 
In Nadir's Shadow

Copyright 2017 E.J. Heijnis

Cover art by Leon Tukker (leontukker.artstation.com)

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Other books in this series

In Nadir's Shadow

Inferno's Cast

Book 3 (coming late 2018)
Table of Contents

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Inferno's Cast preview

About the author

Acknowledgements

As this is my first published novel, I feel it's appropriate to recognize some of the people who encouraged and educated me.

My parents, who insisted that I read books (it only took one to hook me, but I know I resisted!) and encouraged creative expression, and my sister, for reading my work and offering her insights.

My English teacher, Ed Gerla, who gave me a copy of the Tolkien Companion, and even gave me a list of creative writing prompts to practice with in class.

Writer Lydia Rood, who gave valuable feedback on my early stories, and challenged me to write from the heart.

Writer Holly Lisle, whose website full of articles on writing first taught me that writing fiction is a skill you can learn and improve, instead of a superpower you were either born with or not.

The awesome people at the Other Worlds Writing Workshop, for their feedback on just about every aspect on this novel, and for being awesome in general.

And everyone else I met along the way who supported, encouraged, critiqued, educated, or inspired me. You all had a part in making my dream a reality, and I'm deeply grateful for that.
For Vianey, my love, and the beautiful story we've written. May we seek many more adventures together.
Chapter One

Commander Miron drew the short stone blade across his skin, breathing through the pain as he added a bloody line to the lattice of scars on his chest. A few grey hairs drifted to the floor. Once he finished the cut, he raised the knife, angling it to catch the simulated daylight from the glow panels overhead.

Fifty-seven cuts. Fifty-seven days since Wicked Sisters.

Using a hand towel from the desk underneath his raised bunk, he wiped the blood off his chest and carefully cleaned the blade before sheathing it. He took his royal blue uniform jacket down from the hook on the overhead, every part of the tiny cabin within easy reach. As he slipped the jacket on, he winced at the old ache in his back. A final glance at the mirror revealed nothing out of order, so he turned and pressed a button on the bulkhead. The door slid open without a sound and he stepped out, making his way through the steel-blue corridors of the heavy raider _Tenacious_. The harsh smell of chemical finishes chafed his nostrils, a persistent reminder the ship had first departed the dockyard only two weeks prior.

He opened another door and entered Control. The lower body of someone in fleet crew blue protruded from the base of the dormant Master Tactical Display, and several bundles of cables and connectors spilled out from the access panel. Ignoring the scene for the moment, Miron looked around the compartment. Tight-faced officers occupied four of the six command stations spaced evenly in a semi-circle facing the MTD. Master Second Gervasi paced behind them, pausing to berate a talent whose name Miron hadn't yet learned. As she twisted to point at the officer's holographic display projection, Gervasi saw him. The ship's second-in-command spared him only a single venomous glance before looming back over the stone-faced officer to resume her sermon.

Miron squatted down and tugged on the half-buried individual's trouser leg. A muffled voice came from within the device: "Is that you, Miron?"

"It is. What are you doing?"

"Trying to stop my display from switching colors at random."

"I didn't know they changed colors."

"Well, they're not supposed to. It turns out a bright pink display is hard to see. Also nauseating." Two hands grasped the edge of the access port, and Ship Master Borya's wiry, muscled frame slid into view.

"How is your crew?"

Borya sat up and scratched his white beard. "It's coming. They're skilled men and women, the best I've seen in some cases, but only a handful have ever worked together before. Some of them don't even seem to remember how to do that. Gervasi's working over the command crew in shifts, with the simulations. Most of them are learning. Not all. She's been yelling a lot." One corner of his mouth turned up. "More than usual."

Miron's jaw clenched. "They were hand-picked for this, Ship Master. Last-minute replacements aside, this is the best crew in the fleet."

His smile gone, Borya cocked his head. "They are the best crew _members_ in the fleet. If they'd had a chance to train together, maybe I could agree with you."

"No training like real work. You'll have to do better, Borya. We have enough handicaps as it is."

Borya grunted. "I know that. And there is good news. Ludmila says all the engineers are best friends by now, and she's drafted the fleet guards to help with the work. Even Chief Zakhar's down there."

"She's updated you on repairs?"

The sharp voice of Detection Operator Ilari cut off his response. "Contact!" The Ship Master was on his feet and by her side, Miron one step behind. "It only popped up once, sir, but it was solid. Substantial mass and symmetrical shape. When it comes up again I should get an inertia reading."

Minutes passed as they stared at the D-OPS station. Gervasi quietly canceled the simulations and allowed the gunner and navigator to resume their work. No one spoke.

Ilari's breath hitched as the display indicated a contact. Her fingers twitched in the control gloves and available information spilled down from the top. Approximate mass, possible materials.

Traveling on a pursuit course, at faster-than-light speed.

She swallowed. "The profile is still fuzzy, but it could fit a Type 3 or a Type 7." Miron wondered at the tremor in her voice. Why would a veteran Detection Operator quail at first sight of the enemy?

"So much for training. Bogdan, issue alert level three," Borya said.

"Alert level three, aye, sir," said the thin, hairless man at the Operations/Communications station. A claxon echoed through the ship.

Borya said, "Shall we confer, Commander?"

Miron gave a nod and turned to head for the conference room. He almost missed Ilari's desperate whisper: "Master, how is the shield?"

Half the size of Control, the adjacent conference room seated eight at a table holding a smaller, simpler version of the Master Tactical Display. Miron sat at the head of the table and waited for Borya to enter and sit to his left.

"I heard Talent Ilari," Miron said. "What's wrong with her?"

Borya raised his eyebrows. "No idea."

"However inappropriate, the question is relevant. How is the ship?"

Borya allowed the silence to stretch before he spoke. "The order from the Supreme Command was to depart as soon as we were able. Not before. As I told you on the dock, expediency doesn't build ships. We weren't ready when we left, and we're not ready now. Three turrets have tracking issues, and two others can't load ammo. The relays for the Lancer cannon were installed but not aligned, and that's hard enough outside a dockyard under the best of conditions, never mind at FTL. All the command stations are glitchy; we don't even know what's wrong with them yet. And we have no shield. At last update, Ludmila told me it's not getting power. She thinks she's narrowed down the problem to a couple hundred relays in three power cables. Most are buried behind other systems that need to be shut down and the power rerouted before they can be accessed."

Miron knew he'd taken a gamble when he ordered _Tenacious_ to leave dock before work had been completed, but at least the ghost shield had been functional when they'd departed. Its failure, he admitted only to himself, was likely related to the poor state of the ship's other systems. "When does she expect to have it operational?"

"She doesn't."

Miron stared. "Damn it, Borya. And you accepted that answer?"

Borya's eyes tightened. "She helped build the ship, Commander. She knows her better than you or I, and she doesn't want to die any more than we do. She's working on it, but even if she put her whole crew to work on the shield, the job could still take months. It wouldn't get done, and neither would anything else. I only mentioned the most critical problems, but there are issues with most of our systems. Would you rather be combat-ready with no shield, or fight with half our guns out and still have no shield?"

Miron fought back half a dozen unworthy replies. "Give her everything. Anything or anyone she needs."

The look on Borya's face as he leaned closer made it clear he considered the order unnecessary. " _Tenacious_ is a good ship, with plenty of power. In peak condition, she could go toe to toe even with a Type 7, but there's a lot of work left to do before she's anywhere close to that. It looks like they won't catch us before we reach our target, but we're in for a fight no matter what, and I don't think we can win it. Not after weeks without a shield. Not with half our systems still unfinished and the other half sabotaged. Not with my crew crazy from exhaustion."

Miron studied Borya's long face, settled into old lines and ringed by white hair, and tried to keep the disappointment from his voice. "I don't know where you're going with this. Our job remains the same, regardless of the circumstances. If you don't like our odds for the upcoming engagement, I suggest you start thinking of ways to improve them." He softened his tone in spite of himself. "You know how it works. You used to have my job. You got the same briefing I—"

The deep, echoing sound of a bell cut him off. Before it faded, another followed. Fear surged in the pit of his stomach as he watched the overhead glow panels change from simulated daylight to bright red.

Borya gave a rough sigh. "Fucking shit," he said. "Already?" He reached for a button embedded in the table. His voice was steel: "All crew, assume alert level two. _Tenacious_ is boarded. Until further notice, we are under Combat Code restrictions. Use internal coms only."

They looked at each other. Miron thought Borya looked even older in the red light, and he imagined the same was true for himself. "The long night begins," he said.

*****

Shura, citizen number 10134-121, stared at the words hovering over the display and wondered why she felt nothing.

Commonwealth Guards Command informs you of the death in combat of Vikenti, citizen number 75466-483, during an action by the High Risk Operations Service. His sacrifice honors his forebears, and the future of the Commonwealth is brightened by his courage.

She hadn't seen her ex-partner in more than seven years, and rarely ever thought of him. Now that she knew what had become of him, she realized she'd thought he was already dead, gone missing in battle with no way to confirm his loss. Her eyes strayed back to the same word in the message. _Courage._ Old, stale anger finally tried to stir the ashes in her heart, but nothing sparked to life. She deleted the message and turned off the terminal, revealing her reflection in the black projector mounted on the wall. Her hair had been more red than grey on that day, years ago, when grief had sent him running away to war, leaving her pregnant and alone.

A soft buzz in her ear made her get up. As usual, she'd been awake before the government-set alarm, and as usual, Kirill would try to sleep through it. She made her way to the bedroom as the glow panels overhead slowly brightened the beige walls. The growing light revealed the tangled pile of work clothes she'd meant to take to laundry yesterday, before she'd run out of steam and dumped them on the chair instead. As she passed the floating shelf with its five shiny, engraved metal cylinders, she ran a hand along the surface before them and summoned a smile for the faces that popped up over each one.

Her son had slipped completely under the covers to escape the offending lights, so she pulled them off the bed. He uttered a frustrated moan and curled up into a ball, going through several positions with his arms as he tried to cover his eyes.

She suppressed a smile along with the urge to curl up next to him and hardened her tone: "Up, Kiri. If I have to tell you again, you're going to regret it."

With a groan, he untangled himself and his button-nosed face appeared, twisted into a scowl. He made a show of getting out of bed, interrupted by a gaping yawn that was actually genuine.

"We're going to see Doctor Ermolei today. You like him."

Kirill rubbed his eyes. "I don't want to go."

"You can tell him that yourself when we get there."

"Can Smiley come too?"

Shura was grateful for the reminder of another topic to bring up with the doctor. "Fine," she answered after a moment's hesitation. It didn't feel right, but she hadn't managed to think of a good reason to tell her son he had to get rid of his imaginary friend. She hoped Ermolei could give her an answer.

Kirill complained all the way out of his pajamas and into his white-striped red uniform, until he accidentally kicked her in the gut as he wriggled into his pants. Her temper spiked and she snapped, "Is this how you do your part, Kirill? If everybody acted like you, we'd all be whining in our beds until the floaters came and killed us all. Stop acting like you're still a baby. You're going to start a new class soon. How do you want to look to your classmates and your instructor? Do you want them to think you don't care about your people and you don't want to do your part?" His lower lip grew to twice its size as tears filled his eyes. "Don't you cry!"

He looked down and said in a thick voice, "I won't."

"Get dressed. We need to eat before we go see the doctor."

He got ready in silence while she tried not to feel like a monster. She herded him out the door into the community complex's endless hallways. "Smiley says I should say sorry," he finally said. "I'm sorry, aman."

She looked down at his penitent face and threw her arm over his shoulders, pulling him close. "I forgive you," she said, leaning down to kiss his head. "And I think you should listen to Smiley."

They were late getting to the dining hall and joined the back of the long line for the food dispensers. She greeted a distant neighbor with a neutral "What you working on?" before fixing her gaze on the far end of the long hall, discouraging further conversation. The dining hall was the only indoor common area she couldn't avoid visiting, but there was no rule that said she had to be chatty. She'd see most of them at work, anyway.

When their turn at one of the eight dispensers came, the massive device read their palm prints and deposited an appropriately sized plate of steaming noodles and solid chunks in sauce, each a different shade of green and smelling of fish.

She found them a small table far from the larger groups. Kirill poked at his food. "What's this?" he asked as he held up a green chunk speared on his fork.

"It's wrack," she answered around a too-hot bite. "Eat it."

He stuffed it into his mouth and rolled up a noodle as he chewed. "Is everything made of wrack?"

"That's right. It's all the same stuff."

"Why do they make it look different?"

"So it feels different when you eat it. So we don't get bored of eating the same thing."

He made a face. "But it all taste the same, anyway."

"It really does," she said with a wry chuckle.

Kirill kicked his feet while he ate and tried to turn his fork into a catapult when he thought Shura wasn't looking. After depositing their plates for cleanup, she took him across the courtyard to the infirmary. Off the path to either side, people of all ages exercised or played reflex games on the grass. Warm sunlight brightened their grass-stained grey leisure suits, but couldn't penetrate the wide shadows cast by the walls around them. Kirill strained on her arm as he stared at a group of children running after a ball, and she had to pull him back. "We don't have time for that," she said, the latest and weakest of her endless excuses to try to keep him away from other people. She couldn't bring herself to expose him to the world beyond the unavoidable hours at class and daycare, but she knew people talked about her and the son she kept hidden. When he turned eight in a few months, he would have to leave to start training for his adult life, and she wouldn't be able to hide his secrets anymore.

A palm scanner at the infirmary confirmed her identity. She was early, so it directed her to sit. They were alone in the waiting room, and Shura tried to relax. The artificial smell of flowers mixed with the disinfectant it was meant to hide once disgusted her, but these days, she looked forward to it. She studied the posters on the cool blue walls. Each projected its message into her aural implant when she looked at them, a strong, androgynous voice blending optimism and strength with just enough mockery to inspire guilt in the lazy.

"How are you getting better today?"

"The guards are fighting—how are you honoring your forebears?"

"The attack begins on the assembly line!"

"Want to do all you can? Volunteer for fleet service and take the fight to the enemy!"

"Waste an hour, waste a life—floaters don't take breaks!"

She was pretty sure they did. Kirill chased Smiley around underneath the chairs.

The door to the examination room opened and Doctor Ermolei stepped out, followed by Shura's neighbor, Arina. Ermolei shook her hand with both of his as Arina smiled up at his smooth, strong-jawed face, absorbing his words: "Stop by again in four weeks and we'll see how she's doing."

"Thank you, Ermo. I feel much better." Arina lingered another moment with nothing to say before departing, her daughter trailing from one hand like luggage. In passing, she gave Shura a look of utter disdain.

Shura stared after Arina until the other woman turned the corner, stifling the words she wanted to throw after her. Those Transfer Analysis bitches were all the same, but there was no point in bickering. Fights drew attention.

"Having fun down there? Whatcha doing, chasing floaters?" Ermolei stood bent over the chair Kirill had entwined himself in.

Her son laughed. "No!" he said in a reproving tone. "There are no floaters here!"

"Only if we keep it that way." The doctor straightened and smiled at her. "Hello, Shura. Ready?"

His smile reached all the way into her belly. She mirrored it and nodded.

"Come on in." He led the way through the door while Shura disentangled Kirill from the chair.

Inside, she tried to pick up her son to put him on the table, but he resisted. "No, I can do it!"

"How's work?" Ermo said as they watched Kirill hang from the table's edge and try to swing his leg over.

"It's all right. System Defense Command issued a whole new set of upgrade orders for the cable network. We weren't even done with the last ones yet. I don't know what they're in such a hurry for; there wasn't that much wrong with the old network, as long as the data load was kept under control. They hardly use it anyway, it's more for production and services."

"Maybe they anticipate a use for it soon."

"You think?" She winced at her own tone and didn't meet Ermo's glance. Kirill made it to the top of the table and threw his fists into the air, providing a timely distraction.

The basic health exam took only minutes and revealed him to be a perfectly healthy seven-year old. Before the doctor could begin the next round of tests, Shura shoved aside her hesitation: "Can I talk to you somewhere?"

Ermo looked down at her. "Of course." He summoned an orderly from another room and followed Shura into the observation room next door. "What's on your mind?"

She refused to make eye contact. "I'm not even sure."

"Well, something's obviously bothering you."

She sighed. "I got word this morning. Vikenti died."

He waited, then said, "I'm really sorry."

"I'm not. Not really." She finally met his kind eyes and saw the concern on his face. "You know? When he left us, I used to dread hearing about his death. And I guess I dreaded it so much that now that it happened, there's nothing left to feel. I don't even hate him anymore. I used to call him a coward—well, I still do. But I kind of understand. Maybe." Shura looked out the one-way window at Kirill talking to the orderly while she worked on him. "I can't hide him forever. And I don't know what I would do if he—" Her voice broke and twin tears welled up without warning to roll down her cheeks. She shook as she choked back a sob.

Ermo took her in his arms and she grasped his coat with both hands, squeezing her eyes shut and grinding her teeth, trying to hold in the vast emptiness in her heart. She wanted to tell him about the five children she'd already lost to the war. She wanted to explain her despair when her youngest twins, Darya and Terenti, died fighting together on some hellish planet while she was pregnant, and she realized the same would one day happen to the son she carried. The words couldn't break through the rock in her throat, and eventually the pain withdrew, back to the knot in her stomach that never left.

"We've kept him safe so far. He doesn't have to fight. By the time he's old enough for that, we'll figure something out."

