander Morrison." The guard said, "You can come with us to headquarters, and we'll get this underway."

"Say nothing Commander." Arien said tersely.

Niel nodded, knowing that this would not be resolved here, and there was no way in hell he was going to leave her alone with these, or worse, an Impsec officer. He followed, still watching the interplay. None of them seemed at all concerned; he wished he felt as secure as Arien seemed to be. The trip was taken in silence, the six of them crammed into the back of an Impsec staff car, Niel still in the dark about what had happened, and getting contradictory impressions.

They were finally ushered into a sterile room with a table and a couple of chairs, and the guards left them alone. "It's good to see you, Arien." Niel said with a broad smile. "This wasn't the homecoming I was planning."

"You don't know how good it is to see you too, Neil." She said with a sigh. "Things were touch and go for a while."

"You're back now, that's what matters. What going on here, what are the charges, exactly?" Sending Arien in with Bruhler had been a mistake, she was his, damn it.

Her face flickered through an assortment of expressions too quickly from him to register them. Finally, she lifted her shoulders in a dismissive gesture. "No charges really." she stated, craning her neck slightly to watch him. Her eyes were calm, and lacked subterfuge.

Annoyance rose in him, and he did not attempt to keep it from his expression. "Then why are you in Impsec custody? Why are we here?" He demanded, and she frowned at him.

"I'm not in custody, exactly. I've agreed to come and give my statement right away. So they can decide if they're going to go through the formalities of an inquiry."

"And the chances of this are?" He demanded, barely coating his words with a veneer of pleasantry. She obviously caught it, her eyes narrowing dangerously at their corners. The faintest hint of a sneer tightened her lip and her expression settled into undisguised mutiny.

"High." She admitted sullenly.

"What happened, Arien?"

Her face softened into bare mollification. "Bruhler offed herself. She blew her brains out all over the bridge."

That statement was something that Niel had never considered. He sat slowly back in the chair, digesting her words carefully. "Talie Bruhler committed suicide?" He whispered, shocked. Talie had never given up on anything that he knew of, he had always admired her tenacity even when he cursed her forthright manner. Arien nodded, her eyes grave. "Okay," He continued, "Why the inquiry?"

"There was a confrontation, on the bridge." Arien admitted slowly. "She and I, we hadn't been getting on well at all. She asked me to jump ship and go over to Hyaline, refused of course. Then, after the drop on Relmier, she left the recovery zone, wouldn't drop Brimstone the order to evacuate was given, said it was too hot. She tried to leave us on Relmier, Niel, with our butts in a sling."

Rage uncoiled in Niel's gut. Arien was his MC not Bruhler's. Without an MC, he would be stuck running shit duties in this war. As it had heated up, the Empire had pressed its carriers lacking dropships into less than desirable missions, missions that were obviously beneath him. Without the woman sitting across from him, he would become a laughing stock. How dare Bruhler, of all people, attempt to coax Arien away from him? And worse, try and wipe Arien when she had refused? After such an action, Bruhler was assured of losing both the ship and the commission she valued so much. "That's crazy." He finally spoke.

"Yeah." Arien agreed. "That was the general feeling I was getting off of her when she pointed the gun in my face."

"What?" He demanded sharply, his slate eyes meeting hers in disbelief.

Arien nodded. "She stuck Hathaway's sidearm in my nose. Said some stuff, most of it bullshit, and turned the gun on herself."

Well, Arien was right. An armed confrontation between two commissioned officers, a confrontation that had ended in the death of one of them, would most certainly end in an inquiry. "What kind of evidence do you hope to present to the investigator?" He said in a cold, even voice. If Bruhler had tried to leave Arien and her men in the grind on Relmier, he would not even begin to think it was beneath Arien to have wasted Bruhler herself. If Arien's claims of suicide weren't proven to the inquiry's satisfaction, then Arien could consider herself lucky to live out her natural born life incarcerated at Albemarle's high security stockade. Hell, she'd be lucky to be given a swift trip before a firing squad, with the articles of war well in effect. There was nothing that Niel could, would, do to pull her out of that.

"I got proof." Arien muttered. "Lots, I didn't wipe Bruhler, not for lack of hoping. The bitch never let me get close enough to her."

That certainly sounded like his Arien. "What sort of proof?" He asked, praying it would hold water. As the war heated up, Impsec reared its ugly head more and more often.

"My 'suit was in combat mode and my recorders were running, vid camera and pickup microphone. I got it all, her confession, her holding the sidearm in my face, her splattering herself, all of it. One of my sergeants was on the bridge in combat mode as well. He will have gotten it all too, as well as being an eye witness. Bruhler lost it Niel, she went seriously mental. It happens."

It sounded better than he dared hope, irrefutable proof like that was going to secure Arien's continued existence and freedom. He would get her back, and with her riding his ship, he could help keep her out of the trouble she seemed to find her way into so easily.

"It's okay, Niel." She promised, and he finally let himself begin to believe her. "How's the arm?" she asked again, and he looked down at.

"Fine. Fine. Looks sickly right now but works as advertised." He said, raising it awkwardly and clenching his new fingers for her to see.

She nodded. "Good, let's get this over with, they want us both back on the front as soon as possible."

No surprise there, the Empire had gotten touchy about its vessels spending time behind the lines, instead of doing their time in the fray. They should be able to get this cleared up quickly, and get back to the business at hand, winning this war.

Two hours later they left the Imperial Security compound headed towards the BOQ. "I've already taken care of your quarters." He stated, "About the same as last time we were here. We'll pick up dinner and eat in?"

"Sounds good to me." She answered taking the all too familiar route back to Transient Quarters, via the Officer's Club for take out.

He motioned her into his quarters, and she laughed, walking in and laying the food on the table, splitting it between the pair of them. They began to eat in silence, until Arien realized he watched her surreptitiously.

"What?" She demanded.

"Happy to see you." He grunted, never ceasing eating. It was true, he was happy to see her; happy to see her shoveling down food with her normal gusto instead of Carole Hanson's delicate nibbling. "Missed you." He admitted. "But I have bad news for you."

She paused, sending him a piercing stare, but she said nothing to coax him into revealing the news faster. "We've been given another sister ship." He said into the sudden silence. "Parveloni's ship, Shining Example. He's gotten himself an MC and they're ready to go to the front." Sort of, from what Niel was hearing. Arien would undoubtedly find that out through her Marine grapevine. If Parveloni's MC was as inexperienced as Niel had been told, Arien would be sure to hear the information from somebody who knew Maitland's inadequacies better than Niel did.

"Great, who's picked him up?" She asked. Niel shrugged to show he really didn't know the person in question.

"Lieutenant Christopher Maitland." He stated, expecting to watch her face contort in immediate recognition and disgust. Instead she only spread her hands apart to show he was not alone in his lack of recognition.

"Don't know him. At least he doesn't rank me, though. Is that first or second lieutenant?"

"First, by all of three months. Time in service promotion, I've heard he's green as they come, though." Niel shrugged again, "Devry thinks you should keep a leash on him until he grows up a little."

"Great." She grumbled, returning to the serious business of feeding herself.

"You okay?" he asked, eying her carefully. She looked fine, probably better than he did, but it couldn't have been easy handling the aftermath of Bruhler's misbehavior over Relmier.

"'M fine." She confirmed, "Happy to be back, didn't like Bruhler. Not at all. Crazy bitch." He nodded, sighing. It was bad that Bruhler had gone out that way, she had possessed what it took to be a fine officer, but obviously losing Hathaway had been too much for her to recover from. In less hectic times, she would have never been commanding Hyalinein combat, but this was war, and all niceties were officially called off. If Bruhler couldn't take it, then it was better she removed herself rather than removing Arien. Niel would toss away all of his objections to using his familial influence if she had succeeded in killing his Arien. He would have simply wrecked her life, her career, until there was absolutely nothing left for Talie Bruhler to stand on. He was aware that he had the ability to do so, although it was not something he considered often.

"Your men know?" He asked.

"I imagine so. Words spread quickly on fighting vessels. Besides, the inquiry panel won't be able to keep a lid on it for long." Arien finished the remains of her meal. "Best they sweep it under the rug, the Drelanii boarders got her should make a nice story. The crazy bitch died a hero." She said with a slight chuckle. "The men liked Bruhler though, but they'll get over it."

It had never occurred to Niel to attempt to try and get Arien's marines to think anything at all about him. All that mattered was what she thought of him, or so he had thought before. "Does it matter what they think?" He asked, and she turned level brown eyes on him.

"Somewhat. Not enough to prod me to change my decisions, but it does matter a little. I live with them, I have to trust them to wrench my ass out of some pretty bad situations, but I am in charge, Niel. Who I berth my dropship with is my business not theirs. They don't have to deal with you, and they didn't have to deal with Bruhler either. I sensed that something wasn't right so obviously I'm a much better judge of character than they are." There was a frosty disregard in her tone, and Niel was suddenly very happy that he wasn't one of her men. Her gaze softened on him, and he smiled back. It didn't matter, he wasn't one of her men, and she did not give him that cold stare he'd seen her flash at them all of the time. She was his lover, somebody he wanted happy, and she was also the vicious individual he held close to himself, who would kill for him. It was a truly comforting thought, one he relished.

"Arien, do me a favor?"

Her brow arched for her hairline, "What?" She asked, and he smiled back at her, a not so pleasant smirk that caused her expression to sharpen slightly.

"Don't ever change."

## Chapter Fifteen:

October 30, 1193

Persher Naval Base, Ghaldin II

Arien watched the men run through their systems checks now that Brimstonehad finally cleared Impsec quarantine and landed at Persher Field. The Marines and crew were not too happy with being quarantined; Impsec was notorious for its harsh questioning and inspections techniques. The chaos they had created aboard the dropship was impressive. It would take days to return Brimstoneto combat readiness. Days that Arien believed they might not have. Now that they had a sister vessel, they could be expected to lift at any moment, and she wanted to be as close to ready as possible.

"What's the rush, Boss?" Hawkins asked after she had leapt down Taylor's throat for the umpteenth time that day.

"We're listed as lift ready." She snapped. "We have a sister vessel in shipshape condition. I don't know when the brass is going to hit us with lift orders but I guarantee they won't give us a lot of warning."

"We have a sister ship, which one?"

"Shining Example." She finally inserted into the silence. Hawkins frowned at the thought. That was Parveloni's ship, and not only was Parveloni an asshole but his marine commander was still wearing a bib. No wonder she had paused so long before finally spitting it out. The situation stank enough to nauseate the strongest of stomachs.

"Fucking great." he said when he sensed she was not going to continue. She knew that he understood the ramifications of this assignment. "Maitland's a baby. He's so green you can hear him photosynthesizing."

Her lips twisted in mirth. Close, very close, but he hadn't quite managed to get her to laugh outright. It was a rare occurrence when he could achieve it, but like most rare things it was precious, which was why Hawkins attempted to get her to release, but only on those few occasions when he felt instinctively that she was relaxed enough to not take the attempt personally. Noble was wrapped up tightly, and misjudging when you could get a little cozier with her than usual came with disastrous consequences. "And Morrison?" He asked quietly. She tilted her head to look up at him, flipping him a thumbs up.

"He's a little off right now. Kind of spooky. But the graft took well, and he should come around on his own. He's not giving up on Firestorm, which means he thinks he's okay enough to hit the front again."

The inquiry, three days later, was little more than a formality, just a review of the evidence, finding obvious fault with Bruhler's actions over Relmier. There would be further inquiries as the actions of Hyaline's crew, but Arien had been cleared of wrongdoing in the incident. At the end, the military judge frowned, viewing the paperwork before him. "Now Captain Noble, you have confessed to breaking Article 9 of the Imperial Code of Military Conduct is this correct?"

This was news to Niel, and he desperately attempted to remember just what article nine was. His shocked stare fell on her, and he fought down the urge to flip through his table copy of the ICMC to figure out just what she had confessed to without his counsel. The corner of her lip quirked slightly, but her voice was steady in response. "Yes sir."

"Very well Captain. I will leave it to your commanding officer to tender appropriate nonjudical punishment as he sees fit. The board finds that the offense was insufficient to warrant that these proceedings continue. This matter is closed."

Arien nodded, looking appropriately chastised, while Niel fought himself back into external calm. He waited until they were out in the hallway before rounding on her. "You confessed, without me? What in the hell is Article 9 anyway?" He demanded.

"They had me dead to rights; or rather they had my engineer. I gave the order so the responsibility falls on me." She answered. "Article 9 is Tampering with Imperial Property."

Well that just about covered everything, the Empire considered much to be its property. Technically, they were both Imperial property, and Niel had even heard of that article being brought up against people who harmed themselves in some way. Arien could have had it brought against her for her drug usage earlier, or her suicide attempt, had she done either during her active service. "What did you tamper with?" He asked, less irate.

"The dropship." She admitted. "I had it altered back when I still rode McCloskey's ship. I gave into a paranoia spree once, and ordered my engineer to have her modified so that the pilot could disengage at will from the carrier. That's how the dropship got away from Bruhler to come get us, when she refused to throw the locks."

"I see. So you're going to get slap on the wrist and we carry on as normal?"

Her hallmark rueful smile flickered across her face. "Pretty much, he'll dock my pay or something like that. I'm not really worried about it at all. Klepher's an okay kind of guy, for a colonel. I'm just happy the whole Bruhler thing is over, I didn't like it hanging over my head at all."

Parveloni looked over at his MC pensively. No great catch, this one, but Parveloni couldn't stay at Ghaldin forever, wouldn't be allowed to stay forever. Yes, Chris had managed his first three missions well, but posting with Firestorm the milk runs for Shiningand her crew. Morrison and Noble were shaking down into a team to be reckoned with, and Devry meant to use that to his favor.

"We've got a sister vessel now, you can expect to move soon." Parveloni stated, and Maitland grinned.

"Gallacia?" The young marine demanded hopefully, naming a carrier fresh from Dannen. Very fresh from Dannen, her captain had less than a year at her helm, a lot of that spent in transit from Dannen to Ghaldin. Morrison had a year in combat as Firestorm's master.

"No, not Gallacia, Firestorm." Parveloni corrected. "Morrison's ship."

Maitland froze, his eyes flying to Parveloni's face in silent denial. "That's Noble's carrier." The marine said stupidly, his face still blank. "She's reckless and a combat slut. Everyone knows that."

Yep, Parveloni acknowledged silently, watching the truth dawn on Maitland. Assigning this tike to Noble was about the same as signing his death warrant. Noble would require him to lead as she did, and Jason Parveloni had few thoughts that Maitland could aspire to that level of sheer cunning and courage. But Maitland considered himself up to the job of commanding a battlesuit platoon on the front, and worse, considered himself up to the job of commanding Parveloni's platoon on the front. Maybe Noble could whip him into shape, if not; Parveloni had finally made it to the front, into combat. Maitland could be replaced, combat time couldn't.

"Noble's a good sort." Jason stated expansively. "Not the prettiest woman around but hey, I ain't sleeping with her." No, Morrison was, from all rumors. No accounting for taste, especially when the man could have any woman he wanted. But if that's what it took to keep a Marine like Noble happy and loyal, one could always close his eyes. It was all the same in the dark, Parveloni ought to know.

Maitland looked thoroughly unconvinced. Maybe the kid wasn't as clueless as Jason had first thought, because he certainly wasn't buying it. He must hear his own death knell in this posting. Maybe Noble would take it easy on the poor kid and maybe the war would be over tomorrow. Neither seemed likely to Parveloni, but he'd been wrong before.

Damn the Corps, still desperately playing catch up for a war two years old. If a naval officer wanted command fast, and many did, they chose Carrier. But there was no reason for a marine officer to choose battlesuit, so few did, which left the Corps scrambling to materialize battlesuit commanders out of thin air. No wonder they had snapped Noble up when she had returned to the Corps, Parveloni had read her files. If Maitland had half of her experience, Jason would count himself lucky, but Maitland didn't.

He watched Maitland pale and retreat into silence. Welcome to reality, Jason thought coldly. Marines went into combat, and Maitland had maneuvered himself into a corner, now unable to avoid that inevitability. He would see heavy combat duty paired with an officer like Noble, and that prospect obviously thrilled him. "Get things in line. We'll be leaving soon."

"Great." Maitland muttered under his breath.

Arien studied the orders quietly. Something had the brass in an uproar, she decided. "We rendezvous with Firestormin two days." she stated, and the four men in Brimstone's briefing room with her frowned as one.

"Two days?" Malov asked slowly. "But they don't have a bridge crew for the carrier yet."

"I don't know." Arien sighed, clearing her monitor screen. "I just follow 'em, I don't make them up. You have the lift time, so go." They nodded, understanding the futility of questioning orders, especially ones that came directly from the flagship. They were just grunts. She was only a captain. Not much latitude for attempting to make sense, or change, to orders straight from a general.

Arien leaned back in her chair for a long moment. This timing was highly unusual; the only way this would work would be a mass assignment of fresh blood to crew Firestorm, without the usual formality of allowing her captain to give his final approval. Arien didn't like it and she was certain that Niel would despise it. She shook her head in silent thought, regarding Brimstone's lounge through heavily lidded eyes. The top brass was starting to cut corners, starting to move in ways she was unaccustomed to seeing them move. This required thought, and she pensively stared at the random patterns on the battered table.

"Arien." Niel's voice was low, and she looked over at him. He had dispensed with the usual formality of requesting her permission to board Brimstone, and stood uninvited in the corridor beyond the lounge bulkhead. He looked so terribly out of place on her ship, he so polished, it so functional. "So you've heard?" he questioned, stepping into the room, when she moved her head slightly in invitation.