Embarrassed, she turned away and wiped her cheeks. "I wanted to ask you. For the last few months, he's had an imaginary friend. Smiley. He talks to him a lot, and even gets advice sometimes. Do you think—" She saw the look on Ermo's face. "What? Tell me!"

He'd regained his composure too late. "It might be nothing."

"Tell me."

His eye twitched and he looked around. "When I told you that the prenatal tests showed an unacceptable defect and your pregnancy had to be terminated, you asked me what the defect was, and I refused to tell you more than the official line that he'd have certain weaknesses that would make him a liability. I still cannot, and will not, tell you precisely what that entails. You need to trust me, as you have so far, that I have your best interests at heart. I'm going to ask you to monitor Kirill's interaction with his friend, and tell me about the things he says and hears." He looked in her eyes. "Please understand. We haven't talked about this in a long time, but no one can ever find out about what we did. It would mean a suicide run for you and me, and Kirill would end up normalized, meaning he'd spend the rest of his days drugged to the gills and working an assembly line."

She didn't look away. "His benchmark tests are coming up real soon. Now you tell me: are these "defects" going to show up? Is that going to be it for us?"

He gave a small smile. "No. I'll be administering the tests."

The rising wave of fear lost its edge. "Why do you help me, Ermo? I've asked you before, and you never answer me."

His face went blank. "I killed my own unborn son. Because of an unacceptable defect. It destroyed my partner, and our union."

It was her turn to embrace him, pressing her cheek against his chest. She heard the rumble of his voice as he continued, "I signed up for guard service after that, but it was too much for me. I broke down, and they sent me back here to be a community doctor. When I gave you the test results, I saw the look on your face and I couldn't do it again."

She squeezed him, then let go. "I don't know what I'd do without you."

"I don't regret it. He's a bright boy. He deserves to live."

They both looked out the window to see the orderly putting away equipment and casting unsure glances in their direction while Kirill rolled around on the table. "It's hard for me to discipline him," she admitted. "I know it'll only be worse for him later, but every time he's hurt or sad, I just feel rotten. It wasn't like that with my other kids."

He gave her another glance. "Pay attention to that, too. Tell me about it next time."

She turned to him, suddenly desperate. "Can I see you before then?"

"I'll call you. We can work something out." His smile was of a different kind now.

*****

Khariton, growth batch number 43554-15, stared at his display and tried to feel excited. He'd just laid out a solution to the most difficult strategic challenge he'd ever been assigned. His answer was controversial, and he'd looked forward to defending it right up to the moment he'd sent it out.

He looked around. Lab-born analysts like himself, wearing the same grey jumpsuits beneath the same mess of dark hair, occupied the other two dozen work stations in the room. When he leaned forward, he could see the green light from the displays reflect off the bronze-colored faces of his closest colleagues, all with the same look of detached concentration. They hardly ever moved, yet the stale, sour reek of sweat never stopped competing with the smell of electronics.

He leaned closer to his neighbor. "Gennadi."

The other man blinked and looked around, as if barely woken from sleep, before facing Khariton. "What?"

"I just cracked a Category Six."

The confusion on Gennadi's face turned to disgust. "Good for you," he said, and turned back to his work.

Stung back into apathy, Khariton opened up a batch of after-action reports from a recent skirmish and accessed the first one. He listened to a fragile male voice describing how his squadmates fell, the habitual longing ache in his gut flaring every time the guard's voice hitched over some deep emotion. If Khariton were to suddenly die, as unlikely as that was, no one would care like this man did for his comrades. His loss would be a temporary inconvenience, alleviated and forgotten as soon as the growth labs provided a replacement.

A soft buzz deep inside his ear preceded a terse message: "Dash fifteen, report to unit director." Lethargy dragged at his limbs as he withdrew his hands from the control gloves and got up. He passed rows of motionless colleagues on his way to the only door in the room besides the exit. It slid open when he approached, the bright light from inside forcing his eyes to slits as he entered. The director's office was barely large enough for a built-in desk, two chairs, and enough room to walk around each.

"Dash fifteen. Sit down."

He did as instructed and sat across from the plain, black-haired man dressed in guard greens. No one liked talking to the director, but Khariton could deal with him better than most, not least because he'd solved more cases than any other analyst.

The man's square face held no emotion as he spoke: "Your solution to the problem calls for as complete an evacuation of Marshal as can be managed before the enemy enters striking range. I'm telling you now, that even with this having passed the logic algorithms, I don't see how you expect to convince me it's even close to valid."

To smile now would poison the discussion, and Khariton struggled to keep a neutral expression. "Yes, sir."

"Why is evacuation preferable to any of the dozens of committed defense scenarios?"

"Because we are not our homeworld. Our aim in this war has always been the decisive defeat and subjugation of the floaters, since this is the only way to preserve our species. If we tie our fortunes to the fate of any one asset, it invites an escalation until the majority of forces from both sides are committed. The enemy has more resources at their disposal than we do, so that situation would eventually result in catastrophic defeat."

"You propose to reduce this problem to a mere equation? It's not fleets and armies that win battles, it's the manner of their deployment."

"Yes, sir. Certainly the list of tactical options in this case is near endless. However, when available forces are insufficient to inflict critical losses on the enemy, tactics can achieve only one thing: delay. Time allows the deployment of additional forces, or a retreat in good order. In an all-out defense of Marshal, neither of these would be possible. The time we would gain would buy us nothing."

The director leaned back in his chair and pressed his fingertips together. Khariton watched his breathing change and his brow tense. The director had never had such a strong reaction to one of his solutions before. "It's your job to pick holes in the conclusions you just presented me. Instead, you suggest we pack up and run."

"Yes, sir. The problem doesn't lie with the conclusions. I was unable to identify a course of action that would offer a reasonable chance of decisively defeating the enemy invasion and retaining the homeworld. I feel confident that no one else will, either." That last sentence had gotten away from him. He saw the director draw breath for a blistering response and he hurried to add: "But we can sustain its loss and maintain our ability to survive and wage war effectively for the foreseeable future. Marshal's military value lies in its industry and its infrastructure. The former we can bring with us, and given enough time, we can recreate the latter."

The director stared at him. Khariton shifted in his chair and blinked too often. There was a look on the other man's face he hadn't seen before.

"Dash fifteen. Your solution meets the requirements set forth in the initial outline. It will be passed on for further evaluation." In a lower voice, full of spite, he continued, "It is my personal opinion that you only thought of this fairy tale because you are a tuber and you lack any connection to the Commonwealth or its people. No real human would ever contemplate abandoning their homeworld under any circumstance."

"But that's what our forebears did," Khariton said quietly, blood draining from his face.

The director stood abruptly. "Get out of my sight." Khariton fled the room.

Khariton dove into the pool with a running start and pierced the water with hardly a splash. His momentum carried him close to the bottom, and almost clear to the other end. By the time he came up and cleared his eyes, his colleagues were barely making their own desultory entrances to the water.

The hour of swimming was mandatory, but Khariton would gladly volunteer if it wasn't, and the fact that he was alone in his enthusiasm had ceased to dampen it long ago. While he darted back and forth under the surface or came out to dive back in, the other analysts did slow laps or treaded water as they stared at the white walls.

Exercise softened the awful feeling the director had left him with, but couldn't erase it entirely. He wondered if it was true, that he lacked a fundamental connection with humanity, and that this was why he considered possibilities no natural human would. The thought pained him, but wouldn't that be a good thing in this case? Objectivity was the analyst's guiding principle, a concept Khariton had been taught to practice for as long as he could remember. He still couldn't understand why the director had been so angered by his solution, even though it was the only valid one. If survival of the species was at stake, then what did the director's feelings matter?

Hiding in a corner, one of his colleagues swallowed a pill. Seconds later, she closed her eyes with a smile and drifted away on her back. Khariton flipped upside down and swam for the bottom.

He heard a buzz in his ear, then a voice: "Dash fifteen, dry off and await an escort." He confirmed without thought before a tingle of worry started in his gut; the summons was likely related to the director's outburst.

By the time he stood between the dryers, having the water blasted off his skin, a man in guard greens waited for him by the exit. He hurried into his clothes and went to meet him.

The man had very little to say. "Follow me." He turned on his heels and marched away. Khariton lengthened his stride to keep up, trying to smooth his hair back.

Chapter Two

Azial watched the flame consume the dry flute tree leaf. The ink he'd used to draw his offering bubbled and boiled away into black tendrils of smoke, stinging his nose with the acrid smell. When the flame died and only ash remained on the blackwood tray, he took it outside and blew as hard as he could. The ashes rode the breeze into the sky and disappeared, escorted by approving murmurs from the waiting crowd.

He ignored them and went back inside, to the gentle, grassy odor of palm oil. His wife sat on the dirt floor of the hut, mending his armor. "Your chestplate is complaining about you," she said without looking up as she rubbed oil into the wood with a rag. "It says you take too many risks."

"Tell it I am lucky to have the protection of a strong and loyal chestplate. I honor its service."

Pirisati snorted. "Now your armor is satisfied. What about me?"

Azial kneeled before her and took her head in his hands. "I promise I will return safely." She looked up, and he studied her lined, brown face and her elegant, wide-set green eyes. Her hands put down their work and reached up to entwine behind his ears, brushing over the Vile talons tied into the braid she'd made for him. Their foreheads touched, and he felt her thick curls around his fingers as he breathed her smell.

If he'd had a choice, he would have stayed there. Instead, he moved his hands down her shoulders to her arms and slowly straightened. "Will you help me prepare?"

The thigh covers came first, four curved plates of boiled and treated blackwood bark that she tied front, back and either side to the belt that held up his breechcloth. The chest- and backplates hung from thick leather straps that looped over his shoulders to connect with his belt at the bottom. His shield, brand new after his last had snapped in half beneath a Vile's claws, hooked onto his backplate. Finally, she handed him his wrathblade, a forearm's length of curved, dull grey metal.

"Your son has news," Pirisati said as she tightened the straps. "Telal has chosen him to be apprenticed as a hunter."

"I knew he would."

"Musuri didn't." She straightened and looked him in the eyes. "He was worried, and now he is proud. Why aren't you?"

Azial frowned, not quite ready to remind her how many times they'd had this conversation before. "He's too easily pleased. He cheers with every step he takes. Why should I be proud that he'll be doing his duty for the tribe?"

"He has to cheer, because you won't," she insisted. "He wishes every day he'd been born as Sharyukin. He wants to be like you, and he knows he never will be. Now he's found a place, taken his first steps to becoming a man. When _will_ you celebrate his success?"

This time, he had an answer to satisfy her. "When he marries Tamzi, I'll make a grand offering to the Great Mother and Father. I'll hold a great celebration at the Sacred Circle, and invite all the tribes to witness their union."

He saw her waver between reactions, and choose the milder one even as her voice tightened: "You're happy with their courtship."

He'd given her an answer, and still she wasn't satisfied. "It's the greatest thing that could have happened. A sure sign of our ancestors' approval. Chief Balbasu would have objected by now if he saw a problem with their romance, and I intend to smooth the way any way I can when I see him at the summit."

She turned away to collect his bow. "Do you think they'll listen this time?"

He took it from her hand and braced it with his foot. With an effort, he grabbed the other end, and strung the bow with one fluid move. "I believe so." He hesitated, then took her hand and stood in front of her. "Their marriage will strengthen the bond between the Udaki and the Yahua. Balbasu will feel compelled to continue to support me, and that will matter to the other tribes. Our son will help protect the future of the Kith. That is truly worth celebrating."

She looked down and nodded, her expression thoughtful. "It will make him happy, I think," she said, not specifying whether she meant the marriage or its significance.

"I have to go," Azial said, placing the bow on a hook on the back of his armor.

When they emerged from the hut, the mass of people assembled in the village square gave a cheer. The crowd parted at Azial's approach, and Pirisati blended into it, finding the other Sharyukin mates. At the center, Chief Tihamtu of the Udaki tribe stood with his arms crossed, his jaguar crown and cape draped over his shoulders. His eyes glittered beneath the predator's teeth. At one side stood Merodakh, the medicine man, much shorter but an imposing figure nonetheless, covered in white ash from his shaved head down to his toes, and naked except for his red breechcloth. At the chief's other side, a clique of thirteen grizzled men and women surveyed the proceedings with grim expressions. The elders of the tribe viewed the conduct of their successors with unrelenting skepticism, and although Azial recognized the value of their traditional points of view, he was also glad to be leaving with Tihamtu instead of staying home and having to deal with them.

"Father!"

Azial cringed. Inside, he begged his son to stay back, but Musuri had already emerged from the crowd to walk beside him.

"Father, take me with you! I'm a hunter now, I can help!"

Was the boy really that arrogant? He looked down on Musuri, who held up his hunter's bow with a wild smile on his face. Seeing his usually dour son so animated sparked fear in him. If just being accepted for training made him so happy, why would he ever bother actually doing anything? "Holding a bow doesn't make you a hunter. Have you trained even one day yet? Have you killed even one animal for the tribe? Or do you think that, since you're my son, you don't have to do the work?" Musuri's smile fell away, replaced by the blank mask he so hated. "If you want to come along, take your bow and practice. Practice hard, and learn. Maybe one day, you'll be good enough to join the Chief's entourage. Now go."

Musuri didn't say another word as he fell behind and out of sight. Azial didn't look to see where he went. Maybe his words would spark some real ambition in the boy, but he had many doubts.

Concerns for another time. He entered the circle and stood before Tihamtu.

"Azial," the chief said. "Are the Sharyukin ready?"

Azial looked around the expectant crowd before turning to the group of armor-clad warriors selected to escort Tihamtu. "Udaki Sharyukin!" he bellowed. "Your chief asks if you are ready!"

Their answering cry shook the ground. Azial faced the chief. "We follow where you lead, Tihamtu." He bowed from the waist.

"Azial. Step forward," Merodakh said, his voice like grinding rock. Azial approached him and suppressed a grimace at the sight of the rolled-up leaf in the medicine man's hand. He drew steady breaths as he kneeled, and prayed his thundering heart stayed hidden beneath his armor. Merodakh reached out and gently lifted his chin. With the other hand, he held the leaf over Azial's eye. A drop of liquid fell.

Burning agony bored into his skull. He ground his teeth and sucked in air through his nose, fighting with all his strength to stay still and silent. Another drop fell in his other eye. Tears streamed down his cheeks.

Merodakh put a hand on his shoulder and patted gently. "Good," he muttered. "You're strong, Azial. You did well. A good example."

Azial wiped away his tears and stood. The world around him had changed. Every edge was sharp as obsidian, all the colors vibrant and loud, the shadows no longer opaque. "For your gift, Merodakh, I thank you." He bowed and came to stand beside the chief.

One by one, the other Sharyukin approached and received the same treatment. Most gave a single, grated curse; a few stayed silent. When the last bowed and stepped aside, the chief raised his scepter high into the air. The crowd hastily cleared a path, revealing the gate in the bamboo wall surrounding the village. At Azial's hand signal, the Sharyukin spread out in front and behind the chief and his entourage. When he lowered his scepter, the group moved as one, except for Merodakh. The medicine man began a deep, rolling chant as the Sharyukin parted around him, and Azial felt his heart join the rhythm. The power in the song would stay with them through the journey.

At the wall, four men untied the braided vines to either side of the gate and pulled. Slowly, the gate tilted outward, revealing the trees beyond the wall. A single whoop rose from the forest, starting low, then rising smoothly before cutting off abruptly. Another came in answer, a high tone plummeting low before swinging up into a sudden stop. When the group passed through the gate, dozens of wails echoed back and forth.

A smile welled up from Azial's heart. He gave another signal, and all but four of the Sharyukin leaped up and disappeared into the thick canopy overhead. The gate slammed shut behind the last of Tihamtu's entourage.

As the trail turned downward, Azial said, "Tihamtu, I will go to see the road ahead." The chief gave a nod and Azial sped off, sprinting among the trees. Without thought or effort, his feet cleared logs and boughs, every lightning step firm and sure. His head snapped around at a glimpse of motion to his side. A brown- and white-furred gibbon swung from branch to branch, keeping pace as it watched him go. Azial grinned and let out his best approximation of the animal's call. It threw its head back and echoed it before swinging up and out of sight.

All the omens were good. The rest was up to him.

*****

Seruya crouched on a branch hidden by the leaves, toying with one of the talons tied in her hair as she watched the two young Sharyukin on the trail below share uncertain glances. Moments later, the source of their discomfort came into view: a group of five loud men, four struggling to pull a loaded, big-wheeled cart over the roots and branches on the trail. They wore wide-brimmed hats and heavy clothes stained with sweat, tied off at the wrist and tucked into thick boots. Their broad belts held the usual mess of objects she couldn't begin to imagine a purpose for, and each carried one of the thundering tubes the loud men called guns on a strap around their shoulders. She wondered how they hadn't passed out yet.

One came ahead of the others, cautiously approaching the pair of tan warriors. "I greet you, great warriors of the Kith!"

The two gave no reply.

"We want to trade with you. Things we value in exchange for things you value. Everyone is happier!"

The last time she'd heard a loud man speak the language of the Kith, he'd known a handful of words at most. Who was teaching them?

The taller of the two warriors waved an arm, as if to drive off a hornet. "You have to leave. This is not your land."

The trader made a placating gesture with his hands. "As you say, friend, as you say. You are masters here and we would never defy you."

Seruya rolled her eyes.