"Two days." she stated carefully. "Brass is starting to move like they've finally got a purpose."

"That is the truth." He agreed, "Your thoughts?" he sat in the chair only recently vacated by Schrader, directly across from her.

"I think they're stepping up." She musingly balanced her stylus on the pitted surface of the table, enthralled by the challenge of balancing it upright on its tip.

Niel's own thoughts had just solidified into clarity by his partner. Thoughts made real by the fact that she stated his nebulous considerations, stated them in that eerily somber, emotionless voice. It was if she'd stared her own death in its face, and suddenly, Niel didn't want to play this game anymore. He'd been at this for two years already, and somehow it managed to look even more serious now than it had before. "How can they be stepping it up?" He demanded, and his voice sounded small in the room. Her gaze flicked over to him, and she gave him an infinitesimal shrug. "What can they be after?" He demanded again, and she smiled.

"The Drelanii Confederation, of course." She said slowly. Again, his deepest thought, tossed into reality by her voice. "We've stopped playing games, and we're going for it. It's about time," She opened her hands expansively, "but why did it have to happen on my watch?"

He chuckled wearily, shaking his head. "Don't ask me, it's happened on mine as well. My grandfather told me we should have taken care of the problem years ago. I just never thought I'd be the one called on to actually do it."

"Coffee?" she asked, motioning to a machine in the corner. "It's either good, or strictly terrible, depending on who's made it this time, and how long it's been sitting around."

"No, thanks. That sounds entirely too dangerous for my tender self." He declined, and she smiled.

"Wimp." she said without malice. He listened to her gracefully defuse his worry, and he fixed her with a sharp look. "What?" she demanded innocently.

"Stop sidetracking me." He directed. "I want to talk to you about this. Honestly and seriously." He said, and she dropped the falsely virtuous look and returned her expression to normal. "You haven't said anything I haven't already thought." He continued, "That's why I wanted to you to sign these." He dropped a sheaf of legal length papers on the table in front of her.

"Sign?" She asked cautiously. "What are they?"

"I had the JAG office draw them up this morning. They change my beneficiary in case something happens to me. Change it to you, instead of my sister." He shrugged slightly. "I'd rather know the money was going to you, she doesn't need it and I'm not that fond of her anyway."

Arien knew how that was. She had loved Derleth with all of her heart, and despised her just as deeply. Derleth was legally her beneficiary, more out of a lacking anyone better than for any real concern for her fiscal well being. If Arien died in combat, the payoff would be substantial, over one hundred thousand Imperial monits. Somehow, she thought the amount she'd receive if Niel died would be considerably higher than that. "Out of curiosity, how much are we talking here?" She finally asked.

He stared at his hands, the left still mismatched with the right one. "Fourteen." He sighed, tapping his left thumb on the table before him. She frowned slightly, and he raised his head to stare at her. "Fourteen million monits. I'm worth a little over thirteen alive, fourteen dead. Sign them."

That number boggled Arien's mind. She knew he was supposedly wealthy, but the exact, or even an estimated, amount had never been tossed in her direction. She took the stylus she'd been playing with earlier, and carefully unfolded the paperwork to study it. It read exactly as he'd claimed, and she penned her signature to it and passed it back to him. He nodded absently, replacing them back in his inner pocket. "Thanks. I'll see that these make it back before we lift."

"Okay." It sounded small, not enough, but the silence after his sentence had grown too long for her liking.

"Arien, how long, as an estimate are we talking here, in your opinion?" He asked, "How long to invade the entire confederation?"

That question had only been posed to Arien as a theoretical query in her time at Albemarle. She had never considered the possibility that the Empire would stop the skirmishes and go in full bore. "We're stuck at Relmier." she stated slowly. "Which is approximately one third of the way to Drelane. It's been two years already and we haven't even begun to hit the major Drelanii worlds, the Vreestwins should be next, after Relmier, and I can promise you they'll be a bitch to take. Conservative estimate, five more years, if we don't bog down too deeply somewhere." Arien didn't add on to that. If they did bog down someplace, and the Empire refused to back down it could be a decade or longer.

"When is your term up?" he demanded slowly, and she frowned at the question.

"Three years, February. But we both know they'll impress me for the duration, they need me. I'm not getting out if we're not through before my time comes due, same as you."

Yes, he did know that. The Navy would be less willing than the Corps to impress an officer into longer service, but it could, and would happen. With the Articles of War firmly in place, only a command of the Emperor or the Imperial Master at Arms could get either of them out of this. Not even Niel's father could pull the strings necessary to remove him from this fix. He nodded again, resigning himself to the situation. If that's how it was, then that was it and he'd just have to make the best of it. "Oh, Arien, give me your hand."

She frowned warily but extended her hand, palm down, towards him. He grasped it, turning it over and placing his Thackeray class ring into her palm and closing her fingers around it. "I'll see you on the upside." he promised, "We'll be lifting soon, something you already know."

## Chapter Sixteen:

14 November 1194

Imperial Invasion Corridor, Anti-spin of Relmier

Arien woke, opening her eyes to dimness. The echoing, badly discordant throb of Firestorm's jump engines vibrated through the hull, through Brimstone's very framework. The glitch in the carrier's engines had become audible even to her untrained ears, and she shuddered slightly. A quick glance at the chronometer imbedded in the headboard of her bunk showed she had been asleep for less than five hours, but she would not be getting back.

She stretched out from the tight knot she had herself tucked into, hissing against the chill of the bedding that had not been in direct contact with her body. The dropship was cold, very cold, and it made waking up difficult at best.

She pushed herself from the warm cocoon of her bunk, catching the complaint that rose to her lips as she straightened up. Everything hurt, everything popped as she stood upright, the worst from her knee as she forced it straight through the grinding resistance. It set with a sudden pop, and she frowned at the twinge of pain. She had knee trouble from her earlier years in the Corps, as did most drop soldiers. You couldn't drop suborbital, land fast and hard and not have something give eventually, not matter what high tech shell you were encased in. Arien's had worsened with the loss of her right leg, limping around on the left had stressed it badly, and now things had gotten worse. Seven drops in a year would do that to anyone, and it was starting to catch up with her quickly.

She looked out into the dim barracks, seeing only Hawkins stretched out in his bunk, watching her. She could hear the others in the lounge, and the tell tale rhythmic sounds of a woman moaning spilled from the room they were clustered in. She listened for a slight moment more before placing exactly which of the porno's they were watching.

Taylor made a rather loud, appreciative noise, and was shushed by the others. "You'll wake the boss up." She heard through the racket.

"Too late." Hawkins muttered, only loud enough for her to hear.

Arien rubbed down the goose bumps that rose on her arms. "Nah. They didn't wake me. I can sleep through the most obnoxious of porn vids."

"Umh." He sighed in response. "Wish I could."

She shrugged, paddling her way into her head. Hawkins could normally sleep through anything, just as she could. He was just stressing out as the rest of them were.

She shut the door behind her, turning the water on to fill the "tub" with steaming hot water. She stripped out of her clothing, eyeing herself in the mirror over the sink. The past year had taken a lot out of her; she looked bad, worn and haggard. Arien was twenty six; a mere youth in the minds of most Imperial citizens, but what stared back at her from the mirror was anything but youthful. She had gotten a gaunt hunter's look these past months, her eyes set deeply into a narrow, bony face. And to add insult to injury, there were shining feathers of silken silver cutting through the chestnut hair at her temples. Twenty six and she was going gray. So much for leaving Drummond to avoid aging prematurely, she should have chosen a less stressful job than this. At least Niel's interest in her had not faded, but she was the only game in town for him, and he wasn't looking so great himself. Worry was steadily pushing him to the same raggedness she endured, in body and mind alike. They both needed a break, a break that did not appear to be coming anytime soon.

She lowered herself stiffly and painfully into the heated water, feeling it work its immediate magic on her abused body. Because she didn't actually have a bathtub, at least one that was nearly long enough for her, she first knelt in the water to warm her feet and knees, the hot water the only thing that would banish the bone stiffening cold of the dropship. Adding extra layers of clothes didn't really seem to help anymore, putting more socks on cold feet only appeared to hold the cold in. After the water had warmed her feet, she contorted around to drop her upper body in, balancing her feet on the edge of the toilet and relaxing in the water. There was no soap; she would have to make do with the water a dropship carried in mass quantities. They had been resupplied only a week ago, but only an essentials resupply. The Corps had four levels of resupply; survival, essentials, the military oxymoron of essential luxuries, and luxuries. They hadn't gotten a supply of anything less necessary than essentials in months, and that fact was beginning to do more than annoy now. They had been in the field for over a year straight, seven drops in that time, and had not been adequately resupplied in that entire time. Arien was not a spoiled individual, she did without luxuries most of the time, but she did like essential luxuries. Survival was just that, the absolute bare minimum to keep a veteran unit like hers in the field; ammo, field packed rations, necessary medications, and necessary parts. Essential was required to keep her unit in the field in good working order adding things like vitamin supplements, the glycerin packs that replaced the fluid of the 'suits, minor medications, parts for the equipment that were not entirely necessary to drop the unit. Minor things like hygiene were covered under essential luxuries, things not absolutely required to keep them in the field, but were damned useful anyway. These things could be obtained from Firestorm's crew in the usual ship to ship black market, but her marines were eventually running out of tradable goods, and the need to "make do" was causing tempers to smolder. And lately, even the Navy had been sparse in its resupply, cutting deeply into Firestorm's shipments. And the Navy had been even sparser in its ship upkeep, ignoring the fact that Firestormhad made eight jumps without adequate maintenance in that time. But for the carrier crew, and now even the marines, the abnormal noise of Firestorm's jump engines could be not be missed, only ignored.

Finally warmed, if not clean, Arien toweled herself off and dressed in the cleanest of her uniforms. Washed without soap, she could knock the worst of the filth out of them, but the smell still clung stubbornly to them. In fact, the smell clung stubbornly to everything; forty people could not live in a ship only three decks deep and one hundred fifty meters long with less than perfect hygiene without a certain stench growing, worsened by the omnipresent dropship smells of lubricants, metal, explosives, overheated polymers and stale air. Arien's life had become a dark, humid warren of stinking tunnels and embittered men. Not much different than her life on Drummond, but Brimstonewas much smaller than the Lee, and there was no place to hide even if Arien was allowed to. No, she was required to lead, lead by example, and keep the peace as best as possible. Of course she was doing the best she could; she had to live in the exact same surroundings as the rest of them.

She had three hours before she was supposed to meet Niel for their now ritualistic breakfast, their time of exhibiting their solidarity before the crews. Firestorm's meals were now only minimally better than Brimstone's fare, not really worth looking forward to. Arien only ate now out of a sense of duty, the meal was more a chance to be with Niel than anything else.

Niel watched Arien walk across Firestorm's mess hall, her gait marred by the more and more noticeable limp she had. She looked bad, shoulder length hair spiked wetly behind her ears, her eyes deep in her pale face. It was now difficult to judge her age by her appearance, feature wise she still looked like a rather thin young woman, but her eyes were dull, still, and there was no denying the silver that shot her hair. He was admittedly no better; his majestic looks were steadily grinding down into an equally lean and meager look. His own hair was paling, not as obviously as her darker mass did, but he noticed. He had lost a lot of weight, and his concerns had melted into a constant worry that marred his features, most of it over his ship. Eight jumps. Firestormwas thirty years old, too old to take this kind of abuse. Eight jumps with no maintenance on her engines, only what his crew could manage. They were flirting with disaster, and there was nothing he could do about it.

"Good morning." He offered slowly, motioning to the seat across from him. "You going to want anything more than coffee this morning?"

"No. I'll eat later." She sighed, and he only nodded.

"How's the knee?" He asked, hoping for the worst. If Arien got so bad that she was unable to drop, the carrier medical officer would yank her from operational status, and her marines would be downgraded further, perhaps even removed from drop status themselves. In that case, his bid to have Firestormin for real maintenance would have a little more weight than it did now. If her knee was truly as shot as he was beginning to hear, she would removed from drop status for at least six weeks, probably longer, as his medical officer rejointed her knee.

She gave him a mirthless smile in response. "Holding up. Not as well as the other one, but holding up." Not what he wanted to hear and he scowled at her. "Well." She continued, "You could always take a pry bar to it and help it along." The bad thing about that suggestion, facetious as it was, was that Niel considered it for a split second. "Don't you even think about it." She warned, pouring herself coffee. "I'll take your head off at the neck if you try."

"Hm." He muttered back. "We come out of jump later today, if we're lucky." She glanced up, shot him a winning smile that transformed her face into beauty once again, and lifted her hand, middle finger crossed tightly over her index finger. "Yes, keep it that way; we're going to need it."

"Any ideas where we're dropping out at?" She asked. "I can't take another pissant drop." Her voice dropped viciously, and he shrugged. Pissant was as close a description to what they had been doing as he himself could come. Seven drops since Relmier, and she had taken no casualties in the unit. The Empire had decided to completely clear everything between Hevish and Relmier, so every tiny listening station, mining outpost, psycho separatist religious colony, fueling outpost, pirate base, and resupply knothole had been targeted. It was good training for Maitland, murder on the Eighteenth, and completely devastating to the aging Firestorm.

"All I've been told is that it is not hostile." Which could mean damn near anything. The past seven had been classified as hostile, which was a lark. They might have harbored hostile thoughts, but little more.

"So it's not the Vreestwins?" She sounded almost disappointed at that, and Niel chuckled.

"No dear, I can promise you it's not the Vreestwins. I know you want to go kill things that shoot back for a change, but we're eight sector degrees off of them. And it's not Relmier again, so we're not shoring up the blockade." That was good news. Niel couldn't think of much worse than blockade duty, the only thing good about that would be that Firestormwouldn't be doing any jumping. Wouldn't be doing much of anything, actually, the Drelanii were in for the long haul on Relmier.

"Erh." She grumbled back at him, swallowing coffee with a grimace. He shrugged, yes, the situation was bad, and the coffee was bad, too. The last resupply had been so paltry that they were out of sugar and creamer, and the coffee was under strict rationing, making it pale and watery, barely deserving of the name it was called by. But it was hot, and that made it good. He knew Firestormwas warmer than the dropship, but the carrier was still uncomfortably frigid, and the temperature dropped steadily as the batteries flooded wasted power into the failing jump engines.

"Medical officer wants to know the low down. How much more can you guys take until everything hits. The food, the temperature, the close quarters." He knew that the marines were at risk for sudden illness, they had all sorts of things against them in this environment. They had all been healthy, and had every immunization discovered by the Imperial medical machine, but that was before a year of stress, locked into a hellhole that made Niel shudder.

"Not much longer. The problems are starting to crop up, and I'm afraid they're only going to get worse." She stated, "We need relief badly, but you already know that."

"I do." The problem was that no one else seemed to be listening. After every jump, he had waited for the orders to return to Imperial controlled space, for maintenance, resupply, and shore leave. The orders had never come. His last two messages to Carrier HQ had been much less pleasant than the former ones, sparked by his concern over the precipitously failing jump engines. He put his hand on hers for a fleeting moment, and she raised dark eyes to his. She kept him sane, she kept him whole, and she kept him going when his spirit quailed in the realization of what he was into here. He had no idea how Parveloni, saddled with Maitland, managed to survive any of this. Of course, Parveloni's ship had not been in the fray as long as his Firestormhad been, but that mattered little.

"Not hostile, we're in the middle of Drelanii space. How is anything not hostile?" She suddenly demanded, and he shook his head. Lately he had started to care less and less about what was on the other end of the jump, too busy listening to the aching throb of his ship, too busy imagining the sounds of her jump engine dying, too busy imagining himself dying then. Any jump they made it in and out of was a good jump, to hell with why they had jumped in the first place. Let Arien worry about what she was there to face, Niel's job was to do the driving. And the praying.

Apparently, she wasn't that invested in figuring it out herself, as she went back to morosely studying her thumbnail. His mind knew the term for this occurrence, combat fatigue, but to actually experience it was an entirely different situation. He had always wondered how units could grind down so much that they just didn't care anymore, but now he knew. They were tired. They were exhausted, hungry and cold. And they had been that way for too long.

He reached across the table, smoothing her hair off of her forehead. As their time in the field had dragged on, discipline had become lax, and Niel was not nearly as cautious about displaying affection towards her as he had originally been. Perversely, their united front seemed to calm the men and women who served with them more than it created any friction.

She was looking bad, and Niel could not understand why her appearance had not started to affect him in other ways than it had. He looked at her, and he felt many things, things that made sense to him and things that didn't. He felt a deep rooted concern, anxiety over what this was doing to her, fear that it was too much for her. This made perfect sense to him. But he looked at her, this thin, ill bathed young woman, and he still felt the same attraction for her that he had felt on Ghaldin. He was coming to the realization that it didn't matter what Arien looked like, so long as it was Arien.

"I know, I need a haircut." She sighed. "I'm just tired of Schrader's hack jobs."

"It looks just fine." She wasn't the only one who needed a haircut. They were both so far off of regulation appearance that it wasn't even funny, but what did it matter? The only people that Niel had contact with any more were his crew, Arien, and Parveloni. They all looked hellish, and they were all in this together.

The one hour jump end chime sounded, and he sighed, rising slowly to his feet. Time to do his duty on the bridge, holding his breath and praying. She pushed herself from the table, heading for her own ship. There would be little she could do on the dropship if something calamitous happened to the carrier at end jump, but it was the right place for her to be. They may have become lax, but they still did their jobs.

"Countdown to jump end." Hassen heard the dread explicit in his voice, and felt Noble's hard stare centered on the spot where his neck spread into his shoulders. The boss may be able to handle the stress with cold indifference, but Hassen knew all too well that the carrier was in trouble, and that every turnover brought them face to face with disaster. His lips moved in a silent litany, come on, come on, come on, come on. The counter in front of him reached 00:00 and Firestormdropped, or more precisely, fell, out of jump space with a wrenching jerk. Warning lights went off in amber colored distress and Hassen sighed. None were crimson. They were still okay. "Jump ended." He stated in a relieved voice. That one had been much worse than the last one, but they had survived it.

"What's going on?" Noble demanded, and he studied his readouts as Firestorm's sub light engines kicked in and they began moving quickly out of the jump zone. This was nothing even remotely resembling a drop attitude, and there were no drop orders coming through to him.

"No drop. Looks like," He looked at the sudden flashes of blue and green that began appearing on his screens. "Imperial staging point. Count them, three Naval Fleets, five Carrier Fleets, and the Dannen Marine Fleet."

"All right." She enthused, a sentiment he echoed. Finally. Finally, after a year and seven drops, they were back in contact with their major forces. With the invaded corridor between Hevish and Relmier utterly cleared out, they should have unhindered resupply before pushing for the Vreestwins. Things were almost looking up, if you could count the inevitability of hitting two major Drelanii worlds in one swoop as looking up.

Niel sighed in thinly disguised relief, feeling the eyes of his bridge crew on him. He had to remain calm, in control, assured, although this was becoming harder and harder as their time on the front lengthened. Only with Arien could he, did he, let the veneer crack. To everyone else, he must be Commander Morrison, captain. It was a struggle he found himself ill prepared for.

"Incoming message, sir. From Implacable." The comm officer named the invasion fleet's flagship. "She is sending over a crew as soon as possible to effect what repairs can be done and a resupply boat."

Niel sighed. There was no way in hell that the type of repairs that his ship required could be done here. Firestormneeded a shipyard. He already knew the answer to that one, though. It was just as risky to keep her jumping forward into Drelanii space as back to Ghaldin, and she was useful on the front. But maybe they could rig something to ease the drainage on the battery, and actually manage to resupply them well. "Give them our thanks." He replied in an even voice. It just didn't seem worth the effort to get upset anymore.

Soap, soap, soap, Deadly Honorhad sent a resupply boat to Brimstoneas soon as the carrier had come to a full stop within the Fleet formation, and the supply was finally generous. It felt to Arien like this day was the entire major gift giving holidays and her birthday all rolled up into one convenient package. Soap, detergent, and chocolate, new fatigues tightly bundled into a bale of cloth. Boots, socks, underwear, the men's delight was contagious, and she felt a rare grin split her face. Every container was checked, broken open to warbles of glee and relief, contents spread quickly amongst the troopers. It amazed her how quickly they forgave and forgot the past eight months of want with one good bounty, but was she any different? With all of their troubles, Arien felt as good tempered as she got, all because of the large hoard on her bunk.

With the largess came the obligatory statement that Deadly Honor's medical officer and staff would be doing an overview of the crew's state. That dampened Arien's enthusiasm slightly. All of the marines had a lengthening litany of minor health problems, and she had not been passed over by her fair share of ailments. On one hand, she wanted back into the fray, back to making her name good again, and a really bad medical exam could end that, putting her career into further jeopardy. On the other, she was tired and could use some liberty, but she had the sinking suspicion that the flagship medical officer would sign her off as fine. Damned if she did and damned if she didn't, about the story of her life, she decided. It was time for her to clean up and brave Niel's presence, although she was beginning to dread that occasionally. He grew sullen and snappish as the carrier's condition worsened, and she tended to be his primary target. She was pretty sure the news wouldn't be good from his end, and he would be more than happy to let her know it. She sighed, rumpling her lengthening hair with her fingers. Maybe she could get a decent haircut, if nothing else, out of this.

Niel's gaze was dire as Arien approached, and it did not soften when she finally reached him. In fact, it worsened, and she said nothing. He was angry beyond his normal foulness, and she wasn't in the mood to get into it with him. Hopefully he would let it slide. Normally, Arien's moods were equally foul, and she relished the chance to blow up in return, but today was a rare good day, and Niel wasn't going to ruin it in an argument. She refused to meet his eyes, instead watching the naval resupply boat emptying cartons on Firestorm's shuttle deck. She could feel his gaze trained on the back of her head, and it took every ounce of intestinal fortitude she possessed to avoid turning to him to give him the confrontation he ached for. She was clean, for once; her belly full of good things, his troubles could wait. It was easier to ignore his problems now, when Firestorm's jump engines were quiet, their eerie harmonics gone, replaced by the solid thrum of her position keeping thrusters.

"What is it, Arien?" He finally asked a semblance of normalcy in his voice. This did not mean he had given up the urge for a fight, only that he realized he wasn't going to get it here or now. It was safe to discuss customary issues with him now, as long as she was careful to not set him off.

"We've been fully resupplied and will be examined by the flagship's medical crew to determine our status." She stated in the calm, unruffled tone perfected during the past year. It was her refusal to fight voice, and usually he did back down, usually.

She finally turned to meet his eyes, measuring his reaction cautiously. The news from Implacablemust be pretty bad, she decided, because she had never seen him this furious before.

"Hm." He replied, dragging his eyes back to the resupply boat. She fought down relief, he was going to let it go, for now.

If misery loves company, Niel thought, eyeing his partner, then misery must truly despise former company that had abandoned it. Arien was normally as wretched as he was, darkly morbid in her own way, but now she was fairly content, and that annoyed the hell out of him. All it took to please her was a soapy bath and new uniforms, easily enough done by the newly opened resupply lines. She shed discontent like an out of season coat, leaving behind several months of abuse with a quick change of heart. All was forgiven in his fickle lover's heart, tossed away like baggage, as she showed a new face to her surroundings. She overlooked Firestorm's condition, her own condition. He wished he could do the same, but he was left dealing with the morons who assured him that the carrier would do just fine after their stopgap measures were completed. There was a fantasy he wasn't about to let himself believe.

"What are the chances they'll sign you off?" He asked slowly.

"They'll sign me off. I'm doing better than some of my own men are right now. I imagine they'll do something to hold my knee together a little bit longer, and send me right back in. They've got to be looking at the Vreestwins, and they'll need everything for that assault." She shrugged slightly. That was about Niel's own thinking. The Vreestwins were going to be a bitter offensive, and the Empire would want to throw everything at the paired planets of Vreesgard and Vreeshoem. Vreeshoem was the Drelanii breadbasket, a lushly fertile paradise that produced trillions of tons of agricultural goods. It was protected by its harsher twin, the Drelanii military station of Vreesgard. If the Empire seized Vreesgard, then the Drelanii position would weaken immensely, because Vreeshoem would fall swiftly after.

These two planets were essential for the Empire's push to Drelane, and it looked inevitable that Firestormwould be there. He shook his head slightly. Before, the thought of assaulting the Vreestwins had made his blood sing at the thought. Taking them would almost guarantee the fall of Drelane. Now he just accepted the idea that all too soon, he would be there, caught in the uncertainty of battle, the only optimistic thought was that if these planets were taken, one fewer obstacle kept him from returning from the front.

"I'll see you later." He promised, and her expression of near alarm was almost amusing. She knew him too well, recognizing the foulness of his mood under his stiffly correct behavior. He smiled slightly, honestly, and her expression calmed somewhat, but she still regarded him warily. She did not trust him. This thought should have bothered him, he realized, but it didn't in the least. If she trusted him, then he would have to at least try to rein his temper in, be somewhat trustworthy for her. Arien knew his temper, his moods, and she did not let his smile lull her. Smart girl, as always, eyeing him like he was a bomb waiting to go off. He strode away; back to do battle with the maintenance crews charged to make Firestormjump worthy.

Arien sighed, as the medical officer listened intently, his face twisted in concentration. "Sounds clear." he finally admitted, removing the stethoscope from her back. "Congratulations, Captain." He stated sarcastically. "Out of the five returning platoons I've seen this week, you are the only individual without some sort of congestion. You are, in fact, the healthiest of the group. A little sinus problem, and the knee. You keep pure thoughts, or something I don't know about?"

"Not hardly." Arien muttered. It was bad when the medical staff lost their bedside manners and started in on a person for being perfectly healthy. They were as overworked and underappreciated as anybody else here, so she let his attitude slide. Anyway, he was undoubtedly going to be the one to give her the newest series of immunizations that the Corps decided she needed, and she would prefer that he was not angry with her when he did them.

"Well, we'll do what we can for the knee. It does need to be rejointed, but we can't let you down for that kind of time. Sorry." He sounded less than sorry as he gave Arien the statement she already knew was coming. He sounded just as tired and as resigned as Niel was beginning to. Did she sound that dead? Look that dead?

"That's fine." She agreed. There was a flicker of emotion on the doctor's face before it died again. This war was killing them all, slowly and surely, it had to end soon. No one could take much more of this. She sighed again as he removed instruments and started to survey her knee.

Niel paced the bridge. It had been eighteen hours since she had arrived at the assembly point and Firestormwas deemed combat worthy once more. Under normal conditions, a fraction of her ailments would have kept her dead lined at the yard. But this was war, and all conventions of normalcy had been cast aside. Damage control parties from the fleet had already disembarked from the ship and soon they would be ordered to enter the fray once more.

With a wolfish grin, he noted that it was not only the morale of the marine compliment that had soared, but the spirit of his own crew had been lifted during the repair operations. The fresh stock of supplies and the sprinkling of Imperial luxuries had filled the men and women on both ships with renewed vigor. Several times during his inspection of the ship he had spied crewmen joking with one another and some engaging in mild horseplay. With dread he knew that this was only short lived euphoria due to wear thin when the fighting renewed. Niel was content to let them bask in the hope that the gathering of the fleet boosted their chances of survival. Arien's men, he knew, would need every ounce of fortitude that they could muster if they were to engage Drelanii forces in contest of a major world.

The extended operations had slowly sapped their strength and ferocity, without which they would surely be destroyed. Arien herself was nothing more than a mere reflection of the proud marine she had been two years ago at their first meeting on Ghaldin. Without her, Niel would not have been able to last this long. If her training and resolve were to fail in the upcoming drop, he shuddered to think of the journey without her. He sighed, feeling the weight of every day of his twenty eight years. This was not how he had imagined spending his life, his career, but by now the fleet vessels had been fronting the wave nearly as long as he had. There were fewer and fewer places to hide from the ever increasing war effort, but Firestormhad a front seat view of it all.

## Chapter Seventeen:

19 November 1194

Invasion corridor.

"The objective is Vreesgard." Arien's eyes met Niel's, but her expression remained calm as she returned her stare to the briefing officer's image on the monitor in Niel's ready room. "We expect very high resistance." the man continued, and Arien sighed. Any time the powers that were admitted to 'very high resistance', they meant it was going to be a slaughterhouse. Vreesgard was Vreehoem's barren twin, a fortified military stronghold in place to protect the vast resources of its larger, more prosperous neighbor. The entire world was nothing but a battle waiting to happen, and Arien dreaded it. The rhetoric of assaulting Vreesgard was tossed around at the Academies, used as a 'what if' scenario. This was real.

"First assault units will come out of Task Force Foxtrot," the briefing officer's voice was cold, steady, and Arien felt her stomach drop in doom. First assault? They were pulling first assault on Vreesgard? Her gaze flickered over to Niel's face, seeing the same dread in his eyes that must show in hers.

"I feel sick." She muttered, surprised that it came out audible, but his head snapped around at the words.

He paused, as if to say something in response to her rare display of timidity, and then finally only nodded in agreement.

"I've heard enough." She stated, rising to her feet slowly. "I'll take my orders on the dropship when they come in." He did not try to dissuade her, or even say anything comforting or heartening as she left him alone to absorb the pre-assault jump orders.

Hawkins stared at his commanding officer as she returned to the dropship, judging her for a long moment as she cut silently through the men towards her quarters. After a long moment, he excused himself from the festivities to follow her. He found her stretched out on her bunk, staring morosely at the ceiling.

"Bad news, Boss?" He asked quietly from the doorway. She looked at for a long moment, before nodding and motioning him to take a seat.

"Yeah." She breathed when he settled down, her voice thick with her accent. "Preliminary orders have us as initial assault on Vreesgard."

He dropped his head, finally shaking it after a long moment. "Initial assault on Vreesgard." He looked back towards the rec room where the men relaxed. "I think I'll keep that one to myself for awhile, if you don't mind, sir."

"I agree, Hawkins. I think we can keep the initial assault part of it to ourselves as long as possible. They know we're going to Vreesgard, so no shock there."

"Aye, sir."

"I'll be out when I calm down a little."

Niel watched the chronometer count down to jump, his fingers crossed under his console. He had no faith in the makeshift repairs affected by the maintenance crew, and if the jump drive did work it merely sent him into the fight of his life. What a choice. With a sound that was not as bad as earlier, but by no means normal, Firestorm for Vreesgard. Niel's preparations for the assault were finished, Arien's just beginning.

"We carry double ammo load and we leave anything that is not absolutely necessary. We drop at 150 percent compensation." Arien's men listened to her orders, sudden flickers of trepidation crossing the more experienced men's features. She had put it off long enough. The jump to Vreesgard was a short hop from the staging point, and the necessary preparations for a drop of the magnitude to be one of the first units on Vreesgard would take days to complete. "Our objective is, as you may have guessed, Vreesgard." Her eyes met Hawkins', and he nodded in understanding. The platoon's time of blissful ignorance was over. "We are part of the initial assault. We are with the first drop."

Utter, complete silence met that proclamation. For a long moment, the only sound in the dropship's lounge was the slightly off kilter throb of the carrier's engine and the high pitched hum of the dropship's internal battery array. The first disbelieving groan broke the dam of silence, and then all of them gave voice to their dismay. Arien marshaled her flagging spirit, standing tall before them. "We're Marines and we're being sent to do a mission because we are the best. We're not those kids coming up behind us, and we're sure as hell not conscripts. We volunteered for this."

The platoon silenced at the oddity of their Boss feeding them a pep talk. Usually she let the squad leaders psyche them up, let the sergeants scream for murder, mayhem and total annihilation of their enemies. This was new. Arien nodded as she gained their full attention. "It's time us to remind the Drelanii just who we are." she continued in the same solemn, quiet voice she had begun with. "It's time to stand up for what we believe in. We tell stories of great marine battles in bars. We enjoy having people respect the Corps. It's time to earn that. Vreesgard will be one of those great battles talked about for decades, and we're here. Make the Corps proud. Make yourselves proud. Make me proud."

Hawkins glanced between his commanding officer, rising to the challenge of readying her troops mentally and physically for this drop, and the men he knew better than any one else. "Oorah!" He barked, and the men echoed him. Hers was not the most emotional of speeches, but it worked.

19 January 1195,

End jump, Vreesgard

Niel tensed as the jump clock ran down, watching tactical displays for the first reports that would appear soon after they materialized over Vreesgard. The Fleets had gone in first, to clear the way for the more vulnerable carriers, but that guaranteed nothing. The Fleets had been first over Relmier as well, but the mines had still been there. At the moment the clock read 00:00, he went into command mode, eyes scanning for his readouts. The carrier appeared, all systems holding well in the green, and he gripped the tactical board nervously, waiting. The blue dots representing Fleet vessels appeared, still tightly arrayed in formation, with the occasional green Carrier vessel blinking into existence. But his screen was devoid of the glaring amber, orange and red of hostiles that should be swarming over Vreesgard.

"Firestorm this is Shining Example ." Parveloni's sickly apprehensive voice cut over the link. "We are reading negative on hostiles."

So it wasn't just his screens and the Fleet remained in formation. There was no fleet here contesting them for Vreesgard. It was a free drop zone. Every nerve in Niel's body screamed foul in response. 'Noble.' he snapped, switching the link to her Icom.

'Noble here.' She replied immediately. She would be in the bowels of the dropship, awaiting the disconnection and planetary run.

'We are reading no, I say again no, enemy fleet actions. You have a free drop zone.'

'It's a drop and shop?' She demanded incredulously. 'You have got to be joking.'

Niel wasn't exactly certain what a "drop and shop" was in marine vernacular, but he was certain she understood his meaning. An uncontested run for a planet that was supposed to be one of the most heavily defended Confederation worlds stank. 'Be careful, Noble.' He snapped.

'Affirmative on that one.' She agreed.

"Hassen, I have word from Morrison we're to expect a drop and shop?" Arien asked the dropship pilot, who had remained oddly silent during the first few moments in materialization.

"That's an affirmative, Noble." He finally answered her. "I have zero enemy orbital support."

Arien frowned at the confirmation. She'd rather fight tooth and nail for an objective, especially one this vital, than to have this happen. Nothing was easy, and taking the world given as the final objective on most Academy group simulations should be anything but easy. "Okay, people!" She retraced her visor and looked around the prep bay until she had the platoon's attention. "We are in for a smooth ride, according to initial reports. The Vreesgard Fleet is mysteriously absent."

Taylor crowed jubilantly, but the three squad leaders' faces sharpened as one. "This is screwed." Hawkins cut in on her Icom, his voice tersely apprehensive.

"I know." She replied. "We keep our asses covered and our eyes peeled. They're here, somewhere."

He nodded sharply, before beginning the final drop preparations for his squad. The internal connection pinged sharply, as the dropship disconnected and began her run for the planet below. In less than an hour, they would be on a near mythical planet in the assault they'd only considered as an aside thought to large scale invasion training.