"But in the interests of friendship, I couldn't leave without offering you the opportunity to own one of... these!" He'd turned back to his cart and now pulled out a wooden contraption. It looked like a small bow tied to a stick, with handles on the side. "As warriors, you will love this." He shouldered the device and faced to the side. With a snap, a stubby missile flew out to strike a small tree. The trader turned back to the pair and spread his arms. "What did I tell you?"

At that range, an experienced Sharyukin with a killing bow could pierce the same tree entirely. The two below were not experienced, and quickly betrayed their interest. Seruya moved from her perch and jumped across two boughs to settle just above the group of traders. From her new vantage point, she examined the contents of the cart. Her mood darkened. Inside were stoneware, hides, bows, and jugs of palm oil, all made by the Kith. More of the weapons the trader had demonstrated sat in neat stacks, next to long, straight knives that resembled the wrathblades in length and thickness. Guns were only found in their hands.

"That is a fine blade, friend! May I see it more closely?"

She watched with growing disquiet as the young Sharyukin brought out his weapon. "Do not touch!" he snapped as the trader reached for it. The other man stepped back and raised his hands, then laughed. "So tender, friend! I intend no disrespect. Here, take one of my weapons. Examine it, see its parts move."

Seruya didn't miss the speaker's brief hand signal to the other loud men. While the young warrior took the weapon and turned it over, the one mostly hidden behind the cart reached in to retrieve a mass of rope. The rope turned out to be a pair of nets as the man handed one to a companion. They edged forward as the speaker directed the attention of the Sharyukin back to the tree he'd shot, and away from the danger.

Shifting her weight, Seruya slipped down from the branch. Her feet made no sound as she landed in a crouch among the traders, her hair settling with a whisper to hide her body. The loud men all faced outward, but the two Sharyukin had noticed her. She heard the catch in their breath when they turned, the trader's puzzled "What's wrong, friend?" and finally the curses and scuffing feet when the loud men saw her. She raised her head and stared from beneath her thick black curls at the one who had spoken. "I know you," she said. "I know your kind. I know why you come. I am why you fail. I am how you die."

The one behind her acted first, aiming to throw the net over her. He lost his arm to her blade before he realized it. The limb fell in the dirt next to the net, fingers twitching. He drew breath to scream, but died before he could, his spine severed at the neck as Seruya slipped past him. She moved like a shadow among her victims, a wrathblade in each hand. Only one managed to take a wild shot that went nowhere, and he lost his life with the next heartbeat.

Even before the last body fell, she put her blades away and advanced on her petrified brethren.

"Th-the Banished," the taller one muttered, his eyes wide with fear. "They said you weren't real."

She yanked the traders' weapon out of his hand. "For this?" she spat. "For this toy, you surrender your honor? The gift that kept our people alive?"

"I wouldn't agree to the trade!" he said, his voice high. "I didn't let him touch it!"

"You were tempted," she said with disdain, "and you didn't even notice they were about to take you!" She hurled the weapon aside to shatter against a tree. "What are your names?"

The taller warrior drew himself up. "I am Engur, of the Nin-muk."

His companion tried to glare at her, but his fear turned it into a grimace. "Makru."

After a moment's hard stare, she drew her blades and presented them, still wet with the traders' blood. "You are young warriors, so you seek strength. That's normal. But maybe now you see: nothing these noisy pigs bring can compare to a master Sharyukin. You can't trade your honor for power. You must keep your honor, live by it, and then you gain power." She put her weapons away. "You are here for the summit?"

Furtive nods.

"Go there now, and wait outside the Circle. Be ready to admit your shame. I'll find you."

They looked at each other. Makru lifted his chin. "You don't command us—"

She slapped him hard, snapping his head around and sending him stumbling. She followed and hit him twice more. "If I don't see you at the summit, it had better be because you're dead!" she yelled in his ear. "Don't make me come find you!"

While the youngsters scampered off, she walked back to the carnage. Two fingers twirled one of the talons tied in her hair as she considered what kind of trophy would make the most impact at the summit.

A leaf twitched at the edge of her vision. All other considerations dissolved as she spun around, blades freed. A Vile hung upside down from the same bough she had jumped over earlier, sap leaking from the holes made by its claws. While motionless, its skin perfectly matched the textures and colors of the tree. Only its dull black eyes betrayed it.

She frowned. "Why don't you attack me, monster?"

It watched her for another moment, then disappeared, moving silently in spite of its bulk.

She lowered her weapons and stared after it. Once again, a Vile had come close and failed to attack. Another reason to visit the summit.

She took the head of one of her victims, and set out at a fast pace. It had been a long time since she'd last been among her people. They wouldn't be happy to hear her words, but she'd never let that stop her before.

Chapter Three

"We can't continue. We have to turn back. Now, while we still have a ship left."

Miron looked at Borya, but his hollow expression remained fixed on the tabletop and he gave no response. They sat in the conference room, faces drawn and haggard in the crimson light, the original purpose of the meeting forgotten after Gervasi's arguments.

"It's been barely a week and the crew can take no more," Gervasi continued. "No one has slept. The ship is falling apart. If we turn around now and send an—"

"Master Second, I am not terminating our assignment," Miron cut in. "You can stop wasting your breath because it's not going to happen. The ship and her crew are secondary concerns as long as we retain a chance of success."

Hate flashed across her face, and her bloodshot eyes narrowed. "There is no chance, Commander. Even if, by some miracle, we make it to our destination, we will lose the battle when the enemy catches up to us. We can't fight if our weapons don't work. We can't work if we've lost our minds."

Miron let his contempt seep into his voice: "Speaking for myself, Master Second, my mind is exactly where it ought to be. For your part, I might well believe that the stress is becoming too much for you. I can't think of any other reason why you would continue to argue with a superior officer after he's made his decision."

Gervasi's nostrils flared and color briefly returned to her cheeks. "Maybe it's because the last time you sacrificed—"

Borya slammed his fist into the table, leaning forward. He pointed at her. "Shut up. I didn't let you sit in so you could be insubordinate. Are you refusing to follow orders? Tell me now, so I can deal with you."

Trembling, she answered, "I go where I'm sent, sir. And I do what I'm told."

Borya pulled back, some of the anger fading away. "If that ever changes, I will be there."

The door opened. Talent Ilari walked in, her face hollow and one hand entangled in her brown hair. She stopped when she saw Miron. "I'm sorry," she said in a hoarse voice. "Master, I need to talk to you." She looked around, eyes never still.

Borya glanced at Miron. "You are out of line, Talent."

Ilari bit her finger. "Please," she whispered.

Miron got up. "We can attend to discipline later, Ship Master. I think we were done here, in any case." He left the room, Gervasi right behind him. She passed him on the way out of Control. Once they were out of sight, she turned on him. "I haven't forgotten, Commander. I was there, on the _Adamant_. You were wrong. They died for nothing. I'm not going to let you do it again."

Her words cut into him. Images flashed in his mind, of trapped fleet hands dying slowly, screams echoing in his ears. He fought back the anger, what he really wanted to say to her, and gave a cold smile instead. "You're not qualified to judge me. You don't even have your own crew yet. What could someone like you possibly understand about real responsibility? You're like a child, so sure you know better than your parents. Run along, Gervasi. Run Borya's ship for him. He'll fix whatever you screw up." He walked past, knocking her aside with his shoulder. Part of him realized that what he'd just done was irrevocable, that this woman would now hate him until the end of her days. The rest of him relished that knowledge. Let the worthless bitch stew. He didn't need her, and neither did anyone else.

Regardless of her shortcomings, her point about the upcoming battle was well taken. He decided to see for himself the status of the ship and her crew.

After taking the stairs down two decks and passing a pressure door, he found an open access hatch with tools sitting outside. He ducked and stuck his head inside to find an engineer in yellow overalls and two fleet guards working in one of the railgun ammunition magazines. The three men squatted in various positions over the massive rotary construction that fed projectiles from the magazines into the ammunition lifts. They had augmented the red overhead lights with several portable work lights, and between the equipment and themselves, little space remained.

"How goes the work?" he said.

All three men stopped working and looked at him. Deep, dark circles ringed their eyes, and their dirty faces were pale and hollow. After meeting their stares for a few seconds while his blood pressure rose, he said: "I don't know what shocks you about seeing me, and I don't really care. Now kindly update me on the nature and status of your work before I have Borya censure you all."

The engineer cleared his throat. "I apologize, Commander. The last time someone visited us, it wasn't them. If you know what I mean."

Realization tightened the grip on his gut. "I understand. What are you working on?"

"The autoloaders keep getting jammed, sir. We clear the jam, get out with everything working, and with the first test, the thing locks up again."

"What causes the jams?"

"Debris, misalignment. Power failure. Anything that makes these things screw up. You'd think they could try fucking with some other system for a change!" He spoke the last sentence to no one in particular, glaring around the tight space.

Miron understood the need for bravado and let the profanity slide. "Think of it this way, crewman. At least we know what their priorities are. We have a long way to go still. Plenty of time to get the upper hand." He gave a nod. "Carry on."

He withdrew from the hatch and walked back the way he came, but passed the staircase and kept going. The corridor stretched out before him, steel-blue bulkheads painted red by the lights in the overhead.

In between blinks, a person appeared, still some distance away. His steps slowed as he got closer. Most of the woman's orange vacsuit had fused with her body. Her hair was gone, and her skin had blackened and cracked open, revealing the texture of cooked meat underneath. She stood still, staring with her remaining eye, and despite the damage, he recognized her features. The wounds on his chest itched, mocking him, and his breathing quickened as he fought the panic that threatened to make him run back to the men working in the compartment behind him.

He squeezed his eyes shut. _That is not her. She's not really here._

Eyes open, he resumed walking, hands squeezed into fists. Halting before the apparition, he looked up and met its cold stare. "Ilya died in service to the Commonwealth," he said through the lump in his throat. "There are worse fates for fleet crew." He stepped forward. Resistance like a stiff breeze, then he passed through and she was gone.

Nice try.

Turning the corner into sick bay, the smell of disinfectant already drifting through his nostrils, Miron almost collided with a fleet hand. The woman gave a hasty salute with a muttered apology before beating a furtive withdrawal. As he entered the compartment, he found Doctor Rurik resealing the drug locker. When the thin, long-limbed man turned around, he caught sight of Miron. The somber face beneath the short-cropped grey hair didn't change. "Good afternoon, Commander. Are you ill or injured?"

"No. I came to see what you can tell me about the crew. Have you had any patients, besides the one that just ran into me?"

"A few dozen."

"Is that a joke? _Tenacious_ only carries forty-two."

Cold, blue eyes held his own for another second before sliding down to the tablet in Rurik's hands. "Humor is beyond me these days, sir. I haven't seen you down here. Or the Ship Master. Chief Ludmila. Chief Zakhar. There are one or two others, but we have seen everyone else."

"What do they come in for?"

"Sleep aids. That is, that's what I give them. There is nothing else for what they suffer."

Miron glanced at the drug locker. "How is your supply?"

Rurik looked up. "In the chaos of our rushed departure, we only received the basic allotment of medications for a ship this size. The sedative portion of that allotment ran out two days ago. To answer your question, my supply is fine, because I raided the dockyard sick bay fifteen minutes before we left."

Miron breathed deeply, the vise around his chest loosening. "Well done, Doctor."

"I didn't tell you so you'd compliment me. What Fleet Command calls the 'basic allotment' is an embarrassment during any number of common calamities. This isn't my first assignment, Commander, and it isn't the first time I've had the privilege of serving without a ghost shield. On the _Dauntless_ , we ran out of sedatives on the fourth day. I started giving them other drugs, heavy stuff mean to forestall organ failure and such, but with sedative side effects. Some died from it, but it didn't matter. They wanted it anyway." He paused to sip from a cup on his desk. "In the end, half that crew butchered each other. That didn't have to happen. All they needed was sleep." He faced Miron again. "On the off chance that you live to be debriefed, I'm telling you this so that you can recommend some changes."

Miron nodded slowly. "I don't intend to fail here, Doctor, and I expect to survive long enough to pass on your recommendation. With my emphatic support."

Rurik stared, his expression unsure. "I thank you, Commander."

Miron left the man with that, finding his lie easy to live with. Better to let him believe a stubborn and out-of-touch leadership refused to do the obvious than to punish him with the knowledge that raw materials for medications were running out, with no prospects for new sources. The former at least left hope that a change in leadership could offer relief.

A soon as the door opened, the rhythmic drumming of heavy machinery engulfed Miron. Beyond the door, the corridor turned into a causeway connected to a platform surrounding the massive MPD thruster that propelled the ship at sub-light speeds and provided main power for the ship's systems. A glance over the railing revealed the lower level, populated with several clusters of machinery and the monolithic domed structure that generated the displacement fields needed for faster-than-light travel. A handful of yellow-clad engineers moved among them, making adjustments.

He breathed the rich smell of lubricants and electricity, exciting a younger part of himself that had persisted in spite of the harsh years. The noise intensified as he crossed the causeway.

Where the causeway met the platform, stairs to either side led to the levels above and below. Just beyond, the engine casing and the massive control panel and display that covered it blocked the way ahead. Two women dressed in black-smeared yellow engineers' overalls leaned over it, the stockier one pointing at different parts of the three-dimensional diagram of the engine on the display and bellowing instructions. When she half-turned, he recognized Chief Ludmila's square features. After mutual nods, the other engineer sped off up the stairs to the right while Ludmila returned her attention to the display. He came up to stand beside her and raised his voice: "Chief."

The first look she gave seemed intended to frighten off anyone who didn't have pressing business to discuss. When she recognized who stood beside her, she faced him. "Commander. Is there something you need?"

Her tone made it clear she'd rather be working than wasting time humoring a senior officer. "An update on the ship's status. I know you report to Borya, but right now you report to me."

Her weathered, ochre-toned face settled in stubborn lines. She looked away and ran a dirty hand through her short brown curls, leaving a black trail. Her shoulders drooped when she said, "We can't fix things as quickly as the floaters can break them. Adding to that, too much wasn't done when we left." She raised a hand and counted with her fingers as she continued: "We've got no ammo feed. No Lancer cannon. Limited sub-light maneuver control. No long-distance transmitter. Not much of a power grid. As of about half an hour ago, no food processors; the crew can eat raw wrack and I need that circuitry for more important things—" She caught herself and glanced around before giving him an intense look. "They're smart," she said, barely loud enough to be heard over the engine noise. "But not too smart. And they'll never know this ship like I do."

An orange light on the control panel came on, accompanied by an urgent buzz. She muttered under her breath and stepped past him. As he turned to follow her, he noticed an engineer who had been working on one of the power distribution nodes below now sat slumped over the control panel. A moment's concern evaporated as an audible snore rose above the noise. He stepped up to the railing, prepared to bellow a call to attention the man would remember for the rest of his days.

"Commander, wait!"

Ludmila appeared next to him. She met his incredulous stare with an even look. "Anisim hasn't slept since the red lights came on. He's resistant to the sedatives somehow. Rather than stare at the overhead or play Tactics, he's been working double shifts ever since." She looked down at the man. "They're not going to let him sleep long, anyway. I'm not going to ruin what little he gets."

He eyed her for another second before deciding she was probably right. "How is the distortion drive? And the core, for that matter?"

"The drive is fine. Thank quadruple redundancies for that. We can travel, as long as we have core power. As for that, you'll have to ask Chief Nazar."

He frowned. "You have no idea?"

"I'm still getting power, and the current is steady." She glanced at the door separating the engine room from the core chamber. "He stays in there and does his job, I stay out here and do mine. We don't need to talk to keep the ship going." She muttered something else, too soft to defeat the noise, that seemed to include profanity. He didn't like dealing with core crew any more than she did, so he didn't ask.

"What do you need to be more effective?"

She replied without hesitation: "More hands. Trained or otherwise. I need people."

"And all the fleet guards are already working with you, correct?"

An impatient nod.

"All right. Where do you want me to start?"

Ten back-breaking hours later, Miron stood before Ludmila again and finished updating her on the work he'd done. Her expression had changed much from the first time they'd spoken. "Thank you, Commander. Dunyasha said you did good work. Will we see you again tomorrow?"

"Count on it," Miron said, even as his muscles throbbed at the thought of another shift probing Tenacious's systems. His mind felt crippled and sluggish, demanding his full attention even for basic tasks.

Ludmila hesitated. "I appreciate what you did today, sir. So does the engineering crew."

Miron nodded. In truth, he valued the work because it would help him sleep, but he'd figured morale would get a boost from his contributions. If Borya needed him, he knew to call. "I'll see you tomorrow."

The day's work had allowed him to put off visiting another department. He considered waiting until tomorrow, but he could already tell what state of mind his aching muscles would put him in when he woke up. Best to get it over with.

He departed the engine room through a pressure door two levels below the main access. After a short hallway and another pressure door, he emerged into a large compartment.

"Please shut the door."

The power core dominated the space, a pulsing light-blue orb wrapped in a metal coil. It hung within a transparent sphere, suspended from the tall overhead by thick supports. A thin probe penetrated the outer sphere to connect with the orb's surface. The thick coil around the core uncurled at the top and bottom to disappear into the bulkhead.

A Core Operator stood at a control station, staring at the rhythmic light. He didn't acknowledge Miron's presence beyond the words he'd spoken.

Miron did as he'd been asked, though the man's toneless request rankled him. "I need to open it to come in at all. And you are to address me as 'sir' or 'Commander.' What's your name?"