"Minor turbulence." Hassen warned as the dropship pierced Vreesgard's atmosphere, setting up for her final drop profile. "Negative enemy response. Good luck, guys."

Minor turbulence, Arien thought, feeling the Greelei buck slightly as the flight surfaces caught. Not even the planetary atmosphere was going to give them a problem. Vreesgard must have a thin atmosphere for the lack of turbulence she felt. Instead of lulling her, the ease of this insertion made her stomach roll sickly. When and where would they strike? Just how damned big was this trap?

"Drop in five." She ordered warily, locking her line as drop hatches opened beneath her. They opened to a quiet predawn morning, gray ground zooming by quickly beneath the ship. And still, no resistance. Still nothing at all to show that Vreesgard was ready to put up a fight. Every nerve she had screamed in terror worse than the terror of actual combat.

"Aye. Drop in five." The squad sergeants echoed. The minutes passed in eerie silence, before the drop alarm sounded and the gantry clamps dropped her 'suit from Brimstone's safety.

After a completely uneventful fall, she landed with the perfection showed in training videos, rolling gracefully to her feet and training the gunports for her first target. None showed on her HUD. The only sound was her own amplified, raspy breathing and the first tentatively quizzical reports of the other units making their landings.

"Secure the LZ." she ordered, and the men moved quickly to do her bidding. She surveyed her barren, rocky surroundings, certain that the trap would be sprung at any moment, but nothing happened. With no response the enemy, the Marines had no objective, other than the standard secure landing zone drill.

"Nothing, sir." Malov reported. "Nothing at all."

She bobbed, concentrating on the communications flowing through the dropped units. It was the same all over the target area. No resistance. The Imperial Fleets remained unmolested in orbit. The landing shock troops such as hers were down, the only casualties were those who had screwed up their landings and injured themselves. With the lack of orders or objectives, Arien's command was her own. She pulled up the maps trickling down from the first sweeps from the Fleet, and studied them carefully.

"Hawkins. Move out to here." She dotted the nearest high ground from their LZ on his readout. "We'll secure that and wait for orders."

"Yeah, Boss." he agreed, motioning his squad to precede him in that direction. They all hopped up from what cover they had embraced and headed that way like they had a purpose. Arien waited in silence for their return message, and shook her chin slightly against the padded jaw cradle of the 'suit when it came back, still reading no contact with the Drelanii.

Niel's eyes narrowed thoughtfully as he continued to study his boards. Nothing, absolutely negative across the board. It was as if Vreesgard was deserted, abandoned to the Empire. "Stone Alpha, this is Firestorm ."

"Stone Alpha here, go ahead, Firestorm ." Her link was strong, her voice even.

"Any contact?"

"Negative Firestormactual, no contact." There was wary dread under her voice, and he sighed. She wasn't buying it either. Just how sunk were they? And when would it blow open?

"Same here, Stone Alpha."

"This sucks." She snarled, and he smiled slightly. All the hype over this world, and there was nothing for her to bite. He didn't believe that it would last long, however. The Drelanii would show up some time, he was certain of that one. And they would be here when they did.

The platoon settled warily down to wait, lost without orders or objective. With the LZ to their backs they were spread out in an arc covering roughly five hundred meters. The high ground gave Arien a vantage point to oversee the non-existent enemy. They would hold their position while the atmospheric aircraft began searching for Vreesgard's defenders, too slow and cumbersome to actively join in the search themselves. Maitland and the Fifty Fourth joined them after an hour of waiting, completing Arien's company, seventy two men strong. Arien frowned slightly, not exactly happy to see him. Maitland had been assigned to her for over a year now, eight drops, and she still watched him with bated breath. He was a screw-up, she knew, worse than incompetent. Incompetency might be trained out of an officer, but Maitland was a coward. A smart coward, which made him worse. He always stayed just on the discreet side of craven, always just a hair more 'cautious' than 'coward'. This was tolerable during the past seven drops, where the sheer weight of his platoon had carried him through the skirmish. If, no when boiled over, he would be one more thing she needed to keep an eye on, like she didn't have enough of those already. The ping of a link initiated pulled her out of her reverie and back to the present. Maitland was here, and that was the end of that one. She would just have to deal with him like she dealt with everything else, wait for it to break, and then fix it as viciously as possible.

"Stone Alpha, go ahead." She replied.

"Stone Alpha, this is Foxtrot Regal." The familiar voice replied. It was Colonel Klepher, her de facto commanding officer, often heard from, rarely seen. "Any contact?"

"Negative, Foxtrot Regal."

"Ideas, Stone Alpha?" He asked, and she frowned at the question. It had been ages since her tactical insight had been requested, and she pondered her answer for a moment. She was certain that the flagship's tactical section had come up with every possible explanation for the lack of enemy presence. Good for them, but not very helpful to the ground troops left cooling their heels.

But Arien was a decent tactician, one of the better in her class, so she nodded to herself. "Two thoughts, Foxtrot Regal. Either they're here, or they're not here."

"How insightful," He drawled slowly. "Can we get just a little deeper than that, Stone Alpha?"

"Certainly. Either they're here, and waiting for something, probably for us to commit all the way to taking Vreesgard, or they've dropped back to give us one hell of a surprise someplace else."

"Hm." He answered. She didn't know if that was what he wanted, but he didn't press for more of an answer. "Stone Alpha, I want you and Bright Alpha to hold your positions until further orders come down."

"Affirmative, Foxtrot Regal." She stretched out on the ground; her visor retracted for fresh air, and dozed, a typical soldier reaction to boredom. And it kept Maitland from annoying her too terribly much. About five hours later, the decision was made to drop the rest of the ground troops, the soft shelled counterparts to Arien's company. Battlesuit assault troops comprised only five percent of any active assault group, entrusted with the job of hitting first and getting shot at first. Without a response to the battlesuit landing, the standard ground infantry dropped into a completely unknown theater of actions, number and strength of enemy forces still unaccounted for.

The harsh scream of multiple enemy contacts sounded from Arien's links and she jerked to full consciousness. She surged to her feet, surrounded by her men. The contacts were coming too fast for her to get a complete picture of the sudden action, so she pared her uplink down to her immediate area for more clarity. The Drelanii had been lying in wait for the standard infantry, and they had what they were looking for. Without prior intelligence, the infantry was in for a slaughter, while the battlesuits were passed over as targets.

Arien forced herself to screen out the noise, the sudden wash of adrenaline and panic from herself and her men. They wanted to go immediately to back up the nearest infantry units, but Arien caught a wiser move in the suddenly unfolding scene, as Drelanii units and equipment appeared from their hiding places.

"Hawkins." Her voice dropped into sharp command, and he silenced immediately. "Six and a half klicks at two five hundred mils. We go."

"Bright Alpha, this is Stone Alpha," Arien opened a channel with Maitland, "Bring your unit to my six and watch the rear. We are moving to new position marked zulu fife one."

"Affirmative, Stone Alpha." Maitland responded, "Moving to zulu fife one."

That was in the opposite direction from the nearest unit in trouble, and she expected trouble from her men. Maitland would go for any idea that took him out of the immediate line of fire; indeed, he jumped quickly to follow her bidding. "Sir." Hawkins' voice was low, barely audible through the entanglements of other radio contacts. "That's away from the action."

"I am aware of that, Hawkins. It's where we're going, anyway that's my order." She waited a split second for his response. The men would follow Hawkins if he followed her, but given that last order, he might not.

"Aye, sir, six and a half two five hundred mils." He grumbled, moving off in that direction, waving Taylor to take point. After a slight pause, the rest of the platoon fell into line, Arien taking her place in the midst of them. Maitland took their back, uncomplaining about the sudden decision to head off in the opposite direction from the fight. She cursed him mentally, doubting if he had seen what she did, but he did not question her orders like Hawkins and the rest of the Eighteenth had.

'What's up, Boss?' Hawkins came in on Icom, still not content with his orders.

'If we're certain that this area is clear, the softies can call in air support. Six and a half klick is where I would hide my anti aircraft. I want to be certain it's clear before giving the go ahead for the flyboys to come in.' In this situation, air support for the infantry was much more important than the battlesuit were. The Marines were just too slow to be of much use now. They were effective against well observed sites, and drew fire to ascertain the exact position of enemy troops, and none of these were valid roles in this battle. So Arien would make up a valid role for herself and her men. Scout what to her wary eyes seemed the perfect place to hide anti aircraft.

Hawkins eyed the site given to him by Noble, a rueful smile crossing his hidden features. She had her problems, but she could be a smart one, capable of leaps of logic that defeated him most of the time. "Affirmative anti aircraft emplacement." He stated. "Three batteries of ground sunk flak cannon, with Drelanii heavy infantry battalion support." Eighteen quad gun tubes with over three hundred infantry support would make short work of the Imperial air support elements.

"All right." She chuckled, modesty absent from her voice. "Well there's our target."

Hawkins nodded, already forming a picture in his head of probable ways to take the objective.

"Hawkins, keep an eye on Maitland, he will break and run if given half a chance. Give him the chance, but don't put him someplace that is vital to the objective." So, Noble was ready to rattle the kid's cage. Hawkins was aware that she had been testing Maitland, but none of the objectives thus far had been scary enough to shake the kid into breaking. Better that the kid ran now, before they got too deep, than covering him and hoping for the best. If Maitland did run, he stood a higher chance of doom from Noble's hand than from the Drelanii.

Battlesuits were not known for stealth, so Arien gave into her suspicions and ordered the company to commence firing after the marines passed the point at which they would surely be observed by the enemy. The Drelanii infantry defending the battery gave no sign of having seen them. Her instincts were running well and they told her that she been detected, and that she was being suckered in as closely as possible.

"Enemy contacts detected all over landing zones." Firestorm's sensor ops stated, and Niel looked at his own readouts. It had been six hours since they had arrived over Vreesgard, and the trap was finally springing. "Targets are ground infantry, battlesuits still reading little or no contact."

Niel sighed; this sort of conflict would butcher standard ground troops en masse. "And the Eighteenth?"

"Both the Eighteenth and Fifty Fourth are from contact." The sensor ops noted.

Arien was fleeing possible contact? Niel pondered his screen. As hard as he found it to believe, the Eighteenth was moving, and moving fast, for battlesuits, away from the erupting conflict. Odd behavior for her, but it was her call.

"Stone Alpha has designated a new contact," The tactical officer called off, "Battery emplacement, anti aircraft and heavy infantry."

Now that it had been stated, Niel could see what he had missed before. The high ground that Arien was so intent on gaining would cover the entire depression that the activity had sparked in. She had two beefed up battlesuit platoons at her disposal, an entire battlesuit company, one of the few in the mix. She was about the only thing in the neighborhood with a hope of taking on that kind of a target. Good girl, he thought, and good luck.

Like most skirmishes, when it started, it happened fast. One moment the 'suits were tossing suppresser rounds at the site, the next moment Arien was acquainting herself with the ground as one of the anti aircraft battery depressed and let go at them. The 'suits' armor was no match for the destructive energy of the anti-aircraft weapons. There was one choice and only one choice; they had to get in so far under the battery that it could not depress that far. Obviously, a charge was in order.

"All elements charge!" She howled, supported by her own platoon's instantaneous response to the order. Maitland's unit still clung stubbornly to the ground, which was about what she was expecting. Hawkins would take the Eighteenth in, while she reasserted command over Maitland.

"Maitland! You fucking coward!" She bellowed over the open link. "Move it! If you don't get your troops up there, they're dead!" Every radio tied into the Imperial net on Vreesgard would pick up the order; every recorder working would document her words. A direct order from a superior officer, in the heat of battle, Maitland had only one correct course of action, follow it. Go into the skirmish flaring up, into the line against that heavy infantry. There was silence, cold, empty silence, until Maitland's squad leaders took the situation into their own hands and the Fifty Fourth charged up the hill after the Eighteenth, sweeping around Arien and away from Maitland. "Get a move on it, Marine!" Arien snarled, keeping an eye on her tactical board displayed on the 'suit's HUD. The assault was working, for now. "Damn it Maitland, do not make me come after you!" Going after Maitland was just what she wanted to do, but she must give him the chance to do the correct thing, give him a well documented chance.

After another long pause, she shook her head and went back after him. She found him, visor up, staring in the direction that his departing platoon had gone. "Damn you, Noble." He snarled, "That's my platoon." His cleanly handsome face, not as regal as Niel's, but nice enough to look at in its own way, was set in anger. Anger was good, most of the time Arien was driven by it, but Maitland's anger wasn't taking him up that hill towards the fight.

"Then go lead them if you're man enough, Marine enough!" She snapped back.

"You're going to get them killed."

"If we don't take those batteries, this is a wipe! Go!" Her voice was rising, every moment she spent snarling at Maitland was one more she was away from her own men. Another glance showed the Eighteenth and the Fifty Fourth still holding strong, now well under the depression apron of the battery.

"You think you're so fucking great, Noble." He stated. "Albemarle this, top of class that. You're just insane, a combat slut, and I'm not going to die because of you."

"Are you refusing to obey my orders, Lieutenant?" Arien's voice dropped into the cold, still voice that should worry Maitland, would worry anyone that knew her well. With a calculating gaze, she saw no tell tale signs that he intended to use his weapons.

"Damn straight I refuse the order; you are not going to get me killed!" Maitland swore, and then blinked suddenly as her left quad port trained on him. "Um...."

The short but deadly burst tore through the space that only moment before had been occupied by his head, the sound lost in the clamor of the company's assault on the anti-aircraft batteries, Maitland's 'suit bobbled momentarily before the systems locked up and it stood, statuesque and unmoving. "Wrong, again, Mr. Maitland." She sighed, before bounding off in high compensation for the melee.

Colonel Regan Klepher watched the battle join from his Command Headquarters, eyes catching everything that went on before him. All in all, despite the Drelanii ambushers remaining hidden until the ground infantry was committed, things still looked do-able. His glance steadied on an area just behind the battle line, the air defense batteries that Noble and her men fought against. If it, and the other one that was being hotly contested on the other end of the valley, fell, the air support flights would have free skies over the assault zone. He had not missed Maitland's end, had noted it in the assault logs as a field execution by immediate superior officer for misbehavior before the enemy, and now he waited to see what Noble could accomplish in undisputed command of an entire battlesuit company. It looked good on this end, damned good, big citation type of good. If Noble survived this, people higher up the chain of command than he was would notice her actions. Good for him, for he had backed her the entire time she'd been back in the Corps and his judgment would be rewarded; good for her too, a serious commendation would rescue her career from the scrap heap. He'd begun to hearing rumors, and it was definitely time for Noble to start making an indelible mark with the brass.

Arien leapt over the smoldering remains of Drelanii infantrymen and armor that had been defending the batteries. The screams of the wounded were quickly extinguished as she charged through the battlefield, not bothering to avoid the dead or dying. Both platoons had advanced on the defenders in an attempt to get below the powerful air defense weapons' fields of fire. Several smoldering battlesuit husks gave visible testimony to the destructive force unleashed upon the Marines. Several enemy units had already begun to withdraw as the marines pressed them hard. With a predatory grin, Arien quickly noted that the retreat was orderly; no signs of a rout, well disciplined troops meant more serious fighting later on.

A heavy machine gun position off to the company's right flank unleashed fire into several marine battlesuits. The nearest one staggered under the heavy fire and stumbled forward. Arien saw the trooper's status go amber as the 'suits major systems began to fail. She altered her course and made a mad dash towards the emplacement.

The Drelanii gunners were actively engaged on their targets and did not see the new Imperial marine battlesuit bearing down on them until it was almost too late. A Drelanii sergeant cried out a warning and one of the gun crews reacted quickly by swinging the large black barrel of the machine gun in the direction of the threat. Before they could fire, Arien launched herself into the gun pit, letting her bulk carry her past the weapon's firing arch. Using the momentum of her flight, she cleared the line of soldiers and rolled to her feet. In vain, the enemy soldiers began to fire at her with small caliber automatic rifles, but the bullets simply ricocheted off her armor or flattened themselves harmlessly against it. Arien strode forward, swinging her gunports left to right across her field of vision. The frozen expressions of horror on the faces of her targets were accented in the flashes of fire that blazed from her guns. She moved slowly through the gun emplacement finishing off the survivors and the wounded with the crushing weight of her heel or a well placed kick.

As she cleared the machine gun nest several tremendous explosions began to rock the battlefield. The ammo of the air defense guns was cooking off and it threatened to destroy her men.

"Okay, people, pull back." She ordered.

"Aye, sir." Hawkins replied. He quickly passed the word and both platoons moved clear of the danger zone.

"Captain Noble?" It was Sergeant Yunker, Maitland's top squad leader. "I take it the Lieutenant is longer in command?"

"That's correct; do you have any problems with that?"

"No, sir, just getting the chain of command right is all."

Arien knew that he was already in contact with his dropship, apprising them of the change in the platoon's status. Parveloni would probably scream foul since she had just wasted his marine commander without first consulting with him but Maitland had given her the opportunity that she had been waiting for, and this was Marine business. "Let him rant." She muttered. She wasn't worried a bit, confident that all recordings would show that Maitland's early retirement at her hands had been done in accordance with regulations and everything was on the up and up.

"Okay, people, let's beat feet back to the real fighting. Yunker, you have temporary command, bring the Fifty Fourth on line with the Eighteenth, we're going to sweep the area as we go. Hawkins, move'em out."

"Aye, aye, sir!" Both men called out in unison.