"My apologies, Commander. I didn't realize it was you. The light from the corridor makes it difficult to track the changes in core emissions. I am Core Chief Nazar."

Miron remained standing just inside the room. The Core Chief's control station was one of three spaced evenly around the core. The outer bulkheads held larger displays that showed three-dimensional images of the PRISM core with various overlays. The red lights indicating the presence of incorporeals were reduced here to a single indicator over each door.

"How is your equipment?"

"The core is operating at peak efficiency, sir. It will continue to do so." The man's hands twitched in the control gloves, the only move he'd made since Miron entered.

Miron frowned. "You've suffered no interference?"

"Yes, sir, we have. Floaters change the core control settings whenever they can. It causes the output to drop. That's why we're always watching. Maintaining a steady flow requires constant observation and adjustments under any conditions. With incorporeals on board, a lapse in diligence could mean an immediate drop in power, even sufficient to cut the FTL drive."

Reluctantly, Miron came to stand beside the Core Operator. "How about your people? Are they sleeping? How are they holding up?"

Nazar pointed at a far corner of the compartment. Miron had to look twice before noticing the blanket-wrapped figure lying on the floor. "They are doing fine, Commander. In here, the ghosts concentrate only on sabotage. They have a singular interest in our power core."

He glanced at Nazar, wondering if the man knew the truth about the equipment he operated. "Glad to hear it. I'll let you concentrate on your work."

Miron was halfway to the door on the other side of the compartment when Nazar spoke again: "We have much faith in you down here, Commander. The core crew knows your reputation."

He wheeled. "And what does that mean, Nazar?"

"You know what this ship means to the enemy," the Core Chief said, one corner of his mouth turned up. "You'll keep it safe."

Miron's restrained discomfort had left him eager for a legitimate outburst. "I don't care for your tone, Chief, or your assumptions. We all have a job to do, and we're going to do it, regardess of the cost. Everything else is expendable, including the ship. Have faith in that."

He didn't look back as he walked to the exit. In the moment before the door slid open, he thought he saw Nazar's face reflected in the gleaming surface, now staring after him. He suppressed a shiver and fled into the corridor.

*****

"Aren't you excited?" Shura asked.

Kirill shook his head, staring at his feet dangling between the legs of his waiting room chair.

"It's your benchmark tests. Today we're going to see how well you're doing. Don't you want to see Doctor Ermolei again?"

"No. He doesn't like me anymore."

She wanted to press, but couldn't summon the energy. She sat back and tried to avoid looking at the motivational posters. Kirill had been increasingly morose the past few days, and dragging him to the infirmary had sorely tested her patience.

The door to the examination room opened and an orderly invited them in. Kirill didn't resist being placed on the table.

"The doctor will be here shortly," the orderly said on her way out the door. "He's had to cover a lot of other shifts now, so we're a bit behind." Shura had no idea what she was talking about, but decided she could ask Ermo instead.

"I'm scared," Kirill said, still refusing to look up.

She kneeled before him. "Kiri, what's wrong? You've been down all week. What's the matter?"

Finally he looked at her. Concern wrinkled his face. "Smiley says I have to be brave, but I don't want to."

She gave him her best loving smile as she tried to dismiss the worry that took root in her gut. "It's okay, cub. Being brave isn't as hard as it seems. Sometimes it's actually easier than being afraid."

She could tell she didn't reach him. "Smiley wants me to tell you something."

Her smile shrank a little. "What's that?"

"It wasn't your fault."

Before she could ask what he meant, the door opened. She rose to greet the doctor.

A different doctor.

The man closed the door behind him. "Busy morning to you. How is Kirill doing today?"

She stood between him and her son. "Where is Doctor Ermolei?" she asked, trying to keep her tone neutral.

He stopped and looked up from his tablet. "I thought everybody had heard. Ermolei was collected by the auditors yesterday. We were told not to expect him back."

The ground beneath her seemed to fall away. She'd been working field assignments all week. No chance to share gossip. "What happened?"

The doctor shrugged. "They didn't say much, other than they'd be back to interview some people." He checked his tablet again, then looked up with a smile. "In any case, my name is Tikhon, and I'll be administering Kirill's benchmark tests. How is he feeling?"

Shura didn't answer, fighting to keep her calm and find a way out. An idea sprang up in her mind and she seized it. She looked away and lifted one finger to forestall more words from the doctor as she faked a look of concentration. After a few seconds, she shook her head. "I'm sorry, Doctor, it looks like it's not going to happen today. I just got a message and I need to get to work. Right now. It's... imp—Urgent." She gave him a long-suffering look and fought to keep from swallowing. "Not the first time. We'll just reschedule."

Tikhon gave a slow nod. "Of course. Have a productive day."

She could tell he was suspicious of her, but she didn't care; she had to get out of there first, and she rushed Kirill out the door and down the hall by one hand. She walked as fast as she could, avoiding eye contact with anyone she encountered, and made it to the apartment without incident. After the door slid closed behind her, she leaned against it and let Kirill go. She covered her face with her hands and tried to slow her breathing, only to find that she couldn't. Why was Ermolei audited? Was it because of what they did? Were they coming here next? Would they take Kirill away from her? She struggled to force her mind to slow down, but the same thoughts kept repeating, driving her deeper and deeper into despair.

The door buzzer snapped her out of it. She spun around and backed away, knowing, with dread certainty, that whoever stood on the other side of the door was here because of Ermolei.

Kirill stood with his arms crossed and his hands on his shoulders, staring up at her with fearful eyes. "Aman, I don't like that man."

She didn't try to smile, afraid to fail and scare him more. "It's okay, cub. Someone's just coming to see me. Why don't you sit at the table here." She guided him to the table in front of the window with the courtyard view and put him in a chair. From his play corner, she took a grey lump of modeling clay. "Play with your clay while aman is talking, okay?" She kissed his forehead, hoping he wouldn't notice her shaking. "Everything's going to be okay."

The door buzzed again, twice in a row. Her mind blank and nausea churning her stomach, she went to open it.

On the other side stood two men, both dressed in the burgundy uniforms of the auditors. The broad one stood with his back to her, but the one facing her drew all her attention. His gaunt frame stood no taller than she did, but the hard grey eyes in his wide, hollow face still appeared to look down on her from beneath his thinning, but neatly combed dark hair. "I am Auditor Koldan. Are you Shura dash one-two-one?"

"That's me."

He offered a thin smile. "I will be taking some of your time to discuss Doctor Ermolei."

She didn't move. "Does it have to be now? I was just called into work."

"It does have to be now. Your supervisors will understand."

Out of ideas, she stepped back to allow him to enter. He left his companion outside and walked to the middle of the middle of the room, surveying the space. "Is that your son? What was his name, Kirill?"

"Just Kiri sometimes." She had no idea why she said that.

He approached her son, and she hurried to follow. Kirill had molded his clay into a rough shape Shura recognized as one of his usual creations. He glanced at her, then looked up at the visitor.

"What are you making?" Koldan asked him.

"A spaceship," Kirill answered quietly.

"Why?"

"Because I like them."

Koldan crouched beside him. "I used to make things from clay. Like you. I was good at it, because I spent a lot of time on it. My father was a chief in the fleet, so he wasn't home very often. One day, my mother told me his ship had been lost. He was hurt, and he would be coming home soon, to stay for a while. I went to my clay and I worked for days to make him a model of his ship. I made sure that everything about it was perfect. When he finally came home, I gave it to him. Do you know what he did?"

Looking down at the auditor, Kirill shook his head.

"He took it, and he threw it against the wall. Splat! Then he took me aside and beat me. Do you know why he did that?"

This time, Kirill nodded, but Koldan didn't seem to notice: "While he was fighting for us, I was playing with clay, getting better at it. But playing with clay doesn't help anyone. I was doing nothing. Just wasting time, when I could have been learning something, or getting stronger. Do you understand?"

Kirill nodded again. Koldan stood up, a glimmer of contempt on his face. "You're not doing him any favors, letting him play like that. You don't want him to end up being useless. He should be playing Tactics with other kids."

She looked down and bit her lip as she nodded.

He sat down in the center of the white, semi-circular couch, forcing her to sit at the edge. "Doctor Ermolei has been abusing his medical authority to support activity harmful to the Commonwealth. Are you aware that he tampered with prenatal test results, allowing defective fetuses to finish gestation? Or that he continued to alter their test results after they were born, ensuring they escaped detection and correction?

Shura felt the blood drain from her face. "That's... horrible," she managed, looking away and trying to disguise her fear as shock. "No, I had no idea."

He watched her for a while. "What was your relationship with Doctor Ermolei like?"

He knew, the bastard. He knew everything already. All this was just to get an early confession.

She almost told him everything then, but for a glance at Kirill. He'd been watching them, distress plain on his face, and when she looked, he gave her a single shake of his head. She didn't know how much he'd understood, but there was no mistaking the plea in his eyes. Somehow, she faced Koldan and tried to affect a frown. "What do you mean?"

He sat back and lifted a hand. After a moment's inspection, he lowered it and started picking at the skin around his nails with his other hand. "Apparently, he had intimate relationships with several women in this community whose children he failed to correct. It appears that these women were unaware that they were not the only ones he was intimate with." He leaned forward. "Were you intimate with Doctor Ermolei?"

"No!" The lie burst out like a reflex, triggering a wave of adrenaline. After that, the rest came easily. "Of course not. He was just our doctor. Kirill liked him, and it's hard enough to get him to do anything. I had no idea anything was wrong."

"Hm." Koldan nodded and sat back again. "Of course, you understand that any parents who collaborated with him will be subject to very severe treatment in order to discover everything they know about the crime. And that's prior to being censured. The Commonwealth has laws to ensure our continued survival, and their violation has to be met with serious consequences." He looked again at the hand he'd been picking at and raised it to his mouth, biting at the loose skin.

In spite of herself, Shura said, "What's going to happen to him?"

"I can't say for sure. After he has confessed his crimes in detail, he will likely be attached to High Risk Operations and expended."

She recalled their last conversation in his office, Ermo's admission and his breakdown in combat, and fought to distract her emotions. She wasn't ready to deal with her feelings for him.

"You seem distressed. If there is something you want to confess, I can guarantee you there will be no better time for you than now."

Realization rode on a sharp breath to flood her body. All this time, she'd been waiting for her lie to explode in her face. Now she knew, with a wild surge of relief, that he wasn't sure yet. He'd hoped she would give herself away, but he didn't have enough reason to collect her. Not yet.

She shot him a glare. "Yes, I'm distressed. Work called half an hour ago and I'm sitting here talking to you instead of getting ready to go. Since you knew my son's name, I assume you know where I work?"

He nodded. "Communications Network Maintenance."

"Then I'm sure you understand that if they called me to go in, it's probably urgent. Is there anything else you wanted to ask me?"

His eyebrows raised, he inspected his mangled fingers. "No, I think we are done for now."

She stood and preceded him to the door. Once outside, he half-turned and said, "If I think of anything else, I will call on you." That thin smile again, then he was gone, his silent compatriot following him down the hallway.

Chapter Four

Khariton's wet hair felt cold on his head as his escort led him through the complex, passing through several sets of secured doors. Traffic became more sparse after each one. When the man finally stopped, it was before a large door flanked by two other guards and marked "Supreme Command Conference Room - No Unauthorized Access." His escort muttered something under his breath. After a moment, the door slid open. "Enter." Khariton did as he was told.

The room could hold well over a hundred, with tall ceilings making it seem even larger, but only five people awaited him. Three men and two women sat or stood around a massive display unit commanding the center of the room, each wearing a light blue version of the standard military uniform. Off to the side, he saw clusters of access terminals, and a large table with several dozen chairs and another large display unit.

"Khariton, come on in." The man who spoke underscored his greeting with a smile and a jovial arm wave. His smile was an easy one, despite deep lines on his wide, bronze cheeks, and white streaks in his black hair and the thin, perfect beard that lined his jaw. The ones that had been seated now stood, and the five formed a semi-circle as he approached.

"I'm sure you have some idea of where you are and who we are, but I think introductions are in order nonetheless. I'm Prokhor. This is Pelageya." He indicated a stocky, white-haired woman. She leaned forward with her hands behind her back, and tilted her head before offering a firm nod.

"Arsenim." The balding man stood hunched over, head trust forward as he examined Khariton. His face, all angles and sharp lines, held no warmth or welcome. The former head of the Core Guild was the latest addition to the upper five, chosen by the other four after Supreme Commander Odet's ship exploded in transit.

"Makari." Tall and severe, with soft grey hair framing her heart-shaped, golden face, the woman gave him a slow, deliberate nod.

"And this is Irakliy."

Strong-jawed and powerfully built, the Commonwealth's highest authority stood taller than anyone in the room. His age showed in the lines on his sand-colored cheeks and the bright white hair he kept in a ponytail, but his posture was straight and his eyes full of calm strength. "Welcome," he said, his voice deep and strong. "It's good to meet you in person. You're here because we have a job in mind for you, an important one. We're going to give you some background information first, and then we'll tell you what we hope you'll do for us. Shall we sit?"

Irakliy led the way to the display unit in the center of the room and sat in one of the chairs around it. The others followed his example, and Khariton took the seat Prokhor indicated for him.

"Do you need anything? Food or drink?" Irakliy said as he slid into his seat.

Khariton felt like he was in a dream. "No, sir."

"Good. Then let's get started. Prokhor, do you want to go ahead?"

Prokhor slid his hands into the control gloves in his chair and activated the display before them. A color-coded star map materialized in the air, portraying the Commonwealth's five inhabited worlds and thirty-seven strongholds alongside separate frames with long lists of data about military units, natural resources and industry, population and social statistics, economic projections, and other subjects Khariton couldn't immediately identify.

"What you see before you is the Commonwealth, by and large. If you were to examine this long enough, I'm sure you would figure out everything I'm about to tell you, but I'll speed things up a bit. Simply out, we stand on the edge of defeat. Over the past year, we have lost eight fortified outposts and three colonized worlds―more than we lost in the hundred years before that. The titans, the backbone of the fleet, have suffered severe losses. Only fifty-three remain operational, out of seventy-four just over a year ago. Both of these disasters can be attributed to a change in the enemy's tactics―a change that eliminated an advantage we had been exploiting since the first years of the war." Prokhor's tone was calm and matter-of-fact, but Khariton noted an undercurrent of deep tension.

"What do you know about the PRISM cores that power the titans?" Pelageya asked him.

"Perpetual Resiliency Incitement and Sublimation Mechanism," Khariton replied automatically. "They were built before the Exodus as the product of reverse engineering technology salvaged from a crashed floater ship. The research was lost in the evacuation, and we haven't managed to duplicate it." He hesitated. "May I ask a question?"

Pelageya nodded.

"By studying captured alien technology, we designed and built a revolutionary power source that is essentially inexhaustible. According to records, this took place over a few decades. Yet in almost a thousand years since, with the benefit of working examples designed by our own species, we haven't been able to understand the technology well enough to build more. That is highly improbable. Is it true?"

She glanced at Arsenim, who ignored her and kept his dour gaze on Khariton. "You're not the only one to notice the incongruity. The official story is as you told it, but no, it isn't true. The truth is a lot less kind, to everyone." She leaned forward, resting her elbows on the counter before her, and folded her hands. "Khariton, given your line of work, you understand the need for discretion. What I'm about to tell you, you may never repeat outside this room. Do you understand?"

"Yes, ma'am."

"We did not build the PRISM cores. We stole them. And they were never meant to be used as power sources." She paused and searched his face. He saw compassion in hers, mixed with anxiety; she didn't know how he would respond to her words. She said, "They are cocoons. Floater cocoons. Each holds the essence of a few dozen of their kind. It's how they transition from their incorporeal phase to the physical. Floaters repeat this cycle without end, as far as we've been able to tell. They are born into a physical body, they live until the body dies, then they exist as incorporeal entities until they are born again." She sat back. "When the floater ship crashed on Nadir, our ancestors either didn't realize, or chose to ignore, that the cocoons were a form of life. Tests revealed that they repaired themselves when damaged, generating vast amounts of energy in the process. Once they found a way to harness that energy, they finally had enough power to work around the light speed barrier. We don't know why the floaters took almost a hundred years to show up and try to get their cocoons back, but by then, we'd navigated the stars and colonized other worlds, and we weren't willing to give that up. They were tougher than we thought; they drove us off Nadir. The rest you know."

Khariton nodded slowly as new information filled in the gaps in his knowledge. Questions that had bothered him for years found answers as the cases he'd worked on filed through his mind. "This change in tactics you mentioned refers to the floaters' recent willingness to destroy our titans. I noted the enemy's proclivity for capture once, but I was told not to speculate on the subject."

"It was our only edge," Makari said in a silvery voice. "Because we knew the enemy didn't want our titans destroyed any more than we did, we were able to hold them hostage against the enemy. They would try to board and capture them, which exposed their forces. We've spared no effort making this hard for them, and we've considered the possibility that those efforts are what drove them to abandon board-and-capture tactics in some situations."

Prokhor cut in, "But the reality is that we've been developing new technologies since the war started, and none of those were ever enough to make the floaters give up on recovering their cocoons. For whatever reason, as of about a year ago, they seem to have finally decided to end the war at any cost. And we're finding out, after centuries of fooling ourselves, that we can't stand up to the floaters in an even fight."

"It certainly seems catastrophic," Khariton said.

Prokhor cleared his throat. "It's actually much worse than that. The military aspect is only part of the picture. Our civilization is utterly exhausted. We've enacted every credible resource-saving measure to support our military operations. We even grow babies in labs, because our people aren't having enough children―as you well know, since you're one of them. We've been forced to reduce our people to little more than drones, just so our species can survive."

"And it's because of these measures that we persist," Arsenim cut in, his voice cold and precise. "I certainly don't imagine the enemy has done anything less. Besides, some inefficiencies have been allowed to linger, Prokhor, at your own insistence."

"Whatever little productivity we lose because a few individuals here and there secretly keep traditions alive is well worth it. There is more to us than mere survival." Prokhor gave a humorless chuckle. "Once there was, anyway."

"Khariton, you know of the High Risk Operations Service," Pelageya said. "What you don't know is that there is a massive surplus of volunteers for this service. The surplus exceeds the number of people currently serving in the HROS. Applicant surveys consistently list hopelessness as the most common reason for signing up. That, to me, captures the severity of our situation better than anything else."

Arsenim leaned towards her. "They still represent only a minuscule percentage of the working population. You're overstating the problem."

Pelageya raised her eyebrows, but didn't look at him. "Small, but growing."

"May I ask another question?" Khariton ventured.

"You can ask any question you want, whenever you feel the need to ask it," Irakliy said with a smile. "As I'm sure you've realized by now, the point of this part of the meeting is to educate you."

"Thank you, sir. You have described the challenges to our survival. What actions have you taken to meet them?"

Arsenim looked at Prokhor. "Not shy, is he?"

"He's sitting right there," Prokhor said with an icy glance. "Besides, I think you read him wrong. To answer your very pertinent question, Khariton, we haven't been idle. Most Fleet Commanders already figured out what was happening, but we've disseminated a few examples of tactics that have been successful. Most take advantage of the enemy's assumption, still common, that we believe they're still trying to capture our titans." Prokhor paused before continuing, and Khariton detected a hint of discomfort in his tone: "We've also mounted a fairly risky mission behind enemy lines with the objective of acquiring more PRISM cores."

Khariton considered. "Some were left behind in the Exodus?"

"Right you are," Prokhor said with a smile. "Ninety-six cocoons were taken from the crashed ship, but only eighty-four were in Commonwealth possession once the dust had settled. There is no record of why they were left behind, or even where, precisely. We assume they were kept in a shielded location, and that's why the floaters never detected them."

"How do we know they didn't find them?"

Arsenim answered him, his tone inviting a challenge: "The record is unambiguous. The enemy left Nadir almost immediately, once they realized that we had abandoned it. The cores are there. A ship has been sent to find them, and bring them back here. Spaceframes are already under construction, a new generation of titans that will be powered by these cores. We will use these to stabilize the front and regain lost territory."

"That's one option," Irakliy said. "We're considering another, and it involves you."

All five Supreme Commanders watched him in silence. Seconds later, the parts fit together in his mind, but what they formed was so outrageous he had to double-check his reasoning. "You want me to negotiate," he said in a soft voice. "Negotiate a peace with the floaters, using the unused cocoons as leverage."

Makari looked at Irakliy. "You were right about him."

Prokhor said, "The analyst unit you've been working with is one of several formed with the sole purpose of finding an individual with the mental detachment required to weigh cost versus gain, without involving emotion. The homeworld scenario you worked on was your final test."

"But by no means the only one," Makari added. "You've been observed constantly over the last few years. One thing that qualified you was the fact that you never took narcotics, even though we made it relatively easy to obtain them and condoned their use."

"Suggesting I felt no need to escape from reality," Khariton said tonelessly. There was a question in his mind, one he already knew the answer to, but for once he felt like asking, anyway. "When did you select me for this process?"

After a moment of silence, it was Irakliy who answered: "You were conceived and raised for this specific purpose."

"Am I alone?"

"You are the seventh prospect to successfully complete the program," Irakliy said.

"What happened to the others?" Khariton said.

"They're now serving the Commonwealth in other ways," Irakliy replied. "Their analyses will be made available to you, but to summarize, each one gave the same recommendation: in order to survive, humanity must abandon the war and escape to new homes, as many and as distant as possible. In other words, they reached the same conclusion we did."

Prokhor leaned forward. "Khariton, you must understand that this isn't a task that someone can simply be trained for. We are the final authority in the Commonwealth, and we don't know where to start. Are they even willing to consider making peace, since they have such a strong advantage now? We assume they are, because for a thousand years, they refused to destroy our titans, even though it allowed us to stalemate them again and again. We know they place enormous value on their cocoons, and they know as well as we do that we won't lose this war without destroying every last cocoon we possess. But we don't know for certain if they consider peace an option.

"Even if they do, the floaters are going to want their cocoons back, which will strip us of the capacity for interstellar travel. We can't allow that. We must retain the ability to defend ourselves, or else we lose the means to enforce whatever agreement we make. Conditions that leaves us at the mercy of the floaters equate to unconditional surrender, and that will never be an option. And if those are their demands, we will reject them and fight to the end, and we will take steps to ensure our species will survive. But the best version of that scenario still involves the deaths of billions. So what _can_ we give up? What do we have that we can trade for the cessation of hostilities? Will a dozen cocoons left untouched for a thousand years be enough?" He lifted his hands. "Impossible to know. Until we try."

"Obviously, the gravity of our situation is the only reason we're even considering this course of action," Arsenim said. "For most people, the idea of making peace with floaters, after everything our people have suffered, is simply unthinkable." His tone implied he included himself in that assessment.

"Which is why we need particular individuals, pragmatic minds trained from a young age to ascertain, at the most basic level, what this war is truly costing us," Prokhor cut in with a glare at Arsenim. "And to use that knowledge to determine what we can afford to offer in exchange for peace."

Khariton lowered his head and stared at the counter in front of him. Someone coughed as the silence stretched, but he said nothing. He understood the stakes, the odds, and the sheer scale of the good he might be able to do, but it all led back to the same conclusion: doing this would destroy any chance of getting what he wanted.

"You've just absorbed a lot of new information," Irakliy said. "What are your thoughts?"

Khariton looked at the old Commander and recalled the endless after-action reports from guards, the hollow voices and haunted eyes of men and women who had survived when their comrades had died. To value someone, and be valued, as deeply as that... "You don't understand. If I do this, I will never be one of you. If I succeed, it'll be because I'm not like you."

The other Commanders exchanged uncertain glances, but Irakliy's expression softened. "Some will see it that way," he said quietly. "For a time. But once people stop losing their sons and daughters, once they no longer live in fear of messages telling them someone they love died far away, things will change. We don't know if any of this will work. As things stand, the floaters can eradicate us down to the last holdouts within a few years. If they decide peace isn't in their best interests, nothing can stop them from doing precisely that. Sure, we can save a handful, send them off to a faraway corner of the galaxy to try and rebuild, but the odds of success are slim. These may be the final days of our kind, unless we succeed. For centuries, our people have sacrificed in the name of survival. You have a chance to give them more than that."

He knew he should do this, that is was the right and dutiful thing to do, but the obstinate thought of remaining an outsider for the rest of his life turned to panic every time he wanted to accept. Was there no way to do this without sacrificing his future? None of these people understood. He'd gladly risk life, health, pain, even loss. He'd endure any hardship, if it meant he could look someone in the eye and know they cared whether he lived or died.

He balled his fists under the counter. "You talk about sacrifice, but I haven't experienced any. I've lived my life in labs and offices. I can calculate resource costs and mortality rates. So can a computer. You're asking me to quantify the suffering of our people without ever having shared it." He struggled to keep his tone neutral, dispassionate. He had to use facts. "I'm not one of you. How can I decide your fate?"

"It's a simple concept," Arsenim snapped. "Find out what the floaters want in exchange for an end to hostilities, and see if we can afford to give it up. It's not about suffering, it's about survival. You don't need to be human to understand that."

Arsenim's words left a brewing silence. Prokhor's jaw bunched and he looked away, his feelings plain. Pelageya watched Khariton with eyes like embers, for all her bristling rage merely gauging his response.

Makari slowly turned to face her colleague. Her melodic voice strummed with emotion: "If it were that simple, Arsenim, we wouldn't need to consider any of this. There is risk in peace as well as war. The only thing we know for sure is that victory is no longer possible, no matter how much you deny it. Continuing the fight will result in our extinction. Everything else is a chance worth taking." Her nostrils flared. "I'm tired of failing our people. Aren't you? Their lives consist of work, loss, and death. Multiply that by nineteen billion and you have the Commonwealth. You say suffering is irrelevant? We are synonymous with suffering. It's at the core of this shell of a nation. It's eaten out the heart of whatever it once meant to be human, and it needs to stop!"

Arsenim's stare radiated contempt. The other Supreme Commanders simply looked uncomfortable, except for Irakliy, who watched the rest with rapt interest.

The outburst sparked an idea in Khariton's mind. "I've always wanted to be a guard," he said into the silence.

Arsenim gave him a murderous look. "You what?"

"I have no family to lose," Khariton continued. "I have no friends, and I wouldn't know how to make any. But the ones who bear the cost of waging war more than anyone are the guards." His ears glowed as a feverish smile crept onto his face. "They live together, fight together, and rely on each other utterly. But they lose each other constantly. By necessity, they build deep bonds of trust with their comrades, only to have them randomly broken every time they go into combat. To learn the value of peace, I need to see what war means to those who fight it every day."

Prokhor shook his head. "I don't understand why it has to be the guards. Fleet crew put their lives on the line just the same. Why not do a tour on a titan?"

"Casualties are much heavier for the guards," Khariton began.

Prokhor cut him off: "My point exactly. We're much more likely to lose you. We don't have a lot of time left to do this. Every week, the floaters drive us back and we suffer more losses. It's going to be hard to sue for peace when we only have a handful of ships left. Even worse, if you die, there might not be enough time for another prospect to complete the program."

There was the rational argument he'd anticipated. "Right now, I lack the frame of reference to do what you want me to. Whatever time it takes to develop that is unavoidable, but I can speculate that that time will be shortened in proportion to the intensity of my experience." He still saw too much skepticism on the faces around him. "None of us know if this is truly feasible, since no one has ever done it before, and most factors are outside our control. However, based on the available information, I believe there is a small chance of success. Because we will only have a single opportunity, it's only logical to improve the odds however we can. An incomplete understanding of the state of our nation may lead to my rejection of conditions that are in truth preferable to continuing the war. Given our understanding that such a rejection will likely result in the extinction of our species, it would be prudent to ensure we are in the best position to recognize whether an alternative is acceptable."

Arsenim shook his head. "I told you that a lab-born could never be what you need for this to work. He just doesn't understand what's at stake."

"On the contrary," Irakliy said. "I think he understands better than most." He looked around the room. "Ideas?"

Prokhor sighed. "Khariton's predecessors couldn't help us, so maybe it's time to try something different. If he's to be risked in combat, then it makes sense to me to surround him with the best soldiers we have. For my sector, that means the 114th Advance Guards, under Chief Raisa. We tend to send them into difficult circumstances, but we can skip some of the extreme cases for the duration of Khariton's deployment."

Irakliy turned to Khariton. "How does that sound?"

Khariton's chest swelled with anticipation. "Very promising, sir."

*****

From his perch near the top of the Sacred Circle, Azial watched another group enter the structure below. The chief led the way through a crack in the ancient wall that served as the entrance, and Azial recognized Azriyahu of the Moumis tribe. Songs turned into cheers and greetings from those already present, and the Sharyukin following their chief raised their arms in response. Azriyahu scanned the knots of people seated on the tiered roof overlooking the empty space in the middle, and chose as his destination a space next to Chief Ibilsin, of the neighboring Nin-muk tribe. Using stepping stones placed around the sheer white walls enclosing the empty inner circle, he quickly climbed to the top and exchanged jovial greetings with the other chief.

Azial leaned towards Chief Tihamtu and said in a low voice, "Azriyahu and Ibilsin will oppose me."

"Of course they will. They live by the mountains, where the loud men haven't gone yet."

"Their voices will be stronger for speaking together."

Tihamtu laughed softly. "Their arguments will sound selfish, and by choosing to sit together, they show that they are weak. Don't underestimate your own people, Azial, or the strength of your words. Balbasu will support you, and he is well respected." The chief turned where he sat to give him a look of mock reproach. "And so am I!"

Azial smiled and bowed his head, embracing Tihamtu's easy confidence to bolster his own. The journey from Udaki village to the Sacred Circle had been smooth, leaving him with plenty of time to consider what he would say to the chiefs. Now that the time had come to voice his proposal to unite the tribes in formal alliance and stand against the loud men, he felt nervous as a child. But he'd spent two seasons preparing for this day, and Tihamtu was with him. He would succeed.

Tukullu of the Sumai next led his Sharyukin into the circle, leaving Balbasu as the only chief not yet present. The sun had sunk beneath the green canopy of broad-leafed trees, and the sky overhead faded from pink to dark purple. Sharyukin busied themselves lighting torches on poles already placed in cracks in the structure, and soon the smell of burning palm oil drove away the jungle air. More warriors took up positions around the outer edge, to guard against Vile attacks from the jungle just beyond the walls.

Finally, shouts went up from the wall overlooking the approach to the Circle. Shortly after, Chief Balbasu of the Yahua tribe emerged into the circle, thick arms spread open and eyes wide in an affected glare. Shouts of greeting went up, along with jeers from the Moumis and Nin-muk about his late arrival. The bearish chief took them all with a laugh before climbing to find a seat opposite Tihamtu. His warriors hurried to light the area.

"I wonder why Balbasu is so late," Azial said.

"We arrived first, so we speak first. Now we know Balbasu will speak last. The first and the last word will be in your favor," Tihamtu said, his tone satisfied. "I don't think he's late by accident. Now, we can begin." The Udaki tribe chief stood and raised his arms. "All right! This is it! I, Tihamtu, Chief of the Udaki tribe, will speak now, and you must listen until I am done!"

Songs died away until only the jungle's voice echoed through the Circle. All but the sentries turned their attention to Tihamtu.

"For this great gathering of the chiefs of the Kith, I ask for the blessing of the Great Mother and Father. Anoint those gathered with your good will and wisdom, that every decision made be for the good of the Kith." After a pause, he resumed, "The world has changed, and danger faces the Kith. I invite Azial, leader of the Udaki Sharyukin, to speak." He sat down as Azial took to his feet.

"You all know me," Azial said, his voice claiming the Circle. "You've all counted the trophies on my body. No one has killed more Vile than I. I've never run from a fight, and I never will. Many years ago, on the brink of our coming of age, my twin sister and I asked permission to ascend the Mountain That Sees and seek a revelation of our fate. We'd heard a voice in our dreams, growing stronger each night, speaking of important tasks that awaited us. We made sacrifice to the Great Mother and Father, and set out from Udaki village with no food and little water. From the foot of the mountain, we climbed for seven days, and reached the Whisper Rock. There, we fell, awaiting death. There, we saw the truth.

"We saw our men, dying without wounds, begging for an end. We saw our women, gaunt and drained on the ground, weeping. Our children, taken away, never to be seen again. We saw our villages, wreathed in fire and smoke. These visions were a gift. This was our fate, unless we made a different one."

Patient gazes all around. Most of those present had heard the story, and even the most distant tribes had likely heard some version of it. No one even remembered the last time twin Sharyukin had been born. That they were destined for greatness had been obvious to all.

Azial took a deep breath. "The fate I witnessed has come. It stands on these shores. It snakes through this jungle. It hunts us while we speak here, and like the strike of the taipan, its attack will be sudden and deadly. Who among you has watched youths leave your village, never to return? Who has seen worthless trinkets and cheap tools brought back to your villages by triumphant warriors, who believe they bartered for riches when all they received was junk? I speak of the loud men! I speak of their presumption in stomping through hallowed ground! I speak of their lies when they seduce our youths into a life of servitude! I speak of their greed when they trade their refuse for our hard-made craft! Already they map the jungle trails, seeking our villages. Already they spread vicious lies among us, seeking to drive us apart. If they could, they would conquer us without ever fighting us. Ten years ago, when their burning ship first came from the sea, we warned you of the danger. We were proven right at every turn. Now they are finally strong enough to enter the jungle.

"A few hundred live in their village. In another ten years it will be thousands, and ever more after that. By then, they'll be able to do whatever they want. I want to offer my son a better world when he grows into a man, and not look away in shame when one day, he asks me: what did you do, when the loud men first came, and showed us their ways?" He paused to let his words settle, and examined the faces of the chiefs. Balbasu was doing the same. Most of the others appeared grim and thoughtful. Azriyahu and Ibilsin just looked unhappy. "For the Kith to survive, we must make our voices as one. We send word to the loud men, from every tribe: you are not welcome in the jungle. Whenever we find you here, we will kill you. Then we hunt them, every time they trespass. We keep our young away from them until they are wise enough to pierce the loud men's lies." He raised his voice. "And every time they speak to us, they will hear the same reply. Every time they try to divide us, they will hear the same voice. The chiefs will decide what that voice will say. In here, on our sacred ground, we can differ and argue. But when we leave this place, the Kith must speak as one!"

He sat down. Murmurs erupted around the circle as each chief conferred with his advisors. Azial said to Tihamtu, "What do you think?"

"Strongly said, and after all that, your call to action is relatively mild. Had you demanded the immediate slaughter of all loud men, you would have failed."

Azial suppressed a scowl. "I am not my sister, Tihamtu. I understand restraint."