The blaring scream of the klaxon that warned of incoming ships rocked Niel and he surged to his feet. A sudden glance at the mass reading scrolling upwards gave him the bad news, an incoming fleet, probably responding to a message sent from Vreesgard. The second part of the trap had been sprung; the Drelanii fleets advance against the Imperial ships in Vreesgard orbit was on. Once again, Niel had to swallow his natural response to join the fight, and rethought his actions for ones more suitable to his ship and mission. Firestormhad no place in the materializing battle; she was too old, too battered, and too light in weaponry to hold her own with the Vreesgard fleet. "Pull us back to secondary pickup, and inform Brimstoneof the change." He ordered. His move to Carrier had boosted him straight to command, but he missed the challenge of working with the Fleet. Carrier was institutionalized cowardliness; the overwhelming priority was to keep the aged carrier in one piece to pick up the dropship, not to take kills. He needed a change, but he was committed until the end of this term to remain with carrier command. He knew, watching the bearings change as the pilot responded to his orders; he would stay on the front as Arien's NC as long as she was kept on the line. He owed her that, but he hoped that it would not be long.

"Firestorm this is Shining Exampleactual." Parveloni's voice came over the ship-to-ship link, his tone even. "When you have Stone Alpha again, I need to talk to her."

Odd request, Parveloni had avoided any and all dealings with Arien since they had begun this last run out of Ghaldin. "May I ask why?" Niel inquired, keeping a habitual eye on Firestorm'sprogress to her secondary window.

"Yes." Parveloni's voice lacked his usual ingratiating humor, he was cold and serious, and Niel frowned in response. "Firstly, I would like an explanation why she felt it was necessary to execute my MC."

"Executed your MC?" Niel demanded.

"According to what I've been told by Bright Alpha's top sergeant, Stone Alpha pumped him full of rounds, and has taken over my marine contingent. I would like some sort of an explanation for this action."

Niel, stunned, brought the tactical board up to show both platoons as an entity. Maitland's icon was dead, already listed as KIA, and the two platoons moved as a company. Arien was vicious; Arien was a stone cold killer, but this was beneath even her! He realized that Parveloni was still speaking and returned his attention to the man's words once again.

"If she's willing to take over both of them, that's fine but I want to know what the Corps is going to do about this before I can make any arrangements."

"I'll see what I can do." His words sounded hollow even to Niel. Parveloni and Maitland lacked the usual partnership of a pair, but they had still been such. Arien was going to find it hell to pay for this, beginning with him.

He returned his attention to the battle, bitterness rising in him. Did nothing go right for him anymore? Once he had seemed blessed, now he was just an overworked, ignored carrier captain. And the terrible thing was that he had asked for all of this, asked for Carrier, asked for Arien, asked for front line duty, and he'd gotten it all. Why didn't any of this make him happy anymore? And now his name was irrevocably linked with Noble's, and he was beginning to lose faith in his judgment of her. She had apparently committed fratricide, one of the most heinous crimes imaginable; she had killed one of her own, most likely putting Parveloni out of the fight.

Colonel Klepher nodded, seeing Noble's target fall. Now they could get serious air cover in the valley, and they could pull this entire mess out of the toilet. Vreesgard was not going to be a defeat; he felt it in his bones. "Oorah." He murmured to himself, picking up the channel of the waiting air superiority fighter wings and ordering them down the valley. With the bottleneck at Noble's end of the valley cleared, the fighters could come in low and take out the other anti-air station, giving the Imperial forces clear skies. He smiled triumphantly, with Vreesgard came Drelane, if the Fleet could hold the orbit.

Arien watched the flight of air superiority craft approach from behind her position, the great bulky aircraft screaming through the air. She waved, knowing she showed up on their screens as a comforting green dot, but aware that they would probably be paying more attention to their quickly upcoming fight. The first four blared right over her, the sheer decibel level of their scoop engines stressing her 'suit's internal sound baffles and setting off the 'suit's seismograph monitors, designed to record explosions. The fifth, and last, waggled its wings as it passed over her, before it propelled itself down the valley after its fellows.

The chaotic radio traffic from the ground infantry changed from sheer, total panic to equally total relief at the onslaught of the aircraft, and Arien's screens lit up with engaged targets. They had done well, she knew, and she smiled at herself, pleased with her own performance. It would take hours to reengage the enemy, but their one contribution to the assault on Vreesgard had made a big, big difference.

"Fine job, Stone Alpha." Klepher's smug voice cut through her Icom. "Rejoin with your dropship and take it back to this line." a red line slashed across her HUD. "The softshells there need back up. You'll do just fine."

Arien's crime fell to the wayside of Niel's mind as the Drelanii fleets hit and hit hard. His job was to avoid contact, avoid battle, orders that frayed him more and more as he went along. But Vreesgard didn't give him a chance to avoid anything, the great Imperial cruisers did well against their Drelanii counterparts, but the carriers drew fire from the small Drelanii craft that pierced the sluggish Imperial lines and carried on to the cautiously maneuvering carriers.

For all of the man's bluster, Parveloni was a fine captain, and his Shining Exampleshadowed Firestorm, the pair creating a strong interlock of weaponry. All of those close maneuver drills they'd run over Ghaldin were paying off, Parveloni's knowledge of carrier operations combined with Morrison's grasp of fleet actions made them a strong presence over Vreesgard.

"Incoming message from Deadly Honor." The comm officer snapped over the rising noise level on the bridge. "Ground troops will have Vreesgard if we can hold the orbit."

Niel looked at the planetary tactical screens fed from Noble's onboard computer to Firestorm's bridge, judging the value of Honor's information. A statement like that could be false, tossed out to strengthen the Fleet's morale but he saw that wasn't so. The screen, centered on Arien's icon, read the beginnings of a rout in the Empire's benefit. He nodded slightly, tapping in the command that would bring her readings up for him, unless she was purposefully hiding them from him, <Stone Alpha all systems normal, all readings normal. Compression 75 percent, compensation 90 percent, ammo load 64 percent splice initiated, "Looks good here, Hawkins, we'll hold this position and sweep the softshells' six."> Arien's voice, strong and even, pushed through the background clamor that she picked up from the ground troop links. As enraged as he was at her, he smiled slightly at hearing she was well.

"Firestorm actual, was that last message bullshit, or true?" Parveloni demanded, unable to access the information that Niel had just pulled up. Parveloni's uplink was gone, dead as Maitland was, as Maitland's 'suit scrambled its own computer systems at the point of his death.

"It's true, given the time, we will take Vreesgard."

"How much time?" Parveloni demanded warily. "And see if Stone Alpha will uplink for me. She's got my platoon and she's got my dropship."

Niel's tactical knowledge did not encompass much ground operations, so he shrugged at Parveloni's first question. He had no idea just how long they were talking about.

"Stone Alpha." he cut through her link.

"Stone Alpha here, go ahead, Firestorm ." She sounded almost gleeful, and he could hear the intermittent sounds of gunfire under her link, then the complete break as she kicked in her guns on something. The link returned a split second after it had broken.

"Shinning Example actual would like a link to you."

"Affirmative that. Initiating now." Her voice was clipped, but enthusiastic.

"We're hearing ground is good, how long until subdual?"

"Um, give us," More static and the loud "whomp whomp" of suppresser rounds close to her made Niel jerk back from the connection. "Ah, Firestorm , two days for complete, Damn it Taylor, down! My guess is two days to complete hold. I will see you on the up; we'll be out of here soon." She cut the connection without warning.

"Got the link from her now, Firestorm , thanks." Parveloni came through, "It looks really good, and so we hold."

Yes, Niel agreed, they held. They were actually going to take Vreesgard, unless something completely unforeseen occurred. He backed Firestormfarther off of the Fleet battle, eyeing that with much more comprehension than he had just viewed the ground battle. It would also hold in the Empire's favor.

Arien stepped onto her dropship deck, exulting in the glow of job well done, done fantastically well. Everything that could have gone correctly had gone correctly. Even in review, her every action was right on the money. It was the kind of offensive she'd only dreamed about pulling off before, and she'd done it on Vreesgard, of all places.

"Congratulations, Major Noble." Klepher's equally self-satisfied voice cut over her comm, and she smirked at the promotion. "Maitland's platoon is yours. You'll handle his NC, I assume?"

"Of course, sir." That course of action would keep Shining Exampleand Maitland's people on the front. And it gave her a whole company for the next assault, wherever that was.

"Good. Very good, Noble." He cut off and she grinned, taking her place as the dropship lifted to return to the carrier. Vreesgard was still hours, perhaps days, away from complete subdual, but that fell to the remaining ground pounders and the incoming army troops. The Eighteenth was red lining on ammunition, and most of the heavy emplacements had fallen. After this point in a battle, the heavily armored and slow battlesuits lost much of their edge, and were usually replaced by the more liquidly mobile Imperial army hit that followed just a few hours after a Marine push.

She retracted her visor, sending a rare grin down the line of her men, as they took their places. "Fine job!" She enthused. "Damn fine job." Yes, it was, and Klepher had noticed it. Even better than a damned fine job in the field, was the damned fine job noticed by the brass. Major Noble, now that had a nice ring to it.

"Carrier sighted, still some Fleet flak running around." Hassen stated from Brimstone's cockpit as she lifted above the atmosphere and made her run for the carrier.

"Dropship return imminent." Firestorm's bridge crew chief noted, his string of speech picked up by the navigator. "Jump download from Implacable, 70 percent and rising."

"Orders to jump at download end and retrieval of dropship received." The communications officer replied, adding his input to the line of information tossed at the ship's captain.

Niel nodded, carrier command wanted them out as soon as possible, that was obvious. Although things still looked good, his platoon's usefulness was ending here, and he still made a fine target for the Drelanii fast attack cruisers. The Fleet still had a fight on their hands for the orbit, but nothing the Drelanii had thrown against them had prevented the incoming army relief from landing planet side.

The dropship linked, and on order, Firestormleapt into jump space, their contribution for Vreesgard finished. Niel stood by as the final checks were run on the carrier before he frowned around at the bridge crew. "Inform Captain Noble that I want to see her in my quarters as soon as possible."

"Aye, sir."

## Chapter Eighteen:

He sat at the desk in his quarters, forehead balanced precariously in his hand when his door buzzer went off. "In." He snapped, and Arien strode in. Her very attitude worsened his anger at her. He hoped she would be pensive, remorseful, but she radiated genuine satisfaction, at least until she got a good look at his expression. Her face went to cautious concern, and her stance tightened warily then. "You wanted to see me?" She asked slowly, narrowed eyes studying him.

He rose to his feet slowly, crossing the distance to stand immediately before her. "I have been informed that you took Maitland out, is this true?" He reached out and grasped her elbows, gently, yet commandingly.

"Yes. I did." She snapped, her expression melting into that mutinous glare he was seeing entirely too much of lately. His grip tightened at the confirmation, and she squirmed uncomfortably in his hands. "Niel, stop it. You're..." She sputtered. Hurting her, he knew. He had never unleashed his strength on a woman before, but the rage was building in him as it had never built before. But now that he had a hold of her, it seemed impossible to let go of her, although that was what the saner side of his mind was yelling for him to do. His rage at her, her actions, and the fact that she was still unremorseful, coupled with his rage at himself for this loss of control, and he shook her violently, snarling in fury.

Shock warred with outrage in her expression, and she pushed him hard, knocking him backwards several steps. He did not release her, dragging her along with him as he staggered to regain his balance. "Let go of me!" She snapped, struggling in his grip. "Damn it, let go of me!" Her face was a picture of affronted fury, but Niel needed something else, regret, perhaps and the darkest corner of his mind wanted fear. He had finally crossed the line and given into what he had only wordlessly threatened before. He was doing what he had wanted for too damned long, venting the rage that words wouldn't touch, but he still knew Arien was dangerous, and he wanted to cow her before she reacted to this attack.

She braced against him, pulling her weight and unwieldiness against him, and he responded blindly, striking out at her. The hit landed squarely, and his stomach sickened at the sound of flesh hitting flesh, the sharp end of his swing, the answering pain that rent up his arm. For a terrible, long moment, she did not respond to him at all, just stared at him in startled disbelief, a fine trickle of crimson coursing towards her chin. She moved suddenly, a stunning burst of speed , there was a sharp, slamming pain in his gut, agony that drove his breath and balance from him, and he went down to his knees in front of her.

The silence that followed was worse than the short, bitter offensive that had passed between them. Niel finally caught his breath and looked up at her, lost for an explanation as to what had just happened. He had never, ever hit a woman in his life. Worse, he had just hit this , the one who was supposed to be his partner, the one who had been his steadfast lover through these past three years.

He had never been a physically violent person before this invasion, fighting only when forced to. But that had worn away over the past twelve months, and he had just done what he had wanted to do so badly lately. The rage was gone, replaced by a chill dread over his actions.

"Arien, I..." The smooth words that had always gotten him out of trouble before stubbornly refused to come, and he was left stuttering for them. I'm sorry? Well, he was, but he didn't expect her to believe it. I didn't mean to do it. That was a lie, at that second, he had meant exactly that. It won't happen again, that was something he couldn't guarantee. He felt like he had just lost a major part of his own sanity in that second, and he was scared, terrified of himself.

She wiped her nose on her hand, staring at the bloody smear for a long moment. Her expression was empty, dead, and he prayed for something, anything, to cross her sharply delineated features. Rage, pain, anything but fear, rejection, he couldn't handle either of those. He would handle a responding beating better than he could take fear, or rejection, on her face. He was losing it, and he needed her like he had never needed her before.

She sniffled, staunching the blood with the back of her hand as she studied him. Expression was returning to her face, and Niel scrambled inwardly to gauge her response. "Nice one." She finally muttered, extending her other hand to help him up. He accepted it gingerly, more than expecting her to use the grip to hold him up as she returned the favor three fold, but she released him when he was upright again.

"Arien... I... I am so sorry. I..." He was stuttering again. He had never felt this low before, he felt like he was going to lose everything at any second, and her deeply penetrating stare did not help. The pain still welled in his gut, she had hit him hard. But it felt good; almost as good as it had felt to, his mind quailed from the knowledge that lurked there. He had enjoyed hitting her, enjoyed the rush of the physicality, the release of the violence, even the sensation of dreading her response. He felt alive, more so than he had felt in months.

"Ever hit me again and I will kill you." Her voice was harsh, her accent clashing hard with the grinding emotion of her words.

He was more than a little surprised that she hadn't killed him already. "I know." He sighed, bowing his head. For the first time in weeks he didn't have a headache, and he mentally cursed himself for this response.

"I was well within rights to execute Maitland." She continued. He frowned at her, realizing that he wasn't even particularly upset over the man's death. It had been a convenient excuse to blow up at her and that was all.

"This wasn't over Maitland." He finally acknowledged. "You didn't do anything wrong, and I apologize for my actions." Ah! The words were back, glib and flowing, just how he liked them. He reached out; holding her shoulders again and she flinched slightly from the pressure of his touch.

"I'm sorry." He repeated, much less polished than his previous apology. "Oh, God, I am so sorry." He enveloped her in his arms, leaning against her comforting, if stiff, bulk. It took several moments before she relaxed in his arms, longer still before her arms wrapped around his neck. She smelled enticingly of adrenaline and battle sweat, and he felt himself responding to her against his better judgment. There was no way she'd be in the mood for that after what had just occurred.

Arien tilted her head to look into his eyes, and he would recognize that look anywhere. He leaned forward to kiss her, tasting the coppery taint of her blood on her lips. Lust as consuming as his earlier rage flared in him, and he responded with equal violence. He needed her, and he needed to know she still wanted him, that he had not destroyed their integral trust.

They gave into an act equal in fury and release as the earlier fight had been, and just as satisfying, at least until Niel gave himself the time to consider it. She slept deeply beside him, as he lay and thought about the encounter. It disturbed him, and he sighed, drifting away from the problem.

The sudden yanking sensation of doom dragged him from the terrible dream, and he woke stunned. He listened for a long moment, hearing nothing but her vague, gurgling breathing and the terrified thudding of his own heart. The last horrible frame of his nightmare still filled his mind, dull monochrome except for the vivid crimson of Arien's blood splashed, he half grabbed for it, and half repelled it as he sought consciousness. The small sane part of his mind lulled him that all seemed well, but the larger majority of it still grabbed onto the dread that iced his blood. He murmured the last thing he'd said in the dream "Arien, don't die, don't you dare leave me."

She grumbled slightly in response to her name, but did not wake, burying herself further in the bedding. He listened again, trying desperately to decide what had woken him. Had it been the dream? It finally came to him, the off pitched keening of the port jump engine, much deeper and worrisome than it had been before. His suddenly panicked gaze jumped to the jump indicator light over his door, they were in jump, last order from Implacable and something was terribly wrong. He pulled himself from the bed, bowing his head. It was too late, too damned late. He could do nothing about it now. There was a muted buzz from the bridge link and he answered it, listened to the panicked gibbering of the engineer and jump navigator, his voice saying words he didn't hear, didn't remember. If they misjumped: if they couldn't come out of it when the jump clock wound down. Well, Niel didn't know what would happen; nobody did, because nobody had ever turned up again after one.

He stared into the mirror over his drawers, into the face of a stranger, before craning his head to look at Arien, who still slept deeply, oblivious. She had turned over to face him during his discussion with the bridge crew, and he fixated on the new trickle of blood draining from her nose, the exact same color as the quantities splashed luridly around in his dream. They would be calling her soon, her own crew, when they realized their predicament and then she would know.