"So did she," the chief countered, "but she didn't believe in it."

Chief Gobryas of the Sadudu slowly came to his feet, claiming his right to speak next. Bald and slender, he had the bright eyes said to confer the secret sight. His tribe had long since encountered the loud men, and Azial hoped for his support. His voice was sharp and high: "Azial speaks with strong words, and for that he earns respect. I have seen what he speaks of. The Sadudu have seen young men and women lured away with promises of adventure and treasure. Perhaps they find it, for they never return. Or perhaps they are kept as slaves, and never get the chance to escape from their mistakes. We cannot do nothing, or we will disappear. But I will ask Azial: what will we do, when the loud men stop trying to buy and cheat us, and begin to kill us? They have powers like those from the legends. They can kill from far away without arrows. What can the Kith do, when they come for us in their thousands?"

Azial stood. "The loud men are not from here. They live on the world, not in it. Within the jungle, ten thousand loud men would fall to a hundred Sharyukin. If that day comes, I will lead those hundred and prove my words to you. This, I swear."

Gobryas pointed at him and swept the circle with his gaze. "Azial has given his word that he will defeat the enemy if they come. No one has reason to question his vow! The Sadudu will do as he says."

Ibilsin was on his feet before Gobryas had finished sitting down. "Who will defend the villages, while Azial leads our warriors away? Our enemy is the Vile! The monsters always watch, looking for a time to attack. What will Azial do, when he returns home to find Vile hatching in the bodies of his family?"

"No."

Tihamtu's quiet word stopped Azial more than the hand on his shoulder. The chief stood in his place, and spoke in that calm tone that hinted of laziness to those that didn't know him: "The Great Mother and Father have blessed the Udaki tribe with seventy-two Sharyukin, nineteen of them still children. Perhaps Ibilsin worries that the blood has grown weaker in his village, but since he brought fifteen warriors to this meeting, I expect he left at least another thirty at home. If every tribe adds fifteen of theirs to the twenty I will offer, we will already have more than the hundred Azial has asked for."

Ibilsin's eyes had widened with rage. He waved his scepter and spittle flew from his mouth as he screamed, "You insult the Nin-muk! Will I challenge your champion now, Tihamtu? Will I show you how strong the blood flows among the Nin-muk?"

Tihamtu opened his hands. "If you feel insulted, Ibilsin, it was your own words that wounded you. If your warriors are strong and many, why do you speak of your concern?"

"I speak, because you would waste our warriors against the loud men! When have they ever been as dangerous as the Vile? Is one enemy not enough, that you would make a new one for us?" He cast his arms wide and looked around the circle. Azriyahu nodded his support. Others looked thoughtful.

"The Kith have fought the Vile for longer than anyone can remember," Tihamtu replied. "Still we remain, and every day we slay more monsters. This is why we live, why we are blessed with the Sharyukin. You don't see the danger, Ibilsin, because it hasn't found you yet. Who in your tribe has spoken to a loud man? How many of them have crossed your lands? None, and none. Then how could you speak for the tribes that face the threat today? Already we feel their presence like a weight on our chests. And there are but a handful! More keep coming on their burning ships, year after year. If you wait until they come to you, once they are so many they can find you all the way by the mountains, you will be all that remains of the Kith. Will you then stand alone against the horde?"

Ibilsin stood before the assembly, chest heaving, silent. Every second eroded his support, and he knew it. When he finally opened his mouth, Azial cringed in anticipation.

Mocking laughter echoed through the circle before the chief could speak. Sentinels looked around in confusion. "Who laughs?" Ibilsin shrieked.

As if in answer, something flew out of the darkness of the trees and landed in the middle of the circle. Azial's heart beat faster as concern and excitement warred inside him.

He knew that laugh.

Chapter Five

Seruya sat unseen among the foliage of a tall blackwood tree, cloaked in her hair as she watched pompous Ibilsin make a fool of himself before the other chiefs. While he gaped like a fish, she readied her trophy. She timed her laughter to deny him any attempt to save face, then hurled the severed head through the trees. Before it struck the ground, she took off, leaping silently from branch to branch, sliding between the leaves. While everyone tried to decipher what had landed in the circle, she burst from the darkness to land on a thick vine that had grown through the entrance to the Circle to form a rough arch. Her hair had settled around her body when the first shouts of warning went up.

She stood and looked down on the assembly. Something warm reached in to touch her heart as she locked eyes with her brother for the first time in too many years. He tried hard to suppress a smirk as Tihamtu spared glances in his direction to make sure that he would.

"Listen to your arguing!" she said. "The panther prowls in your village, and you can't even agree that he's a killer. I killed that man and more like him this afternoon, less than a two hour run from here." She looked down over her shoulder, at the young Sharyukin she'd told to wait outside the entrance. "Come!" she barked.

Makru and Engur shuffled forward, too mortified to affect pride. The gathering murmured, but none had yet demanded her departure. A good sign. "The noisy pigs found these two warriors of the Nin-muk tribe. They offered them weapons. Tell them what they demanded in return!"

Makru kept his head down. Engur muttered something.

"Speak with respect before the chiefs!" Seruya snapped.

"Our blades," he yelped. "They wanted to see our blades."

"And he was tempted!" Seruya thundered on the heels of his admission. "For a worthless trinket that couldn't scratch a Vile's hide! This is the enemy, chiefs of the Kith! This is what he will do to you! Take your strength and give you his weakness. Why, if not to conquer you? Why weaken you, if not to strengthen himself?"

Even the frogs and the crickets seemed to fall silent as the gathering processed what they had just heard. Ibilsin took an uncertain step forward, too shocked to hide the dismay on his face. "Engur... is there any lie here?"

To his credit, the young warrior drew himself up and said, "No, Ibilsin. I accept my shame."

Balbasu stood. "To all gathered here, I will say this: these two youths are of the Kith. The same as all of us. It could be anyone's sons standing before us, and anyone who believes otherwise is a coward who saps our strength. If we leave the Circle tomorrow before acting on our own behalf, we deserve whatever fate comes to us."

Nods and assenting murmurs all around. Ibilsin came forward and descended into the Circle to stand before his young warriors. The words they exchanged were too quiet to hear, but Seruya saw in the stunned chief's face an honest desire to understand why they had erred so severely. The sight gave her hope. She'd left out any mention of the loud men's attempt to capture the two warriors, partly because only she had witnessed it, but mostly because she'd expected a stronger response to the loud men's interest in the Kith's sacred defense against the Vile.

"Banished. Your words are timely, but they don't change your sentence," Tihamtu said, his voice reclaiming the attention of the gathered. "You are forbidden to come to this place."

The old, rancid bitterness in her chest boiled to life again. She disguised it with an insolent chuckle. "Then go ahead, Tihamtu. Send your warriors against me. Lots of young ones this time." She locked eyes with one close to her, and shot him a toothy grin. "Do you think you can match me, wood babe? Come, then!" She clacked her teeth. The Sharyukin jerked back before he caught himself, then glanced at his comrades.

"Don't worry, great chief. I've done what I had to do, so I will leave. But you can't get rid of me. I'll be around, to do everything you lack the stomach to do. Don't forget me, chiefs of the Kith. I won't forget you, and I'll be watching." She leaped into the night, immediately hidden by the trees. Despite her words, she circled around the structure and stayed to hear what would be said.

As she'd hoped and expected, no one had much left to say. Each of the chiefs endorsed Azial's proposal, even the critics, followed by a great cheer from all present. She clung to her sense of satisfaction, and tried to ignore the aching hole inside her chest as she watched her kin prepare the feast and listened to them celebrate.

One last task before she could leave. She found a better vantage point and waited for one individual to walk away from the gathering.

"Azial! Drink!" Balbasu said as he stepped into Azial's path, two bowls of fermented milk in his hands. The Yahua chief drank deep from one as he held out the other for Azial to take.

Azial accepted the bowl and drank, hiding his resentment at the interruption. Balbasu had supported him thus far, but he was a proud man who expected to be humored. "I thank you for your words tonight. Giving Ibilsin's shame to all the Kith allowed him to offer his support and still keep his pride."

Balbasu rested a huge hand on Azial's shoulder and gave him an intent stare. "If you didn't kill Vile so well, you could have been the next chief of the Udaki. Your mind looks deep, and when you speak, you look for the part of your audience that wants to listen. How is Musuri?"

"He's well. He's been apprenticed as a hunter."

An approving nod. "He'll do well, especially if he inherited your steady hand. I was young once, and like most, I hoped the blood would show itself in me. I know there's a part of him that wishes he could follow in your footsteps, but he'll grow out of that. I expect he will become a strong man, and proud." Something shifted in the chief's small eyes, and Azial knew he looked into the past. "Have I told you of my sons?"

"You've spoken of them before," Azial said, knowing the chief would tell him anyway, as he always did. "Many others remember their courage."

"The Vile took them all. Some in battle, some by the seed. Dagan, my youngest son... I lost him just a year ago." Balbasu shook his head. "Tamzi is all that remains of my line. My only daughter. I always thought I would keep her until a strong Sharyukin offered to be her husband, someone who could keep her safe. But I see Musuri has a strong heart." He smiled. "And a strong father. I know you would protect her well."

Azial carefully filtered the spike of joy he felt into a grateful smile. "You are kind, Balbasu. Musuri often speaks of his devotion to your daughter. I think a union between them would bring much happiness to our tribes."

Balbasu straightened. "If they desire such a union, I will give my blessing for their future."

Azial bowed from the waist. "I will tell Musuri of your generous approval. I'm sure he will propose to Tamzi the next time they meet."

The chief delivered a bone-shaking slap to his shoulder. "I look forward to welcoming your son into my family. Let's go spread the good news!"

"I will join you after I relieve myself." Azial hoped his excuse wasn't too transparent.

"Of course." Balbasu gave no sign of suspicion and turned away to rejoin the crowd. Azial slipped away before anyone else could stop him.

Seruya watched Azial slip down the hillside as she followed him through the trees. He stopped behind a tall blackwood, and she landed before him.

Azial gave her a nod. "Sister. I'm glad you're well," he said in the old tongue.

She'd taught him the language decades ago, when the notion of not sharing everything with her brother had been unthinkable, even if it meant defying strict instructions. That he still recalled the medicine men's tongue, despite lacking someone to practice with, filled her with warmth. She tried to show the feeling in her smile, but she felt the fatigue drag at her expression. "I still live. So do you, somehow, even though you crash through the jungle like a rhino. How is your family?"

"Well. Musuri is going to be a hunter. He'll marry Tamzi soon. No other children yet."

"Has Merodakh chosen another successor yet?"

Azial smiled. "No. He insists on his initial choice. It irritates the Elders."

Silence. Seruya looked for something else to say, unwilling to get to the point and speed the conversation along.

Azial said, "Your arrival today was well-timed. I don't think Ibilsin and Azriyahu would have agreed if you hadn't spoken."

"They were blind fools, but today they saw the light. You've done good work. It's a good beginning." She hesitated. "You haven't forgotten our oath. I haven't either."

"I never will," Azial said at once. His breath caught, then resumed as he pressed his lips together. Her imagination told her everything he wanted to say, but wouldn't.

It was a small comfort, but more than she'd had in a long time. "I have to leave for a while."

"Where are you going?"

His concerned tone summoned another smile. "I don't know yet. Something strange is happening. The Vile don't attack me anymore. One came within striking range today, but it fled as soon as I noticed it."

Her brother frowned. "Was it injured?"

"No. And this wasn't the first time. It started months ago, after I killed eight that attacked together." Azial's eyes widened and she chuckled coldly. "I didn't collect these talons from the forest floor, brother. A lone Sharyukin with no village to retreat to makes a tempting target. Or so they once thought. After that attack, they began to flee from me."

Azial looked away, and Seruya knew he wondered if he'd be able to do what she had. She neglected to tell him about the deep scars hidden by her hair, the days following the frantic battle when she'd hidden under the roots of a massive blackwood, shivering with fever and expecting to die. Better to let him believe she'd beaten them with ease.

Staring into the jungle, he said, "Do you think they stopped attacking you from fear?"

She scowled. "Vile don't fear. They think, and plan. They band together, attack from different directions, and retreat when pressed. If they can do that, they can decide a victim isn't worth the effort." She hesitated. "Did Merodakh ever tell you the tale of the Vile's origins?"

He shook his head.

"The Deliverer took our ancestors to Paradise out of pity for their misery, but he wasn't the only god living there. His gifts to us made one of them jealous. That one wanted his own chosen people. He's the one who molded the Vile from stone and fire. His envy turned his creations into monsters that steal life. His failure angered him, so he let them loose and they destroyed Paradise. The medicine men call him the Magus, but they rarely speak his name."

Azial had turned back to her while she spoke, consternation furrowing his brow. "I thought the Vile were demons from the underworld. Isn't that where they were summoned from?"

"The truth is as I just told you. The knowledge is secret, because the Magus's workshop still exists, guarded by the Vile. If someone found it, they could make more monsters. Worse ones." She crossed her arms. "I'm going to look for it."

The look on his face made it clear part of him doubted her. "How will you find it? And why would you want to?"

"If they were made there, I might learn how to destroy them. Ibilsin's concern isn't all contrived. If we muster to fight the loud men, the Vile may take advantage and attack. If they won't fight me, I can travel and search safely. When you and I traveled to the mountains, we fought legions of monsters together, but when we reached the mountains, they left us alone. We thought they were trials on our journey to the truth, but what if they just meant to drive us off?"

Azial gave a slow nod. "You think we were approaching this workshop. You may be right. But these are legends, and you don't know what you'll find there. And even if the Vile don't attack you now, they may keep you from entering this place."

"It's worth taking a risk," she said. "Besides, with the agreement between the chiefs, you won't need me here. For a short while, at least." She gave a sardonic half-smile. "I'm sure they'll keep their word for a few weeks."

Azial looked uncomfortable. "You really think someone will violate the agreement?"

"People are people. They see what is right before them, and little else. Don't trust them, brother. Not even Tihamtu." She half-expected him to challenge her. His thoughtful silence meant more to her than she knew how to explain. "Take care of our people. I will return."

"I will. And see that you do."

She disappeared into the trees, her heart lighter than it had been in years.

*****

Commander Miron was relieved to find the mess hall deserted. He shuffled over to the food dispensers along the short end of the rectangular compartment, too tired even to wince at the pulsing ache in his back. Every breath fled his body like it was his last.

The machine worked for a few seconds before offering him a steaming bowl of green sludge. With the fishy smell crawling up his nose, he took the bowl and made his way to one of the dozen rectangular tables. As he sat down to eat, something clattered to the floor behind him. He scoffed and shook his head. He'd grown immune to such simple distractions weeks ago.

Sitting on the hard bench sharpened the pain in his back, no matter how he shifted his position. Groaning, he got up and returned to the dispenser area. Just around the corner of the bulky machine, he found a spot where he could sit on the floor and rest his back against the bulkhead. He'd barely swallowed the first mouthful of wrack when the door opened.

"―better be seriously relevant. I was sleeping. Actually sleeping."

Miron recognized the deep voice of Gugal, the even-tempered gunner. His view was blocked by the closest table, but he heard multiple sets of boots on the deck.

"It's important, all right? Come on, sit down right here. You, too." The high, tense voice belonged to Osip, the navigator.

"If you ask me if I want a drink, I'm going to punch your face in. Fair warning. Get to the fucking point." That was Yegor, Operations/Communications officer.

"We just want to talk to you," said a female voice he couldn't place.

Yegor said, "So talk."

"Okay. We all know the situation we're in," Osip said. "Ghosts in the corridors, the ship falling apart, and the mighty Commander who doesn't think twice about losing a couple thousand fleet hands. We don't know where we're going, or why."

"What's so different about that?" Gugal cut in. "Besides, you do know where we're going. You plotted the course."

"But I don't know what's there, dipshit," Osip snapped. "You know what I mean. Let me tell you something I heard from Core Chief Nazar. Last year, they sent an entire fleet out this way."

"Right here? The exact same place we're going to?" Yegor said.

"The same general area," Osip sputtered. "That's not the point. That whole fleet _disappeared_. Gone. No survivors, and no explanation."

"Damn," Gugal muttered.

Miron quietly ate another spoonful and wondered where Nazar had come by such classified information, even if he was wrong about where it happened. The anomaly known as the Cauldron was nowhere near their destination.

"So why do you think we're out here now?" Osip said.

"Enlighten me," Yegor said.

A hand slapped the table. "We're looking for them! And with man-a-day Miron in charge, we'll probably find out exactly what happened to them, because it's going to happen to us."

"I don't like where you're going with this, Osip," Gugal said, his tone flat. "And I heard a different story about where we're going. Some people say we're going back to Nadir."

"It doesn't matter," the woman said, and he now recognized Oksana by the lilt in her voice. "We're still out here by ourselves. We're just fodder to him. Did you know he sent an entire squadron on a suicide mission, less than two months before we left? They all died. Every last one. Does he look bothered to you?"

What did the bitch want from him? Weeping and wailing? He considered revealing his presence and shutting her and Osip down, but he was interested in what else they might say, and too tired to do the confrontation justice.

"So you don't like the Commander. So what?" Gugal said. "He's in charge, that's just how it is. You always happy with all your officers?"