He gripped the edges of the bureau, his thumb knocking an object askew, and he looked down. Her sidearm lay on the dull surface, cast aside during their speed to undress, and he studied it, finally picking it up. He had a sidearm, a navy issued hold out pistol that shot small caliber rounds, more for threat than for any real use. Her sidearm was like she was, big, heavy, sturdy in his hands and impossibly lethal as he stared down the barrel. Big rounds, very big rounds, he read the manufacturer's engraving through his fugue, IFAC .10mm auto. It was loaded, a round in the chamber, safety on. He moved silently behind her, thumbing the safety off and leveling it down towards her. At this range she would never know what hit her, if he shot her at an angle the round would strike her behind her right ear and exit from her left temple, she would die instantly, still obliviously peaceful. It would only take another second for him to raise the pistol to his own temple, end it for both of them. No one could intervene quickly enough but as steady as his hand was, he couldn't do it. He sighed in abject defeat, thumbing the safety on and replacing the pistol on the bureau.

"Arien, Arien, you need to wake up." Niel's voice, terrible with some unknown emotion, roused her from sleep. She peered at him, the room dimly lit as ship's dark, but her eyes had long since adjusted. She had not slept nearly long enough, but there was dread in his voice, dread that pushed her quickly out of sleep.

"What's wrong?" She whispered.

"You need to return to the dropship and stay there." He ordered coldly, and she frowned, still banishing sleep. Surely he wasn't this upset over striking her? No, he was much more disturbed than he had been earlier.

"What's wrong?" She repeated. This man was a stranger, and she was suddenly terrified of him, much more than she had ever been.

"The port jump engine is failing. It won't be long before your crew realizes it and they're going to be looking for you. I need to go to the bridge."

"Oh, God." Arien faced death regularly, but there was always the veneer of hope painted over it. She had never been in a situation where she was so defenseless to stop it.

"I need you to handle this well." He stated, throwing his clothes on in an unusual disregard for his appearance. "Go." He was gone then, gone into the eerily quiet corridors of his ship.

Patenaude held umbilicus watch, bored but awake, when he heard the sound of running feet. He habitually raised his gun to bear on the oncoming person, then frowned as he recognized Noble, her face bluish pale, marred by a smear of blood, tearing as fast as she could down Firestorm's hallway. He gazed behind her, but there was no one in pursuit. "Evening, Boss." He offered in confusion. She literally dove down the ship to ship flip, her eyes panicked, and he felt his own response rise. He had never seen the Boss this upset before, something must have caused it.

"Back on the dropship, Patenaude!" She yelled, and he cautiously followed her back to the dropship.

"Hawkins." He called ahead.

"Here, Patenaude."

"You got Noble inbound, running as fast as her legs will bring her. She's called me off of umbilicus watch."

"I copy."

Hawkins frowned at Patenaude's words, Noble rarely hurried anywhere. He'd been pretty much expecting her to remain on Firestorm, indulging in the physical relationship that none of her marines discussed, as her presence was not required on the dropship during jump. He did not begrudge her the time she spent with Morrison, and did not see why she should return in such a hurry.

Patenaude was not exaggerating, if anything, Hawkins realized, getting his first good look at Noble as she scrambled by him headed for the cockpit, the corporal had not put nearly enough stress on just how upset she was. She was pale, her clothing askew, and a livid bruise rising on her cheek and a trace of blood across her skin. "Hassen!" She yelled. "Hassen! Hassen damn it! Wake up!" her voice echoed through the corridors, as Patenaude caught up to Hawkins.

"She's really upset." Patenaude noted the obvious.

"What?" The pilot's voice came from the barracks that Noble had just passed by. "What?" He repeated, loudly.

"Full emergency procedures, go!" She yelled again, and Hawkins galvanized into motion, moving quickly into the barracks.

"Move it, Hassen, she's serious." He snapped at the pilot. "No drill."

Hassen nodded wordlessly, pushing by the gawking Patenaude to follow Noble into the cockpit. "What?" Hawkins heard Hassen demand.

"The carrier's losing her port jump engine." Noble's voice, and for the first time Hawkins realized what he heard it in it, that dark edge in her words was sheer panic, the first he'd ever heard from her.

"Fuck!" The pilot snarled, "Affirmative, full emergency procedures, go!"

"Hawkins!" Her voice carried loudly in her distress, highly pitched, but Hawkins was still calm, needing more time to digest this news. "Get the platoon prepped, double the watch, secure the carrier."

The panic from the bridge crew on duty was palpable, and Niel fought his own terror down. It looked bad. It looked really damned bad, and there was nothing they could do about it. Somehow, he had to keep them from hysteria; somehow, he had to keep them useful in a situation that had no resolution.

"Port engine is at seventy percent power and dropping!" Seventy percent, they were due to drop out of jump in nine hours. At the current rate of loss, maybe they would still have some power before the clock ran out.

"Estimate power at jump end!" He shouted. "I need those figures!"

The bridge doors irised to expose two battlesuited marines, one that took position immediately outside, and one that stepped through to stand inside of the bridge. The bridge crew stared at it, before Niel hissed angrily at them to continue their jobs. It was, he decided after a moment's thought, Arien. Her 'suit was different, ever so slightly, from the rest of her platoons'.

"I have ordered the platoon to secure the carrier." Arien's voice came over his ear bud receiver, "Only the flight crew is on the dropship, and it's locked down until I give further orders. Did you need anything else?" She sounded much calmer than his crew was, but he heard the stress under her tranquil front. He crossed to stand with her, still eying the bridge crew.

"No." He whispered close to her pickups. "There's a chance, slight, that we'll still have engine power when the clock winds down. I need you to keep order until I know."

"I copy." She replied. "When does the clock zero?"

"Zero in nine hours, eleven minutes."

"Captain! Estimate fifteen percent engine power at jump end!" The engineer crowed triumphantly. According to the Lisbon's glowing specs, she should be able to power exit jump with only ten percent engine power on one engine as long as the other engine held. That was entirely too close for Niel's comfort, but he would have to handle it.

"Is it enough?" Arien demanded.

"It's close." He admitted under his breath. "Maybe if the other engine holds." He stepped back from her, "Okay, people, we go for it." Like they had any other choice. "Sound general quarters." Ship's day would begin soon; most of the crew would just now be waking up for duty. He wanted them out of the corridors, out of trouble. All personnel essential to bring them through this had been awakened long ago, everyone else were distractions he didn't need.

Hours crept by as the crew agonized over every second passed and every percent of engine power lost. Arien kept nervous watch over the bridge crew, waiting for one of them to spark the panic that flowed between them. Sometimes she caught them watching her; well aware of why she stood duty on the bridge, but none of them stepped out of line. "One hour to clock zero." The engineer noted. "Heavy power fluctuations on port engine. Twenty eight percent, powers dropping fast. Nine percent bleed from starboard engine." Niel only nodded his understanding from his station, staring at the numbers as if he could hold them by the sheer power of his will. They were cutting it way too close to the edge.

"Try and keep the engines as equalized as possible." He ordered. There were no tables and charts for this, it was guess and pray time.

Each second that brought the clock closer to zero tore the crew up, and Arien felt Niel's eyes on her. "Okay, guys." She sighed over the platoon link. "We'll zero in ten minutes, now's the time to pray. It has been an honor leading you all." She retracted her visor, and sent him a sickly grin in response. When it was too late to do anything at all for the ship, he crossed to stand beside her, resting his fingers against the cold, unyielding surface of her shoulder. She raised her hand, retracting the hand assembly to grip his fingers with hers, both of their eyes glued obsessively to the clock. When it hit 00:00 she tightened her grasp painfully on his fingers and her eyes met his.

"We are out of jump." Shining Example's engineer noted. "We are in fleet pocket, in position."

Jason Parveloni nodded, watching his readings spike in confusion. "Our jump is good?" He demanded. These readings were off the scale.

"Our jump is good." The engineer affirmed.

"Negative confirmation on Firestorm's proximity." The sensor operator snapped.

"Oh, shit!" Parveloni howled, "Open our spacing, open up! Warn the fleet she hasn't come through!" His crew leapt into action, scrambling to put as much real space between their ship and the as yet unmaterialized Firestorm. As Parveloni watched, the Lisbon appeared, listing badly to port, cascades of rainbow jump flume dragging off of her. Firestormshuddered, cutting in an abbreviated circle to stop well out of her pocket.

Parveloni's crew silenced immediately and he closed his eyes. "Hail her." He finally ordered.

Arien fell backwards as the ship plummeted, and it took every ounce of control she possessed to keep from landing on top of Niel as he lost his footing as well. "Damn." He muttered as he landed hard against the 'suit, "Tell me when it's over."

"I'll do that." She promised, waiting for the world to stop spinning. There was silence, before she heard a hail break over her comm. "Shining Exampleis hailing us." She chucked. "They want to know if we need assistance."

He pushed himself up on his elbows, looking down at her. "You're joking."

"No. How do you want to answer?" She gave him a goofy, lopsided grin.

"Tell them damn straight we require assistance!" He crowed, pushing himself to his feet to survey the damage.

Parveloni stared at his comm officer, dreading the worst. Finally, the woman nodded. "Copy that." She stated. "Sir, we have contact with Firestorm, and yes, they do require assistance."

He blinked in surprise, watching the first rescue ships gingerly approach Firestorm. "They survived that?

"Apparently so, I have an Icom link with one of the marine contingent, Major Noble, sir." She replied. "She's still uncertain as to the damage and casualties, but she's currently on the bridge, and she says the bridge crew has minor injuries at worst."

"Well, damn, give them my compliments." He grinned. "If they need anything, we're here."

Schrader's dark eyes met Hawkins' gaze around Noble's back as she stripped from her 'suit, and the older sergeant shook his head slightly in answer. He knew where Schrader was going; most of the men had noticed the marks that Noble should not have on her. She had not had them after Vreesgard, but she had them before losing her balance and falling on Firestorm's bridge, and a fall that minor while she was mounted up should have left no marks. Hawkins knew that she and Morrison had gotten into it, and that Schrader was pissed. But this was not their place to intervene in, Noble should be able to take care of herself, and would only resent them nosing in. And they didn't have any grounds to become involved; both Noble and Morrison were officers. It was best that they ignored the whole deal and let Noble fend for herself, and he doubted if Morrison had walked away from the fracas unmarred. Hawkins would think twice before roughing her up, and he didn't think she'd tolerate it from Morrison, no matter what kind of relationship she had with him.

Arien lounged in her bunk, considering this latest happening. She knew they were both treading dangerously close to real violence, as surely as he did. She was not surprised by his blowup, only surprised that he had held on to it as long as he had. While she had no intention of being any man's punching bag, she really didn't hold the whole thing against him. It had been coming for ages, and she was relieved that it was over with a minimum of fuss.

"Boss." Hawkins stood in the doorway, Hawkins, who had only watched her carefully from the corner of his eye since the blowup, he knew, Schrader knew, and she was grateful neither of them brought up the obvious. "Boss, Deadly Honoris on the squawk. They want to talk to you."

She nodded; good he didn't want to talk about the bruises she'd sprouted. Some communication with the higher ups was expected, they would give their final authorization for her to take Maitland's platoon, or not. They would formalize her promotion to major, or not. They would have some idea what was happening with her ride, and her next drop. "I'm coming." she said, sliding from her bunk and following him. She would be happy to get the men back into line, give them something else to do besides stare at her bruises and obsess over how close they'd come to dying.

## Chapter Nineteen:

20 January 1195

Firestorm

The summons to leave her carrier, her dropship, and physically jaunt over to the flagship was not what she'd been expecting. What was so important that it couldn't be handled over the comm links? She didn't know, but would apparently find out soon enough, with the news that Deadly Honorwas sending a shuttle for her. "If Morrison looks for me," She began to the suddenly lurking Schrader, although she did not expect Niel to be looking for her. Firestormhad used every last scrap of luck making it to this point, and his ship would be highest priority on his mind. He also needed a little time to calm down, and that was something she was more than willing to give him. It had taken every ounce of willpower she had to refrain from injuring him any more than she had, and she did not need to exercise that sort of willpower any more than necessary. "Tell him I've been called to the flagship." That had a nice ring to it, she decided, pulling her fatigue shirt as straight as it was going to get. She hoped that whoever wanted her wasn't expecting spit and polish, for they certainly were not going to get it from her.

The shuttle flight was short, and uneventful, and Arien found herself whisked into a large conference room populated by several marines cut from the same mold as she was. All were big, solid people, quiet, watchful, none turned out any better than she currently was. Combat types, she recognized, the real thing, lacking the bravado that she saw all too often in young wannabes. She was probably the youngest in the room, and one of only two women.

"Who're you?" The nearest demanded shortly, and Arien frowned at him.

"Noble." She responded, and he nodded, passing her a cup of coffee.

"Noble, Arien, Major." He chuckled, "Commander of the combined Eighteenth and Fifty Fourth platoons. One of only two women Battlesuit commanders on the front, she being number two." He motioned towards the other. "Figured you'd be showing up to this soon enough."

Arien hated people who knew too much about her, and too much about a situation that she understood nothing of. Her expression showed it, because the man whistled slightly at her, moving his bulk gracefully to sit. "Don't know what's going on, eh? Well, I'll tell you. Every person in this room commands a front line battlesuit unit. We've all been on the line for fucking ever. Some reason, we've all been called here, to hear what, I'm not sure. Won't be good, never is."

"Drelane?" Arien asked slowly, and his eyebrow jerked in response.

"Ain't one for beating around the bush, are you?" He demanded, but a smile lurked on his pudgy features. "Yeah. We're thinking Drelane. I guess we get the brass pep talk, kind of a nice gesture, eh?"

"Yes. I could have done with a nice comm link conference myself." She retorted, and he laughed. "If I'm even going in with you guys, my carrier's done for." She continued.

"You think you're lucky enough to get out of this one? I doubt that one." He shrugged, moving off into the subdued crowd. Arien took a seat to watch her counterparts in silence. A quick count put their number at thirty individuals with the same morose acceptance in their attitudes, on their faces. They had been in it as long as she had, and even the thought of assaulting Drelane itself failed to bring much intensity to them. Invading Drelane wouldn't end the war, none of them believed that. There would be more objectives after that, and there was no real end in sight. Arien blew an exasperated sigh through her salting hair, exhausted. It took her a long moment to realize another person had entered the room, standing silently in the doorway. Arien's gaze wandered over the newcomer, a woman, standing perhaps 1.65 meters, slightly built, but power, sheer arresting charisma, washed off of her, and a quick check of her rank brought Arien to her feet. "Officer on deck!" She bellowed, and the room tensed.

"Thank you, Major." The woman stated, although Arien still wore captain's branches. She passed by, moving down the sudden corridor that parted for her to arrive at the podium in the corner of the room. "I am General Carroll, for those of you who do not recognize me." she began in a forceful tone designed to carry over interruptions, although there were none.

"I have brought you here against the better judgment of my advisors because I wanted to talk to you personally. I feel that each of you has the right to hear this from me. As most of you have guessed, our next objective is Drelane, and you will front this assault. That is not why I wanted to speak to you all, however. I brought you here to tell you that this is the last action for every one of you, and your carriers. We have already asked for far more than above and beyond the call of duty from all of you, and you have risen to the challenge with great courage and forbearance. You have made all of us proud in ways I cannot describe, and it pains me that we must ask more from you. Each and every one of you is truly the Emperor's finest, and your sacrifices have been noted. I want to let you know that our hopes and prayers go with you, and I hope to see as many of you on the up side as possible. Thank you for your time and attention."

Arien's mind took a long moment to chew on those words as the General left the podium to mingle with the grouped officers. Over. Last action. Carriers and crews going home. That was terrible news for any superstitious soldier. "You still with us, Major?" The brisk voice startled her out of her thoughts and she jerked.

"Ah no, sir. Just thinking." Arien responded, drawing herself up to attention.

"Thinking is good." Carroll answered, a slight smile crossing her features as she extended her hand. "Major Noble."

Arien forced herself to extend her right hand, the left wandering back behind her back to take away the urge to offer it instead. "General."

"I sincerely hope you haven't used up all of your luck to get yourself here, Noble. I heard about your carrier's bad jump." Her grip was steady, and Arien returned her handshake carefully. "It won't keep you off of this one." The General's tone was cautious, and Arien nodded. Of course not, Arien had never been that lucky.

"We're game, sir." Arien spewed out the expected response, although she knew what the platoon's reaction to learning they were first drop on Drelane would be. She imagined it would be a hell of a lot less than game, probably more like profane. Arien was relieved when the woman carried on to the next person to dish out more pleasantries. Arien didn't want any more of them; her mind was more than capable of imagining what the woman was asking for. Drelane.

"Noble." Klepher stood in the hallway, and he jerked his head for her to follow. Arien trusted him a whole hell of a lot more than she trusted any general. He was combat as well, hard bitten and aged before his time. He would give her the straight up without any honeyed phrases. She dropped into step beside him, letting him lead her through the flagship's spotless corridors.

"Yeah, Colonel?" She finally prompted when he had been silent too long.

"This is going to be a bitch, Noble. You know that." He stopped, turning to face her.

"That thought had occurred to me. First drop on Drelane isn't my idea of a picnic." She agreed. Klepher was the veteran of several border skirmishes, but had been command all the way through this one. The sheer scale and scope of this assault was something he had never actually experienced, Arien herself had come much closer to it during the big drops during this campaign.

"You're one of my best." He sighed. Klepher was not big on praise, and she eyed him for a long moment. "I'd hate to lose you."

"I'd hate to lose myself." He did not crack even the slightest smile at her retort, and she frowned at him. "Look, Colonel, I know it's going to be bad. But either way, it's the last one for me." There was more than a little relief in that realization. Soon she would make the last drop for Drelanii targets. It would be over. It would be over for her, her men, her carrier, all over.

"Yes." He nodded. "All personnel with over a year front line duty will be cycled out. I've seen the orders myself. You don't have anything back home, do you?"