"It's more than that," Osip insisted. "Everybody can see we should turn around. It's obvious we have no chance. But he won't do it. If Supreme Command knew about our situation, you better believe they'd order us back. But he won't do it, because he's insane! And even worse, he and Borya go way back. Nazar said Miron used to be Ship Master on Borya's flagship, back when he was a Commander. They're the same way." Osip changed his tone: "The Master Second, she gets it. She knows how it is. Don't you think that means something?"

Miron had been waiting for Gervasi's name to come up. His heart rate quickened.

"You're talking about mutiny," Yegor said, his tone sly. "My, oh my."

"It's not mutiny," Oksana said at once. "They're not thinking straight. We can't just let them keep going when we know they're not in their right minds. Anybody would see it that way."

Osip said, "We need Gervasi in charge. If she was running the ship, she'd turn it around in a heartbeat."

The sound of boots on the deck. "You're fucking crazy," Gugal said. "I'm done with this, and you better be, too. If I hear another word about this shit, I'm reporting it." He walked away.

"You keep your mouth shut, Gugal," Osip called after him. "You don't want to be on the wrong side of this."

Gugal halted. "Oh no, buddy. You don't want to be on the wrong side of _me_." A scuff on the deck. "Forget about all this shit. You hear me?" He walked away, but the door opened before he got there. "Chief," Gugal said, and left as another set of footsteps entered the room.

Those footsteps slowed, then stopped. Fleet guard Chief Zakhar's iron voice said, "There's a strange smell in here. A stink, even."

Osip cleared his throat," I, uh, don't smell anything, sir."

"Hm." Zakhar sniffed the air. "No, it's definitely there. It smells like rot." His tone sharpened with contempt. "Is there anything rotten in here, Talent?"

Seconds of silence. Part of Miron wished he could see the scene, but another cursed the chief for interrupting. Finally, Osip said, "No, sir."

"Good. The smell's still here, though. You'll have to clear out for now, so I can look around. If I can find the source, I'll eliminate it."

The three talents got up without a word and left the mess hall. Zakhar's footsteps approached, and the chief appeared from behind the food dispenser. "Commander, do you want me to pursue this?"

Miron sighed. "I doubt there'll be a need now. I was hoping to hear more names. Still, I appreciate your intervention."

Zakhar hesitated. "Are you all right, sir?"

"I'm fine, Chief. Back ache, is all."

The guard chief nodded and pointed at a corner of the compartment. "Chief Ludmila sent me to do some diagnostics in here. I'll be working over there."

Miron nodded. "Pretend I'm not here."

Zakhar got to work and Miron returned to his food, too tired to feel irritation at the comfort he derived from the other man's presence.

After finishing his food, Miron headed for his quarters. He kept his gaze on the deck, barely paying attention to the route. The conspirators had mentioned Gervasi, but they'd failed to specify whether she was aware of their plans. It would be immensely satisfying to present Borya with the truth of her betrayal, but he had to be sure first. He doubted he'd get another opportunity to eavesdrop, and he couldn't think of another way to get the information he needed.

He looked up to see a fleet hand sitting in the corridor, facing a pressure door in the opposite bulkhead. Fatigue blurred his vision, and he rubbed his face to clear it. Once he got closer, he recognized Ilari. "Talent? Are you on duty?"

She turned her head as if dazed, and stared at him with calm, exhausted eyes. "No, sir. I'm on red shift. I got off an hour ago."

The aches in his body tugged at his will, but something felt off. "Are you all right? What are you doing out here?"

"Just... resting. I think I know, I finally know, how to deal with it." She offered a dreamy smile. "It's a trick, you know. It's all a trick. Once you get it, it's obvious, but you still can't explain it. But I get it now."

He nodded. "That's right. It's not real. Once you understand that, it can't get to you anymore."

Ilari's smile broadened and a tear slipped down her cheek. "That's it! Exactly."

His conscience satisfied, Miron gave her a nod. "I'll see you in Control." He left her on the floor and resumed his course. A few more steps, then a left―

He walked into the bulkhead, bouncing his forehead off the metal and bruising his knee. His mind roiled in confusion as he staggered back, trying to reconcile where he'd thought he was with what he saw before him.

He'd taken a wrong turn. This was a different corridor. He forced his sluggish thoughts to retrace his steps from the mess hall.

As soon as he realized where he was, the other pieces snapped into place all at once. He stumbled back the way he'd come. "Ilari!"

She wasn't in the corridor anymore. He heard the sound of a pressure door sliding shut, followed by a buzz and the unmistakable hiss of the pressurization mechanism activating.

He reached the door, peered inside. Ilari stood with her back to him, facing the porthole in the second pressure door. It showed only the infinite black of space.

He slammed a fist against the door. "Ilari! Get in here, right now!" She didn't respond. He fumbled with the controls. The depressurization cycle wouldn't reverse without an emergency override―he couldn't recall his. The air drained out of the airlock. Once drained, the outer door would open and she would be gone.

His finger twitched, activating his implant to contact Control. "This is Commander Miron. Emergency command. Repressurize airlock 5-C. Confirm at once."

Borya spoke deep inside his ear: "Done. What happened?"

With another finger movement, he limited his communication to Borya's receiver only. "Ilari's in the airlock. She was depressurizing it."

"I'll send you a few hands."

The mechanism changed pitch as air poured back into the pressure chamber. Ilari looked around, then turned, and the despair on her face made him doubt if he'd done the right thing. She lunged at the porthole. "Let me out!" she shrieked, hammering the door with her fists. "Let me go! Don't do this to me! Please!"

Miron had nothing to say. He glanced at the display next to the door. Seconds left to go until pressure equalized.

Ilari fell silent, her eyes suddenly wide, no longer seeing him. Her lip quivered as she slowly turned around.

Something else was in the pressure chamber.

She staggered back. Her eyes rolled back into her head and she collapsed.

Miron didn't know what she'd seen. To him, it was Ilya that faced him from inside the airlock. Her ravaged features indicted him, an accusation more eloquent than words. Panic gripped his chest. He breathed faster. "You don't understand," he said. Sweat leaked into his eyes. "I did the best I could! I didn't know!"

The controls chimed and the door slid open. He forced himself to enter, keeping his back to the apparition. His body protested as he lifted Ilari off the floor and carried her out. Staggering through the corridors, his strength draining away, he tried to ignore the memories, the cruel voices in his mind that seized on his weakness.

Fleet hands found him, spoke to him―he couldn't understand a word. A whirlwind raged in his skull and no matter how fast he breathed, no air made it into his lungs. His last conscious sensation was of hands catching him as his legs gave way.

Chapter Six

Miron awoke on a bed in the infirmary. Another man lay next to him, muttering and twitching in his sleep. He raised himself up on his elbows and saw Rurik and a female orderly on the far side of the room, leaning over another patient. Miron managed to work himself into a sitting position before the doctor heard him move and came over. Stubble lined the doctor's gaunt cheeks. "Slow down, Commander. There are some drugs in your system that will take a little time to wear off. How do you feel?"

"What drugs?"

"Sedatives. You've been sleeping for the past fourteen hours."

"Fourteen hours?" He grabbed the doctor's coat and pulled him closer. Though his vision narrowed and the world spun, he forced himself to speak: "Don't ever give me sedatives again. Those are for the crew. Do you understand?"

A calm nod. Miron released the man's coat and almost fell back. Rurik waved off the orderly, who turned away after an acerbic stare at Miron.

"I'll respect your wishes, Commander, but if you intend to remain effective, you're going to have to give yourself some consideration," Rurik said. "I'd heard you were helping out the engineers, but no one told me you were working double shifts there in addition to your Control time, and regular visits to all ship's departments. If they had, I'd have found you and told you to slow down."

"Everybody's working hard."

"Not this hard," Rurik replied, his tone decisive. "You need more sleep, or you will break down. If you have trouble managing that, then it's time to reconsider your stance on medications."

Miron looked away. "How is Ilari?"

Rurik answered him in an even tone: "She's over there."

"She's comatose," the orderly said with an edge.

Miron ignored the woman. "What's wrong with her?"

The doctor hesitated. "Commander, have you read her file?"

"Not entirely."

A brief look of grief and regret passed over the doctor's face. "I suppose it wouldn't have made much difference. This isn't the first time Ilari's experienced an incorporeal attack. When they salvaged the _Relentless_ , she was the only survivor. They found her in an equipment locker. She'd locked herself in and broken the handle, but she must have changed her mind, because she'd torn her nails off trying to get out again." He shook his head. "They should never have sent her back out here. She even requested a transfer out of shipboard service, but they rejected it."

Miron felt a sensation like ice water washing over his skin. He looked at Rurik. "One of them was in the airlock with her."

Sorrow crumpled Rurik's face. He looked for somewhere to look. "Yeah."

"Help me up."

Every limb felt drained and weak, but once he was off the table, he was able to walk slowly without assistance. They came to Ilari's bed. Deep circles underlined her eyes, and broken blood vessels discolored the pallid skin of her sunken cheeks.

"Can you do anything for her?"

Rurik gave him a searching look. At Miron's raised eyebrows, he turned to the orderly. "Esfir, Alyona's sedatives should be wearing off. Go check on her, please. She's in her bunk."

Esfir demurred, looking back and forth between Miron and the doctor. Lacking an argument to refuse, she said, "Yes, sir," and marched out.

Miron nodded after her. "What's her problem?"

"She thinks she should have gotten my posting. She also thinks you had something to do with her not getting it." Rurik turned back to him. "To answer your question officially: no, I can't."

"What does that mean?"

The doctor looked down at the fleet hand. "I've seen this before. She looks asleep like this, but her mind isn't. It's broken, stuck on repeat. Whatever she saw in that airlock, she's still seeing it. Except now, she can't even move."

"And you can't do anything?"

Rurik hesitated. "I didn't say that."

"Get to the point," Miron demanded.

"Fine." Rurik faced him. "We could end her life."

He stared, fear stirring in his gut. The suggestion was unthinkable, but the doctor's expression left no doubt he was serious. "What's wrong with you?"

"I'm not joking. Her mind is gone, Commander. It will never work again. All she can do now is..." He shrugged. "Suffer. They can keep her on heavy meds when she wakes up, maybe get her stable enough for simple labor." The doctor's voice turned bitter. "She won't be alive. But at least she'll be _productive_."

Miron looked back at the motionless fleet hand. "Are you sure?"

Rurik lifted his eyebrows and walked away. He picked up a tablet and fiddled with it. "Not the first time I've patched somebody up I shouldn't have. The Commonwealth needs its citizens." He shook his head, eyes on the tablet.

Miron swallowed, looked around the room. "Okay."

The doctor didn't look up. "Okay, what?"

"I said okay. Put her to rest. Just make sure it's painless."

Slowly, Rurik put the tablet down. "Are you sure?" he said, suspicion in his eyes.

Miron glared at him. "Don't be dense."

Rurik straightened with a deep breath and nodded. "Thank you―"

"Don't." Before the doctor could speak again, he escaped as fast as his battered body permitted.

*****

Shura paced across the room while Kirill sat at the table, still playing quietly. The auditor's words kept repeating in her head, threatening to drown her in panic each time. No matter how much she thought about it, she could think of no way to escape being caught. Ermolei would give her up; it would be forced out of him. Once they knew, one simple test would confirm that Kirill wasn't supposed to have lived. Then they would take him away. She would be interrogated, then sent off to die fighting the floaters.

They had to get away.

A distant memory sprouted in her mind. She'd heard a story once, of people who had fled the auditors by running away to the northern forests, far from the inhabited Districts. She didn't know if those people still existed, or if they ever had. She embraced the thought regardless, her mind desperate for any choice besides surrender.

She stopped pacing and took a deep breath to try to stop her body from trembling. They were coming. She couldn't do anything about that. But maybe she could avoid them, at least for a while. Why not try?

Other than hiding Kirill, she'd never broken the law. After he'd been born, she'd taken extreme care to avoid drawing attention, and the thought of defying the auditors drew a fresh spike of terror. It would be easier to submit. But she'd made her choice years ago, when she'd committed a crime to save her son.

Now she'd commit more.

Finally armed with a purpose, the nervous energy she'd built up materialized into specific actions. She took a bag and stuffed it with anything she might need on the run: snack packs, blankets, all their clothes, clean or not, a tablet with internal memory capacity that she used whenever she had to work outside network coverage. She only had two bottles to fill with water and nothing but snacks for food, but she had a plan for that.

"Aman," Kirill said.

"Yes, cub," she said, out of breath. She stuffed a tube of stimulant tablets into her pocket. She never took them, even on whole-day shifts, but she'd never run from law enforcement before.

"Smiley says we're leaving home."

She stopped working and came over. "How does he know that?" she said, failing to keep the tension from her voice. "What did he say?"

Now his fear had nothing to do with the auditors. He shrank back. "That's what he said, that we're leaving."

Her frustration fled, and for a moment she felt only a bone-deep fatigue, so intense each breath demanded an effort. "Well, he's right. We have to go. That man will come back to take us away. To hurt us."

"Why?"

In a weary reflex, she kneeled and hugged him. "That's hard to explain, cub," she whispered. "One day I will. But today, I need you to make sure that you do everything I tell you, whenever I tell you. Just do it. Okay? You promise?"

He nodded. As she returned to packing, she realized her plans had a flaw. She had to get to work to engineer her escape, but she couldn't bring Kirill on the commute. Where could she leave him? The daycare in the complex knew she got called in sometimes, so they would take him unscheduled, but what if the auditor found him there? What if they took him straight to the doctor and tested him before she got back?

She'd have to leave him with someone. Arina was her neighbor, and although they weren't friends by any means, they'd helped each other out in the past. "Kiri, take your clay. You're going to stay with my friend for a while. You know, the one with the long hair? You remember playing with that little girl, Saila?"

"Where are you going?" he asked in a small voice.

She came to him. "I have to do some things so we can get away. I'd take you with me if I could. I'll come get you as soon as I can. Before the evening. Then we'll leave, you and me. Okay?" He gave a timid nod, but she saw the doubt in his eyes. "Be brave, Kiri. For me. You just promised me you'd do whatever I told you, right? "

"Yes, but..."

"I know, it's hard. But it's going to be okay. Now, when you get there, I want you to play quietly. Don't tell Arina or Saila about what's going on, okay? That's very important. You can't tell them anything, because they won't understand and you'll frighten them." She took his hand to lead him outside, leaving her bag by the door on the way out.

Arina lived a few doors down. She answered the door on the first buzz. Shura had summoned her best apologetic smile, but the look on Arina's face when she opened the door erased all trace of the charade. "What's wrong?" she asked.

The other woman's bloodshot eyes flicked back and forth between her and Kirill. "Nothing," she said, and hugged herself. "Nothing. What do you want?"

"I got called in to work, and I was wondering if you could watch Kirill for me. I―"

"I can't," she cut in. "Just take him to daycare."

"They won't take him," Shura said before Arina could close the door. "They don't have a work schedule for me today, the office didn't bother sending one. I just need to have him somewhere safe for a few hours."

Arina gave a nervous laugh, tainted with hysteria. "Then you don't want him here!" She caught herself and looked away, blinking rapidly. As Shura tried to think of what to say, Arina's breath hitched. She turned back to them. "Did you have a visitor today?"

"A visitor? No, I―" An memory flashed in her mind. Arina, at the infirmary, coming out of the examination room with Ermolei. Smiling. Quiet words exchanged. The vicious look at Shura.

She smiled through the realization. "We don't get a lot of visitors. Listen, I don't want to give you any trouble. I'm going to try the daycare again. They're just going to have to take him." She looked down at Kirill. "Say bye."

"Bye."

She walked away, not looking back, her heartbeat thundering in her ears. She wasn't sure how, but she knew with icy conviction that Arina had been visited by the auditors. She clenched the fist that wasn't holding Kirill's hand. Who else? It couldn't be anyone who had Ermolei as their doctor. All of his patients would have been questioned, and she didn't dare trust them.

She stopped in the middle of the hallway, afraid to pursue her next thought. She had no friends, but someone did owe her a favor. It had been a long time, and what she would ask for was out of proportion. She wouldn't normally dream of asking this of her. She most likely wouldn't even be home.

Why not try?

They had to walk to the next wing of the community complex and ascend two flights of stairs. She had trouble recalling the exact apartment, and still wasn't sure when she hit the buzzer. After she hit it twice more, a woman opened the door, looking at Shura and Kirill without a hint of recognition. "Yes?"

Shura gave her a brilliant smile. "Hi, Dorei. I'm sure you don't remember me, but maybe you recall that time a few months ago when your survey reports weren't uploading?"

Dorei hesitated, then recognition cleared her eyes and she gave a rueful smile. "I remember now. You're Shura, right?"

She tried to keep the relief from her voice: "That's me. Do you have a moment?"

Dorei nodded slowly. "Okay. Come in."

Shura led Kirill inside. The apartment was identical to hers except for the light blue walls. Dorei closed the door and came over. "So what's going on?"

"I need your help. I've been called in to work. They didn't update my work schedule and the daycare won't take my son. Is there any way you would be willing to watch him for a few hours? I'll be back before the evening."

Dorei's light smile faded. "I guess you figure I owe you one."

"No," Shura said. "I know it doesn't compare. I'm just asking for your help."

Dorei's tone was laced with irritation. "This is my day off. I haven't had one in eighteen days and I don't even know when I'll have another."

"I know. I'm really sorry. I'll be happy to cover a shift for you some time."

The other woman looked away. "Shit."

"Please," Shura whispered, her throat tight. "I don't have anywhere else to go."