"No, sir, I'm high speed, low drag." Arien would take the only person she cared about into the front with her, into the orbit over Drelane.

"Hm." Klepher did not sound pleased with that. "Well, try to come up with a reason to come home anyway. And bring as many back with you as you can." He gripped her shoulders in his large hands, giving her a slight shake for emphasis.

"Aye, sir. I always do my best."

"Of course you do, Noble, and you did a wonderful job on Vreesgard." He let go of her shoulders and removed a presentation box from his pocket. "The Corps has upheld your promotion and has given you the Fifty Fourth. I would like to know who you're giving command of the Fifty Fourth to."

"Sergeant Hawkins has much more experience and time in grade than Yunker does. I'd like to buck him up to lieutenant and give it to him."

"Fine, you do that. I'll sign it over as soon as you send me the paperwork. Good luck, Major." She watched him leave in silence, before striding off for the shuttles. It was time to start getting things together for this one; every ounce of preparation possible must be completed before they jumped in.

"Morrison." Parveloni's voice cut through Niel's infuriated mood, and he snapped a brisk, "Here." in response.

"Noble is requesting a conference with the pair of us. Wants to know where."

Niel pulled himself from his study of the maintenance crew that was once again tearing into Firestorm's port jump engine, and considered Parveloni's words. He really didn't want to be with Arien after the fight, and even less after what he had considered doing afterwards, but he still had his job, and at least he wouldn't be alone with her. "Where is she?" He demanded, still glaring at the repair crew.

"Inbound from the Marine flagship."

"Your ship is fine. Mine's a mess right now. Reroute her there." Some part of Niel's mind demanded to know why Arien had been on the flagship, but the rest was eased with some excuse to leave his ship, leave this mess behind for a moment and catch his breath. "Shuttle bay, I will be going to Shining, prep for flight."

Arien sat across from the silent Parveloni when Niel stepped into ShiningExample's conference room. She nodded briskly at him, and waited while he took a seat. "I've just been in conference with the brass." She sighed, and Niel frowned suddenly at her tone. She had bad news, worse than the blustery assurances he'd just gotten from the repair crew promising yet another quick fix. Parveloni, less familiar with her moods, only nodded expectantly.

"We're in for another jump." She glanced at Niel, "Another drop. Our objective is," her voice faded slightly, and Niel felt his stomach tighten. "Drelane." She finally continued, and Parveloni's face fell in response. "We are first drop on Drelane. They never bothered to tell me what kind of resistance to expect and I don't think they need to. It's going to be bad." Niel watched her fingers tighten into painful knots, his mind unable to grasp the consequences of her words. "Captain Parveloni, I am putting my top sergeant in charge of your platoon, under my command. He has been promoted to Lieutenant. He's a solid troop, and he'll do well. He's got decades more experience than Maitland did, and I trust him implicitly. Also, I've gotten word that this is our last drop. Whatever makes it out of this one goes home, we have relief cycling in. This is it."

Niel felt suddenly nauseous, and he saw that same look on Parveloni's face. He had never felt so terrible in his life. Live and you go home. What a promise. "Damn." He muttered, and she flicked a glance in his direction again.

"Any questions, Captain Parveloni?" She demanded, still all business, "I will be sending Hawkins over as soon as possible to handle the preps for the Fifty Fourth. He should be fairly in tune with what I will be doing."

"No, I think I've heard enough." He answered, and she nodded, rising to her feet.

"Well, if you need me, just cut in over my Icom. I need to return to my people now, get Hawkins sent over to you. Are you staying here, Niel?"

"No." Not after that bombshell he wasn't. "I'm going back with you."

The silence in the shuttle was deafening, and he finally gave in and dragged her into his arms. He could come up with no words, none whatsoever that would sound right in this void, so he just held on.

"Sir, we've docked." The shuttle pilot's face was purposefully emotionless, but for once, Niel didn't give a damn what they thought. What did it matter any more? Either way, he just had one more combat jump with this crew, and they already knew he and Arien had this kind of a relationship.

"Thank you." He stated. "We'll be out in a moment." The man nodded, leaving quickly. Arien was heavy in his grasp, and he smoothed her thick, silvering hair with a sigh. Over. The entire ordeal would be over, one way or the other. "Once more around." he muttered. She nodded under his hand, finally pushing herself up from his grasp.

"Once more." She sighed, and his heart broke at the expression on her face.

"We could desert." He chuckled, but a good part of him considered it, if there was even the vaguest shadow of a hope for success, he might consider it more seriously. There was no place for deserters to hide, nowhere for them to go. Firestormwould never make it back to Imperial space without near constant maintenance now; she stuck out like a sore thumb even if she could limp back, Imperial carrier, what Imperial carrier? Arien carried an Icom surgically drilled into the back of her skull; any governmental body could scan for her specific frequency and find her quickly enough.

She groaned in answer, standing forlornly. "Yeah right, sure." She finally muttered. "We have more of a chance against the Drelanii than we do to pull that one off." The Imperial armed forces reacted viciously against suspected deserters, would react even more so against two officers of their caliber and rank. Impsec would be after them in a moment, and Arien feared them worse than she feared any stand up fight against the Drelanii. And death would come much more cleanly and quickly in the field than the punishment they would face for desertion.

He nodded at that statement. It was too late, they were both committed, come what may. "Well, I guess we'll do all we can then. I'll see you on the upside."

Hawkins did not like Noble's expression. She stared at him measuringly as she apprehensively wove her fingers together and rested them on the lounge room table. "We will jump again soon." She stated, "And the brass has given me Maitland's Fifty Fourth. I need you to take them for this drop."

"Uh-huh." He pushed slightly for more information than she seemed willing to give him. The posting to platoon commander was not entirely a surprise, in their fix he made the first obvious choice, but her sudden reticence did bother him. Noble was usually much more forthcoming with information about drops and anything else that would affect their performance.

She took out a box from her pocket, a box covered in red leather and emblazoned with the crest of the Imperial Marine Corps of Albemarle. "I'm bucking you to lieutenant. They're your platoon for this one." She slid the box over to him, "And I want you to have these. Call them a personal gift from me."

"I can't take these." Hawkins said, opening the box to reveal the pristine gold bars of a second lieutenant. The bars given to a graduating cadet by the commandant of the Academy at their commissioning, worn only once, ceremonially scratched and returned to their box.

"Sure you can." She disputed.

"What's the drop?" He demanded, watching her nervously.

"First drop on Drelane." She said, tilting her head and staring at the dropship's ceiling. "That's all I've been told so far."

"Shit." He marveled morbidly, the full weight of what she said hitting him. "And we're going? You're going?"

"The carrier is supposed to be good to go. I'll be there. It's the last one, Hawkins; we're cycling out after this assault."

He bit his lower lip. "Oh, great. Survive this, and we can go home? That's what you're telling me?" He finally blew out.

"That's what they've told me. I told Parveloni I'd have you over to take charge of his platoon, your platoon, so go to it. Now."

23 February 1195

Antispin of Vreesgard

Arien lay in her bunk that night, mind still filled with the day. The horrified disbelief on her men's faces as she told them to prep for first drop on Drelane, to carry only ammo for it, leaving behind all other equipment, except for Lasecki's load, had shaken her confidence even further. Even worse to remember was the desperate rejection of the situation on Niel's face, the naked fear in his eyes. Sleep wasn't coming for her at all, something she had little experience with handling. She shouldn't leave the dropship at a time like this, she should stay with her men, but she finally gave in and made her way to Niel's quarters. She half hoped he wouldn't be there, so she would be forced to return to her duties, but she dreaded that as well.

She paused before knocking, maybe he was asleep, and he needed rest as much as she did, but she doubted if he could sleep when she couldn't, so she rapped hesitantly.

"In!" He bellowed immediately, and she let herself in. It was not the first near clandestine time she had come to him, and a smile of greeting crossed his features as he pushed his screen away. "Arien. I was hoping."

"I couldn't sleep." She admitted with a rueful smile, taking her accustomed perch on his bed.

"Now there's a first." He chuckled, but the amusement did not scratch the dark dread she felt from him. He came to her, sitting behind her and burying his face in the nape of her neck. She smelled as alluring as always, and he breathed her scent in.

"How long?" She asked, and he paused.

"Not long. It's a short jump, and we're ready to go." He sighed. "End jump late tomorrow." This was it, he knew. All the time they had before they were both forced to do their jobs, do them as they had never done them before. Everything they needed to do had to be done tonight. He wrapped his arms around her waist and brought her in close to him, as closely as possible.

"Do you want to?" she asked bashfully, and he frowned, knowing exactly what she referred to. He was afraid it was the last time, and he certainly didn't want a repeat of their last encounter, he wanted to end it as it should be ended.

"More than anything." he admitted, pulling at her clothing gently. She undressed for him slowly, almost mechanically, as he watched. There was so little of her left, stress had whittled her down to a bare shadow of her former self, and he found it almost painful to see her this way, but he knew he was no better. And through it all, he still wanted her, needed her. He shrugged out of his own clothing, feeling her dark eyes on him. He guessed she was thinking the same thing; there was pain but an overwhelming acceptance in her gaze.

Firestorm dropped into jumpspace, and Niel cursed inwardly at the strong melodic tones of her engines. After all of this, now the ship worked.

"Something hates me." Arien chuckled, and he clenched her tighter. That last unspoken hope was gone they jumped on schedule. Nothing would intervene now.

They made love less thunderously, but infinitely more greedily than ever before, both trying to engrave each other indelibly on each other's minds. The chances were better that Niel would survive, and he did his best to remember her, to note every small detail, for once not trying to shake the rising feeling of doom in his heart. He was surprised that he did it so methodically, so calmly, all the while crying out inside. He held her for hours afterwards, saying nothing, but neither of them slept.

"Niel." She finally said, and he knew it. She had to go, it was time for him to take the bridge, and time for her to begin final preparations for the drops. He pushed away, rising slowly to his feet and staring at her. She shook her head at him. "No. Niel there's nothing left to say. I know it and you know it, and the only thing we'll do is break each other up."

"I will see you on the upside." He said, giving her the usual wishful thinking goodbye, trying not to watch her as she dressed.

"On the upside." She agreed, leaving quickly and sparing them both the scene that threatened to erupt. Once she was gone, he pulled himself together, dressed, and returned to the bridge. Now that their goodbyes were over, he just wanted to get it over with, just immerse himself in the frantic chaos of his job. Then he could forget some of what he felt.

## Chapter Twenty:

24 February 1195

End jump. Drelane.

Arien locked herself down into the 'suit, running systematically through her checks, letting the monotony of the ritual calm her. She had done this a thousand times before, if not more. But she understood, deep within herself, that this was the last time. She might wear it again, but she would never do another real, combat drop. That part of her life, her career, was over, even if she walked off of Drelane. Nothing could convince her to continue this ever again. She just had to make it off of Drelane, easier thought than done.

"Okay, people." She began, and the men did not pause in their work, but she sensed their attention. "This is it. Do this and we go home." They all knew that, had already heard it, and they dreaded it just as much as she did. "Keep your heads and do your jobs. We've been through it all already. It's just another drop." And Arien Noble was a liar. She knew it, they knew it, but they let her have it.

"End jump in ten minutes." Hassen reported, and she did her last complete check of herself before turning to give the men the last eyeball check. It was too late for any major changes. They dropped as they were.

Niel leaned forwards, eyes locked on the screen, waiting for the first incoming information. The jump clock zeroed, and he held his breath, waiting for the split second lag to pass before the sensors started to read. The carrier shuddered, and he thought for one moment that they had misjumped again, but then he realized they already taken fire.

"Evasive maneuvers." He ordered, waiting for a clear view of his surroundings before deciding to cut the dropship free. The screens came up and he blinked in amazement. Drelane's orbit was packed, more ships than he'd ever seen in his life jostled and fought for the upper hand. His helmsman cursed, typing frantically as the first information poured in, and the carrier's proximity alerts screamed into life. There was an explosion as an Imperial carrier materialized in the same space occupied by a Drelanii defender, the blast radius taking out both ships and another two Drelanii FABs in the area.

"Run when we have an opening!" Niel snapped, "Get us out of this mess. Drop the dropship on their mark!" He felt the sharp decisiveness he had always yearned for click into place. There was no time to think and rethink movements, they must be done then, right then. He pushed Arien out of his mind and turned his entire attention to the orbital fight.

"We're running!" Hassen screamed shrilly, and Arien braced herself as Brimstonedropped umbilicus link and began her run for the planet. The run was the single worst of Arien's life; the dropship eventually flattened out and ran straight for Drelane, the fire too thick to consider evading. Panic welled in Arien; her mind ran in hyper speed while her body moved in slow motion. She was going to die. She knew it. Here. Now. It was over.

"Hatches opening." Hassen's voice spurted loudly through the chaos and her training took over from her conscious mind. Give the order, just drop already.

"Marines, prepare to drop!" Her voice, alien to her own ears, yelled, and she was surprised she had managed to speak. Her board showed all green, as her men confirmed ready status. The heavy hatches beneath them opened to a brilliant swath of colors, amber, crimson, white and it took Arien a long moment to realize it was night over Drelane.

A shot hit the dropship broadside, and the craft tilted abruptly, dislodging a line of troopers from their gantries. They piled into a twisted heap scrambling to separate themselves. It was her last view of them as she was ejected from beneath Brimstone, and then she was falling. Her drop was awkward; her chute deployed but was shredded by near misses. The 'suit's jump jet fuel was nearly expended before she made it to the ground. Coming in too fast she landed badly, off balance mentally and physically without that necessary moment to collect her thoughts before committing herself to going. "Up!" She snarled at herself and rose to her feet, only to fall again.

The intra platoon frequency screamed to life, screamed literally as the shouting began. She rose again, pushing against sudden resistance that threatened to knock her over yet again. Something was wrong, and if the comm chatter would only stop blaring she could figure out what it was. "Shut up, damn it, shut the fuck up!" She screamed, leaning up against the resistance, and slogging forwards. Where in the hell were they? The screaming was undercut by a harsh keening that rendered the panicked signals incomprehensible, and Arien gnashed her teeth in impotent rage.

Where? Where? She stared at her HUD, but they told her nothing, none of that could possibly be correct. It was becoming difficult to breathe, and the tips of her fingers were going cold and numb. "Hawkins!" She yelled into the void of noise, forgetting that he had dropped with his own platoon, twenty klicks away.

The sudden soapy smell of glycerin flooded her nose, and she felt pressure as the helmet vacuum kicked in. She hadn't vomited, she was certain of that, something must be malfunctioning, a lot of somethings must be malfunctioning for these readings to be true. The platoon simply did not show up on her screen, and her 'suit status readout was colored in harsh oranges and reds.

The realization that she was taking heavy fire kicked in right then, and her dive for her less armored belly was repulsed for a second by the sheer concussive power of the rounds impacting her. She lay stunned for a moment, trying to make sense of this. The screaming over the frequency stopped, as had the majority of the keening, leaving her in a sudden near silence.

If she could take a real breath, hear a real voice, one not gibbering and overlaid with chaos, she could make sense of all of this, she only needed a moment. But that breath refused to come, and the hazy numbness was spreading. It seemed like the more time she tried to collect her thoughts, get everything back together and working, the less sense any of it made.

The immediate disassociation of a narcotics load hit and she recognized it with the certainly of long familiarity. She was high, higher than a kite. Higher than the carrier in orbit. Her mind frantically tried to make sense of this occurrence, she couldn't be high, definitely not this high. This was the high of morphine or some pseudo narc, the expensive good quality stuff, not rephetimine. But she was in 'suit, she didn't use while on duty, she hadn't used in years, when had she resorted to this? And why couldn't she breathe, damn it? Oh, she was going to be in some serious trouble when Niel found out she had dropped while high.

She was sobbing, she realized, she should be able to hear herself, but she heard nothing but the eerie keening. All she wanted to do was curl up and sleep, cry, nothing made any sense any more. Her vision became blurred and the sound of the 'suits' alarm became muffled and distant, almost muted. Her anxiety lessened and Arien Noble drifted off into the black.

Klepher closed his eyes, no longer willing to watch the units disappear from his screen. "My God, what have we done?" He breathed, and his aide only stared back at him in shock. Those were his people, his units, his commanders, Cleary, Sanchez, Mannheim, Noble, all of them, and he had thrown them into a slaughter house. The losses were nearly complete on the first drop, staggering on the second, and the third was mauled as well. They had been forced to put down the ground troops with virtually no cover, the battlesuits out and the aircraft support only touch and go. He didn't want to consider what level of damage the infantry would take when tossed against units that had shredded his finest in less than ten minutes on ground. Even the worst Academy simulations, designed to immunize officers against this kind of loss, did not come close to this level of carnage. And there was absolutely nothing he could do about it. He hung his head in defeat, lost for a reaction.

"Damn it!" Niel snarled, hanging stubbornly onto his chair as he tried to keep view of his screens through the rocking of the carrier. "Do we have any pickup open, any at all?"

"A pickup window isn't necessary, sir." The tactical officer broke in and he stared back in confusion. That tone warned him that he didn't want to hear this, but he was too scattered to concentrate, at least until the rest of her statement came. "We don't have a dropship to pick up, sir. Brimstone's ."

The bridge crew silenced, their gazes jerking to him at that news. "What?" He demanded in a stark whisper.

She stared back at him, almost rebelliously, as she formed the words. "We lost contact with the dropship thirty eight minutes into their run. It's gone, I don't know if they made the drop or not, but it's gone!"

"Get me Noble." He hissed, and the comm officer went into a flurry of activity, studiously avoiding his Captain's eyes. A look at Niel's screen confirmed that Brimstone's icon was gone, vanished.

"I cannot raise Noble at this time." The comm officer stated, "But communications are out all over the front line."

He peeled back lips in a death's head grin in that direction. "Her Icom." he snapped, and the officer visibly quailed.

"I cannot raise that either, sir." The man stuttered, and Niel nodded sharply.

"Helm, get us out of here, then. We have no use here, now." He ordered, and the helmsman began to swing the lumbering carrier around to run for Drelane's outer orbit, away from the skirmish. Niel would consider his actions later; right now he had a crew depending on him.

They made the outer orbit without taking much more damage, taking position behind the great destroyers and dreadnoughts plowing their way through Drelane's orbits, making themselves as small and unobtrusive a target as possible. With the loss of their own dropship, they might pick up a dropship that had lost her carrier, but even that was beginning to look doubtful.

"First drop reported as total loss." The tactics officer, bearer of bad news, reported, and Niel sank into his chair. Arien. Gone. The good thing was that his mind refused to comprehend that knowledge right then, in front of his crew. He would mourn later, in private, when he had the time. Now they would just sit and wait, unable to hold their own against the Drelanii fleet, their entire reason for being crashed down on Drelane.

The longer he waited, the more firmly the news sank in, and he eyed the incoming lists from the flagships. The entirety of the Eighteenth was officially listed as MIA, and would remain so until the salvage units were sent in to go over their landing zone. Then, as what could be recovered was, they would probably go to KIA. He clenched his fist around the ring dangling from his id tags and glared bitterly at his screens.

The salvage trooper passed over the mangled landscape, keeping a wary eye out for snipers as he scanned for anything interesting. This had been the landing zone of one of the first units on Drelane, gone in a heartbeat from their touch down. The fighting had moved kilometers away, and the Drelanii had already gone over this area for their own, but that did not guarantee that they were completely gone. He sighed, covering his eyes against the glare of the sun and scrutinized his surroundings. Most of these poor sods probably never knew what had hit them, and they were probably luckier for it. He'd picked through so many dead already that this carnage did not distress him out of his depression. To find just one of them, alive and salvageable, would make his day.

The light caught something, throwing up a sudden bright glare, and he paused, looking intently in that direction. Finally, curiosity got the better of him, and he headed resolutely over to it. The glare had come off of a spall of brilliantly uncoated metal, and he knelt down to study it more closely. He discovered a battlesuit; the spall was a divot of damage knocked out by what appeared to be a tank tread mark, the majority of the 'suit buried under a lip of dirt knocked over when the tank had passed through. He sighed, taking out his entrenching tool and tossing off the dirt that covered the 'suit. Mostly intact, better than any he'd seen already, the battery housing unbreached. One of the new Mark VII's, possibly salvageable, the best case he'd seen all day. This was an officer's machine, the platoon commander, and the Corps would be pleased to recover even a body from this one. He took a screwdriver and flipped up the medical access port just over the battery housing, his face wrinkling in sudden disbelief. The tiny thumbnail screen was reading, just as it should be, reading a strong set of vital signs. He tamped down hope and called for one of the medics and a waldo crew, refraining from giving the usual enthusiastic arm pump that would draw sniper attention to him.

"What have you got?" The medic demanded, squatting beside him.

"Med screen is reading good vitals. Could just be a glitch." He shrugged.

The medic nodded agreement, plugging his larger, handheld monitor to the port and motioning the waldo crew to flip the 'suit over. "What a mess." The medic muttered, his words drowned out by the same noises of the salvage crew as they tipped the bulky, inert 'suit over. The entire front gleamed like aluminum, every speck of radar resistant gray paint shot off, the surface marred by hundreds of dents. A pool of glycerin gleamed wetly where the 'suit had rested, but not as large as the entire contents should have left if the 'suit had fully breached.

"Wow." The medic said, turning his attention to his monitor. "We got a definite live one here, guys." He chuckled. "No glitch, vitals just dipped when we flipped it over. Send it back ASAP."

"Incoming medivac, battlesuit troop. They say it looks good." The Corps nurse stated dubiously, "ETA eight minutes. We got the can openers on the way."

"We'll take a look." The medic with him stated. "At worst, it's another body we've recovered." He had never removed a battlesuited troop before, but he saw the head doctor arrive with two technicians bearing crowbars. "Morning, sir." He said to the doctor, although it was dark again. It was morning shipboard standard time, so it was morning no matter what the sky said.

"I heard we got a possible live one, hard to believe."

"That's what the salvage crew thinks. We'll see when it gets here. I've never done a 'suit extraction, though."

"Nothing to it, you'll see." The doctor turned his head at the sound of the approaching transport. "Here it comes now." he stated unnecessarily. Until the new front calmed down, they would not be getting much in the way of medivacs. The medic nodded, moving into position.

It took an entire waldo crew and a crawler to remove the battlesuit from the transport and move it into the medical tent, where the technicians waited. "Whoa, boy." One of them said, viewing the devastation. "That's our live one?"

The doctor pulled up the still attached hand monitor and nodded slowly. "That's our live one. Strong vitals, looks as good as they told me. I authorize medical override for extraction." Medical override would scrap the 'suit, rendering it irreparable, but he liked what he saw on the screen.

"Okay." The technicians nodded, plugging the leads into the security port and typing in the override. There was a squeal, and a loud pop as every seal in the 'suit burst, and the faintest ooze of glycerin coated the seams. They had about an hour before the compression gave out on the 'suit, and any bleeding began unhindered. "It's popped, doc." The tech said, relieved. Sometimes the damage was so bad that they wouldn't pop for the override, and their occupant had to be cut out, a long, laborious and dangerous procedure.

"Good." The doctor ran cautious fingers under the helmet seam and gently removed the front part. It gave slowly, with the sound of soapy water rushing down a drain.

"Vacuum's on." The tech noted at the medic's curious look. "Probably tossed his cookies in 'suit."

"No, glycerin and a bloody nose." The doctor disputed, "No vomit. There he is." The five of them gazed into the helmet, at a pale face. Only now would they be completely certain that the med reading wasn't a glitch. A finger under the nose proved that the reading was accurate; this one had strong even breaths.

"Pupils round, sluggishly reactive." The nurse noted, shining a light into their patient's eyes.

"System's dropped all of its meds." One of the technicians stated. "He ain't feeling any pain whatsoever."

"Front plate off." The doctor ordered, and the technicians moved in to wedge it off. No obvious wound, only the mottling of severe bruising over the upper abdomen and torso. "It's clear, oh there we are." The doctor said, watching blood seep from the edge of the lower belly hatch that moved to allow access to the catheter array. It diluted in the glycerin, spreading in bright feathery tracts over the trooper's flat, pale belly. It was slow, and dark, good signs for the doctor. Much of the trooper's unconsciousness was probably due to the immense amount of narcotic painkillers dumped into his blood stream.

"Lifting belly hatch." He hooked careful fingers under the edge and the trooper shuddered, opening dark empty eyes. "Some reaction to pain? With all the meds dumped?" This one must have the constitution of a horse to be coming around already.

The nurse shrugged, ripping the surgical tape that held the trooper's id tags flush with his chest to read them. "Noble. Arien L. A positive." She stated. "No known allergies. I'll run his records."

The doctor nodded, carefully lifting the hatch away. The catheter appeared intact; the blood welled from a wound under one of the main seams of the 'suits' hip assembly. "Turns out our patient is female." He chuckled slightly. "Entry wound lower right abdomen, moderate bleeding, none apparently arterial. Main worry is perforated intestines; let's see if this is it."

"Noble, Arien, twenty eight year old female. Major. History of narcotics abuse. She's going to have one hell of a tolerance built up for the 'suit meds." The nurse called off. "Clean four years, old morphine and rephetimine addiction."

"Rephetimine? That's some nasty shit." The medic chuckled, "Anything for a high?"

The doctor frowned at that. "Morphine and Rephetimine, what was the underlying reason for such a potent cocktail of painkillers?"

"Bad graft, right leg lost at hip, septic infection."

"Rough." The doctor sighed, "That's the only wound I see. Lift her out."

"Colonel Klepher! Colonel Klepher!" His aide yelled, waving his hand to break through the older man's mood. "Revised battlefield lists. Noble's been found, listed as WIA, serious condition, she's at the three six one one tactical field hospital."

Klepher gazed at the notice, a vague smile crossing his features. One. One out of thirty, but he hadn't lost every single commander he had. It didn't hurt that it was one of his favorites, as well.

The news that heartened Klepher, and would have heartened Niel Morrison to no end, also came up, unnoticed, on Firestorm's personnel screen.

"Last stitch." The doctor put in it, giving a last glance at the woman's vitals. Still holding, and they had news that they were expecting mass incoming wounded. He made a snap decision then; move her out of here, back to her carrier lurking in high orbit, that carrier that had a medical bay, a doctor, and no incoming wounded. It was risky, but the attention she would receive there could make all the difference between this one living or dying. "Bundle her up and send her for her carrier. Let them take care of her there." The nurse nodded, beginning the preparations to move her, scrawling the wounded trooper's name, id number, blood type and all meds received on her chest in indelible black marker, just to be certain. Paperwork and tags could be lost, but as long as the military still had her carcass, the info went with her.

Lieutenant jg Lambertson strode out to the shuttle, shaking his head in annoyance. Shuttle trips during a fleet battle, had everybody lost their minds? But there it was, a newly arrived shuttle, resting serenely in the shuttle bay. Eight men in waldo units were unloading as fast as they could, dropping crates with abandon in their haste. "You're gonna be ordered out of orbit soon." One grunted to Lambertson. "Final resupply before you jump, and what do you want done about her?"

Her? Lambertson turned in the direction of the man's gesture. Her, he would recognize that one anywhere, even looking as badly as she did, Noble. The captain's cuddle bunny. He grinned, this would please the Old Man to no end, if she made it through.

"Orders from Carrier Command, outjump to Vreesgard. Their compliments, they say we're going home?"

The crew turned in surprise to stare at Niel. He had decided to avoid the jinx and not tell them. "Yes." He sighed, "We're going home. Cycling out. It's over, jump when ready."

"Jump, aye." The navigator called off, "Coordinates in. Jump in five, helm." Niel sat, listening to the thud of his own heart until the jump chimes went off and Firestormslid into jumpspace, without her dropship.

"I'll be in my quarters." He stated, rising slowly to his feet. "Disturb me only if necessary." He probably didn't need to say it, but it sounded like the correct thing to say. They would leave him alone. They knew it was the smart thing to do, or so he thought, as the doctor stopped him on his way to his quarters.

"Sir, a word with you." The man grinned, and Niel considered killing him outright.

"What?" he growled, trying to force the weight of his anger into his words, hoping to spook the man away before he lost whatever control he still had over himself.

"There's something in med bay I think you ought to see, please come with me." Niel wasn't in the mood for it, but the doctor insisted, and Niel was too tired and lost to argue with him. "There." The man whispered, pointing across the bay. "She'll wake up soon."

Arien. His Arien slept undisturbed in his med bay. He crept to her side, disbelieving what his eyes told him. He touched her shoulder, biting his lip hard enough to draw blood when he felt the comforting warmth of her skin. She was really, actually there. "How?" He breathed.

"I'm not certain. I am fairly certain she should recover well. She was dropped off by a shuttle, and we brought her here to look her over. I'll leave you alone with her now, Sir."

Niel sat in stunned silence for an hour, listening to the ceaseless noises of the machines that monitored her. It started as tightness in his throat, and when he tried to cough it up, the sound came out as a sob. He stopped fighting it, finally letting the tears come in the empty med bay.

## Epilogue:

29 May 1195

Ghaldin Shipyard, Ghaldin II

Niel stared at the ruddy horizon rising under the Shipyard, feeling Arien's presence as she walked up beside him. She was finally out of the hospital, but the week she'd spent there had done little to erase the worn, pale air that surrounded her. She was lucky, expected to make a complete recovery. One hundred percent better by the time she made it to Dannen, so the doctors reassured him.

"Nice view." She said, to get some sort of conversation going. She knew something was wrong, he could hear the questions she wasn't ready to ask under her voice.

"It is." He agreed. And it was, Ghaldin was the finest thing he'd ever seen, for it meant they were back in Imperial space, cycled out, replaced. The battle for Drelane raged on, but they had no further part in it.

"What aren't you telling me?" She finally demanded, cutting to the chase. She knew him too well; he had long since failed to hide much from her.

"I've applied for a transfer back to Fleet." He admitted, studying her from the corner of his eye. A transfer to Fleet for him would effectively end their professional relationship; only Carrier captains had MCs of this level. A Fleet captain had no need for battlesuit troops, only marine security forces, and security was a job well beneath her abilities. "I'm sure you'll have no trouble finding another ride, Parveloni, maybe." Parveloni had grown an incredible amount in his time on the front; he was almost a decent person now.

She shook her head, staring out the viewport. "No. I will not be seeking a new carrier posting." The phrase was rehearsed, every syllable down pat, and he turned his head around all the way to look at her. "I've done my line duty." She continued at his look. "No more drops. I," Her voice faded off, and he waited patiently. She would finish, he did not need to say anything. "I've lost an entire company." She continued slowly. "The Corps can forget that, but I can't. I won't. It wasn't my fault, but I can't take it anymore. I've done my combat command time. If the Corps keeps me, they'll just have to find something else for me to do."

He understood exactly what she meant. He'd done his combat time, and he was tired, more than just physically. He rested his hand on her shoulder, feeling her shrug. "So, you're transferring back to Fleet?" She asked, and he considered throwing up the same modest line that it wasn't a done deal, but he finally only nodded.

"Yes." He whispered. "I'm going back to Fleet, I'm going back home to Capital." She stared at him intently for a long moment, waiting expectantly, and he grimaced. "I'm going alone."

"I see." Her voice was even, dangerously so, and he fought back a flinch. He had known that this wasn't going to be easy, but like most things, it was proving to be more difficult in reality than he was prepared for. "So this is it?" She asked slowly. "You're leaving? Leaving me?"

He pushed his hands deep into his pockets, glancing back out the viewport. Phrases guaranteed to infuriate her further leapt into his mind as possible replies, and he discarded them quickly. "Yes." He finally settled on the harsh truth, and he felt her stare sharpen.

"I see." She said again, taking a half step away from him. How in the hell could he explain this to her, put into words what he felt without sounding too trite while he did it?

"Arien, I..." Oh, that was a mistake. To, after the three years they'd been together; finally admit to her things he should have said well before this day. To tell her the truth, that he loved her, possibly always had. He'd never told her that, in these past years, never put that thought into actual words, and he wouldn't do it now. "If you ever need anything, just contact me." Minimally better than, 'We can still be friends.' but still just as terrible.

"She was right, the bitch." Arien sighed, balancing her weight carefully. "Damn her. She knew you, didn't she?"

"What are you talking about?"

"Bruhler said you'd dump me when this was over. She was right." She hissed, and he scowled at the statement. He had never had this much trouble ending a relationship, and he was lost. Usually he just said it was over and walked away. Easy. But it wasn't easy to call it off while trying to soften the blow against the one you were walking away from.

"You're determined to make this difficult, aren't you?" He asked. "Arien, I want to go home! I'm tired! I want to try to forget, and you're a reminder of every bit of it! It's nothing against you, I..." There it was again, trying to weasel its way into his words. If he told Arien he loved her, but was dumping her in the same sentence, it would require every security guard in the Yard to peel her off of him, even in her current condition.

"I have no intention of making this easy for you." She growled. "No way in hell! You fucking bastard!" Her voice rose, and one of the guards glanced in their direction. Niel knew better than to shush her, and she silenced on her own, glaring back at the guard. "You're good, Niel. You had me fooled, that's for sure. Guess it wasn't that hard to do, though."

That stung, and he glowered at her. "I never promised you anything but what I gave you! Damn it, Arien, you bring out the worst in me!" Or she knew the worst in him, and he had allowed her to see it unleashed, he wasn't certain. Either way, there were things he wanted to forget, and never would with her presence near him. He wanted to forget the violence, the rage, the desperation, and even how terribly he had needed her through it. She'd seen it all, knew it all. He'd shouted at her, blew up at her, shown her a side of himself so ugly he didn't want to admit it existed, finally hit her, and considered much more beyond that. He wanted to be Niel Morrison, Senator's son, again, and she knew better than to believe that.

"I bring out the worst in you?" Black humor spiced her response. "That's a good one, Niel. I bring out the worst in you? You don't get it, Niel. I didn't bring anything out in you. It was there the whole damned time!"

"I know that!" He snarled. "And I want to forget it."

"You can run from me, Niel, but you can't run from yourself." She predicted coldly. "You can leave me, but you have to live with yourself. There's no way to hide from what you've become. Trust me, I know. I've been there."

"Take care of yourself, Arien. I mean that." He wanted absolutely nothing more to happen to her. She'd lost both platoons in the mess on Drelane, apparently the only survivor from her company. She'd been through enough. "Go take a couple of months lounging on Dannen, get a tan, gain some weight, figure out what you're going to do with your life."

She rolled a furious lip at him. "Don't I always take care of myself, Niel? It's what I'm best at. How about you?"

"I'll be fine." He retorted. "I'm going home. I would tell you to do the same, if I could."

"Go fuck yourself," she stated agreeably. When Niel frown, she added, "I refuse to give you what you want. I'm not going to try to buck up for you. I am not happy about this, and I will not act like this is okay to spare you a scene."

"Fine. I hope everything works out well for you, Arien, I really do." He sighed, turning to walk away. She watched him go, but he did not look back.

# # #