Something got through to Dorei. She breathed deeply. "All right," she said, bending down to smile at Kirill. "He looks like a friendly guy." She waved at him. Kirill stared at her and lifted one hand in reply.

"Thank you. So much. You have no idea how much this means to me." She kneeled before her son. "Kiri, you're going to stay here with Dorei. She's very nice. Remember everything I told you, okay? I'll be back soon to pick you up."

She walked to the door, but his terrified voice stopped her: "Amannn...!"

She squeezed her eyes shut. She had to do this. She faced her son, holding his clay in both hands. "Kirill. Remember. You have to be brave." She turned away from his gleaming cheeks and fled the apartment. Once the door closed, she crouched down and choked back her sobs. Cheeks wet, she got up and ran, all the way up the stairs to the roof access door, pausing only to flip the lock open before running back down to her apartment. After collecting her bag and changing into her uniform, she raced to the tube platform underneath the complex.

The ten-minute ride through the tunnels gave her plenty of opportunity to contemplate her doubts. She figured the refugees living in the forest were probably real, since she couldn't be the first to try to escape the auditors, and surely some would have gotten away. Still, joining what would amount to a colony of criminals inspired a new set of reservations. She had no idea what kind of people they would be. Could she risk taking Kirill into such circumstances?

She shifted her stance where she leaned against the wall. Her usual shift started later in the day, so she didn't know most of the people standing or sitting in the tube car. A few glanced her way, no doubt wondering why she carried a bag. As usual, no one spoke, but she still kept her eyes averted and made sure her expression reflected her mood. Outside, the pitch of the air rushing past the vehicle changed in a telltale sign of another tube car passing by. The sound triggered a wave of claustrophobia. She tried to breathe through it, fighting off the panic.

She knew she had no choice if she wanted to live, if she wanted to keep her son with her. The fact that there was no legal way out of her situation still rose up to grip her throat at random moments. Still, a part of her relished the freedom of breaking the rules. She'd considered her plan over and over again, and she felt sure耀he _knew_ it had a good chance to succeed. If she didn't screw up. If no one figured her out. If the auditor didn't return early. If everything went right, she would be free before nightfall. She just had to take a chance.

The doors slid open, revealing the bustling grey platform of the Communication Network Maintenance Depot and a pack of tired workers waiting to go home. She slipped out before anyone else, weaving through the crowd like any other day, bag held before her. Ahead, others converged on the lines for the check-in points. She went with the flow for a while, then cut between two stations and headed for the elevators. Her back tingled with tension and she fought to keep from looking back, trying to carry herself as she always did. She'd seen other people skip check-in before, but she'd never learned why. Hopefully, no one would think twice about seeing her do it.

When she finally reached the elevator and turned around, no one paid attention to her.

The vehicle hangar made up a third of the lowest above-ground level of the massive Network Communications building. By this time, the field maintenance shifts had already collected their vehicles and left. She found only the hangar supervisor in the office, working at his desk. The hangar beyond the tall windows stood mostly empty, the overhead lights illuminating only three bright red aircraft parked in a corner. Zinoviy looked up as she approached, the scowl on his bald, round head even deeper than usual. "What are you doing here?"

She dropped her bag and leaned on the counter, pouring all her frustration into her voice: "I'm having a shit day. I need a PAV checked out, right away. There's a bunch of relays out in the green sector, and they want me to go fix them."

His flat expression made it clear he'd been waiting for her to finish talking rather than listening. "You think you're having a shit day? Your idiot colleagues keep setting these things down like dirty laundry. I got three airborne vehicles with micro fractures in the landing gear that should be out making checks. And then I got three techs I'm being told aren't coming back, so I guess it all works out, except the work doesn't get done, and that's going to end up being my fault somehow. But please, tell me about your problems."

She gave a sigh, silently cursing herself for antagonizing the man. "I'm sorry, Zin. I know it's a messed up day for everyone. But I really need to get out there."

He frowned, glanced at his display. "I don't have a work order."

"That's..." She hung her head and shook it. "They call me out of bed for this shit and they can't even get the orders in right." She raised her eyes and gave him a long-suffering look. "It's a disaster up there, Zin. They're going to rip me to shreds if I don't get the damn things fixed, and they're not going to give a shit there was no work order."

Zinoviy shrugged. "I'll call Lavrenti―"

"I wouldn't," she blurted out. She swallowed and gave him her best wry smile. "I don't want you to get in trouble. He's busy chewing up the regional for letting this happen―he only stopped long enough to tell me where I'm going. It's your call, but I don't think he wants to hear from anybody right now."

Zinoviy looked suspicious. She added urgency to her voice: "Come on, Zin. I'm late as it is. They didn't even bother sending an updated schedule, so daycare wouldn't take my son. I had to leave him with some woman I barely know, and I just don't want to deal with any more shit. Can we just get this over with?"

His eyes hardened, and her gut tightened as she realized what he was going to say. "I got to confirm it, Shura. I can't just sign out PAV's on anybody's say-so. Besides, I don't even have a vehicle for you. Those aren't serviceable."

"I'm not anybody," she said, coloring her tone with disbelief. "We've been doing this for nine years." She came around the desk to stand behind him. "Can we check again? Maybe they just put it in."

Zinoviy turned back to his display. Before his hand could slip into the control glove, she stepped forward, grabbed his collar with both hands, and slammed his head into the desk with all her strength. He still moved, so she pulled him back and did it again. Blood leaked from his nose and a purple bruise spread across his forehead, but he was still breathing. "Asshole," she muttered as she pulled his chair back and gave him a shove, sending him toppling to the floor. It took a few more precious seconds to push him as far under his desk as she could manage. Her hands shook as she dug in his pocket for the key card. Once she found it, she grabbed her bag and ran out the door leading to the hangar, choosing the closest of the three sleek, twin-rotored PAV's. She tore off the service tag without another thought; heavy landings had never been her problem. With a swipe of the key card and confirmation of her credentials, the bright red aircraft hummed to life and initiated its preparations for flight. She left it working while she stuffed her bag into the tiny cargo compartment behind the cockpit, then ran to open the massive doors leading outside. Behind her, the engines awoke with a rising whine.

As soon as she'd run back and strapped herself in, a chime alerted her that the PAV was ready for flight. She took hold of the controls. "Come on," she muttered as the strip of daylight before her grew wider. The doors had only opened halfway when she nudged the control stick to pull her craft off the ground, then guided it forward and out through the gap.

Chapter Seven

Khariton sat glued to the barge's porthole and watched the titan _Stalwart's_ cavernous docking bay race by until the black of space replaced it. As the barge began to maneuver, dozens of other supply craft peeled off, heading for different ships in the cylindrical formation ahead. Most sailed towards the oblong, wide-mouthed titan _Victory_ at the heart of the task force, but Khariton's ship had a different destination.

The barge's movement brought _Stalwart_ back into view just as its escorts detached from the massive ship's hull, slowly spreading out into a defensive formation. A smooth turn removed the titan from his sight. Seconds later, the barge's deceleration pushed him into his harness, until another docking bay cut off his view of the stars. The ship settled on the deck with a gentle shudder. Khariton shed his harness and stood waiting by the door, bag on his shoulder.

He was the first one down the ramp once it settled on the deck, and he made no effort to keep the smile off his face. The new uniform he wore and the company he was about to join made him so proud he felt like laughing in triumph. He felt less enthusiasm about the double crescents on his shoulders that identified him as a chief, but the upper five had insisted it would simplify his mission if they gave him a rank. They'd even granted him Supreme Command authority, though they'd been adamant he only use it under extreme circumstances that threatened his life.

The interior of the special assault ship _Mitrofan_ reflected both its vicious past and the regimented nature of its operation. Equipment not in use sat restrained in organized spaces, gleaming from regular lubrication and maintenance. Gouges in the grey flight deck had been repaired with a lighter material, and one steel blue bulkhead showed clear signs of a heavy psych charge impact. Khariton knew everything the Commonwealth had learned about the floaters' ability to project kinetic force without the use of technology, an ability that rapidly gained in power depending on how many individuals combined their efforts, but he'd never seen the effects in real life. He breathed in the smell of grease and engine exhaust as a heavy loader slid by to unload the barge, and felt happier than ever before.

A woman clad in worn but immaculate advance guard black appeared from behind the loader. She stood a full head shorter than Khariton, a feature exaggerated by her wide hips and solid build, but her cool, self-assured bearing gave her a formidable appearance. Short, dark brown hair framed sharp, weathered features arranged in a polite, confident smile. "Are you Khariton?"

His smile widened. "Yes, I am. You are Chief Raisa of the 114th Advance Guards?"

Her expression changed from polite to amused. "Yes, I am." They shook hands. "Welcome to the _Mitrofan_. How was your trip?"

"Productive," he said. "I spent most of it in an empty cargo bay, practicing with the Adaptive Combat Suit. I've acquired a basic level of competence."

She raised an eyebrow. "How long were you on that ship?"

"Nine days."

The other eyebrow joined its companion. "That's pretty quick for ACS training."

"I learn quickly."

"Obviously. For your time with the 114th, I'm going to attach you to First Squad. You'll spend most of your time with them, and they'll help you if you have any questions. Shall we go introduce you?"

"That will be fine."

She preceded him across the flight deck, through a wide door into the _Mitrofan_ 's interior. "Guards ready," she snapped. "Line up."

They had entered an assembly room. Weapons and equipment in racks lined the walls, and a large display facing rows of benches dominated a third of the compartment. A high work table occupied the remaining space, surrounded by nine guards who had dropped their equipment and now trotted over to form a line. Khariton's heart beat faster.

"Guards, this is Chief Khariton, detached from the Supreme Command. He's going to be observing us for a while. We're going to make sure nothing happens to him. For as long as he's with us, his safety is our top priority. Understood?"

"Yes, sir," the nine said in unison.

Khariton came forward. "The nature of my assignment is secret, but it requires me to go wherever you go. Tomorrow, I'll need to see each of you for interviews about your personal experiences. I'm very excited to be working with you."

The expressions of his audience might have been chiseled in stone. His smile gone and sweat itching in his armpits, he stepped back.

"Back to it," Raisa said. The guards returned to their table. "Walk with me for a second," she said, and led him away. Once they were out of earshot, she turned. The hard look on her face almost made him reel back. "If you need my people for something, I expect you to tell me before you tell them. Is that going to be a problem?"

Blood rushed to his face. "I was told you would be informed as to what I would need."

"That doesn't mean you can dictate the order of proceedings around here. I run this unit. If you need something, you come and talk to me about it. I'll make it happen without interfering with other responsibilities." Her eyes tightened. "They might have made you a chief, and you might be my equal on file, but there's only one in charge. Do you understand?"

Some of his embarrassment turned to anger. "This rank means nothing to me. They gave it to me because they thought it would help. I certainly didn't agree."

Her expression softened a little. "Well, here you are, and you have a rank, whether you like it or not. Those guards over there knew the second they saw you that you didn't earn it. What are you going to show them?"

He looked away, torn between his need for her support and the demands of his shame. "I'll consider that. When would be a good time to conduct the interviews?"

She folded her arms. "How long are they going to take? What are you going to ask them, anyway?"

"Personal experiences and views on combat, hardship, loss, the enemy, their colleagues, and so forth. I expect each one will take about half an hour, but a lot depends on their responses."

"Okay." She studied him. "I don't think you know what you're getting yourself into, but I'll set it up for tomorrow. For now, let's show you where you'll be sleeping."

The next day, Khariton sat in a tiny cabin across from another man. His file gave his rank and name as Volunteer Moisey. Khariton smiled at him, but the expression on the bald man's rough, square face remained passively disrespectful. "I'm going to ask you a series of questions about your life as a guard. They're going to cover some of your reactions to things you've experienced. You can be as thorough in your answers as you like." He might have been alone in the room for all the reaction he got. "Can you tell me about your career as a guard? Where you started, where you fought, and so forth?" He already knew these things from Moisey's file, but he hoped it would get him talking.

Moisey aimed a nod at the tablet in Khariton's hands. "Don't you have my file right there?"

"It's a little vague on some of the specifics," he said. It was technically true, but the near-lie left him feeling exposed. "I'd like to hear it from you."

After a moment's cold stare, the guard rattled off his postings. "Started in the 237th Guard Regulars during the Illarion invasion. I was selected for the advance guards after that. I trained for two years, then I was assigned to the 114th. Went to..."

Khariton watched his face as he talked. Insolence and challenge dominated his expression, as if he meant to demonstrate he could answer Khariton's questions all day long and never give him anything to work with.

The guard's voice hastened for a moment, and he glossed over the 114th's action at Ravelin. Khariton waited a few seconds before casually glancing down at the tablet. The company had taken heavy losses in the battle.

"That was last week," Moisey said, ending his ramble. He crossed his arms and glanced at the door.

Khariton nodded. "You've had quite a career. Can you tell me more about the fighting at Ravelin?"

Moisey looked away. "Like what?" he demanded.

"Was it a difficult fight?"

He scoffed and shook his head. "You don't know."

"So help me understand," Khariton said quickly.

With a brief sigh and raised eyebrows, Moisey said, "We were supposed to capture a floater detector array. We got called back because the floaters attacked the base we'd staged at. By the time we got there, they already had troops inside the base. We were there for thirty-seven days. Then they gave up. That's it."

"Did you lose any friends there?"

"I don't have friends," Moisey said, staring at the bulkhead. "Nobody does."

"Comrades, then?"

Moisey nodded without moving his eyes. Khariton waited, fighting the urge to speak or change the subject.

"It was a mess. Mostly we fought inside, but whenever the fleet controlled the orbit, we'd try to flank 'em by going around outside. Them, too, every time they drove off the fleet stew." He cleared his throat, his gaze still glued to the same patch of bulkhead. "We did a recon in force, trying to find a clear path. The whole battalion waited to attack if we did. I was... supposed to give distant cover. Me and some other guys. I changed our position to get a better angle. They came under fire while we moved. Couple guards went down."

"That must be difficult," Khariton said.

Moisey's head turned like a gun turret, and he shot to his feet. "Man, fuck you know about difficult," he snapped, color rising to his face. "You think because somebody put some crescents on your sleeve, you get to talk like you know me?" He kicked the chair, sending it tumbling, and reached the door with two paces. Khariton's hands trembled from the guard's outburst. After a few deep breaths, he swallowed and stood, following his subject outside. He found Moisey standing ramrod straight before Raisa, staring over her head.

"So what do I have here?" she said, her quiet voice disgusted and bitter. "A guard who thinks he's too good to answer a few questions?"

"No, sir," Moisey said, his tone crisp.

Her frigid stare didn't waver. "Really. Because I could have sworn I told you to get interviewed, and you just walked out of there. Am I wrong, Volunteer?"

"No, sir."

"So following orders is optional to you, is that it? You'll do what you're told, as long as you like it?"

"No, sir."

Raisa nodded. "Oh, you're damn right. So now you get to drag your ass to the rec room and do forty k's. You pull shit like this again, I'll confine you for your leisure hours. Do you understand?"

"Yes, sir."

"Go."

Moisey saluted and fled. Khariton looked back at Raisa and bristled at her piercing stare. The guard's inability to deal with his failure wasn't Khariton's fault.

"I'll send you another," she said, and turned away.

The guard that next entered the office had a polite smile on his pleasant round face and a ring beard that defied regulations. His name was Gerasim, and Khariton had read his file with particular interest.

"You wanted to talk to me, sir?" he said, a positive lilt to his voice.

"That's right. Please come in and have a seat." Khariton waited for the other man to sit down. "I'm going to ask you some questions about your experience serving as a guard. Things that happened and how you reacted to them."

Gerasim gave a firm nod. "Fire away."

"How did you end up as a guard?" he blurted out.

The other man narrowed his eyes. "You know I'm a tuber, right?"

"Yes," Khariton said, cursing his nerves for making him too eager. "I am, too."

"Yeah, I got that already," he said with a laugh.

"You can tell?"

"Not always, but you're pretty obvious." He leaned on the desk with his elbows. "I came out of the Heritage facility. It was just after Illarion, so they had to fill in the ranks. I was supposed to be a factory worker, but lucky me, they made me a guard instead." He hesitated. "How about you?"

"Intelligence analysis," Khariton said. "I've been solving puzzles since before I could talk."

Gerasim's brow rose and he gave an appreciative nod."Sounds interesting."

Khariton nodded. "It is, most of the time. You just don't get to talk much with anyone."

"Pretty lonely, huh?" Gerasim said. Khariton looked away, and the guard added, "Hey, I know. I used to feel that way."

He looked at the guard and abandoned all pretense of control. "So what happened?"

"I became a guard," Gerasim said with a shrug. "I guess once you've almost gotten killed with somebody, it's hard to remember that they were grown in a tube and you weren't." He shook his head. "It changes things. What you think you know. These people... They're not all nice. Actually, a lot of them are real assholes. But every one of them has saved my ass at some point. Not because they think I'm such a great guy, but because it's what you do. If I'm out there, I'm watching their backs, and I know they're watching mine." He leaned forward, struggling for words. "I never know what tomorrow's going to be like. I could be dead before breakfast. Nobody talks about it, but it's not easy. Your crew gives you something to trust in. Something steady. No matter how deep you're in, your people are with you, and they're going to do what they do. Even the ones that hate your guts. You just do your part, and you don't worry about the rest." He chuckled. "Except officers. They have to actually think. Nothing I'd ever want to do."

Khariton stared, mesmerized, waiting for the guard to continue. Everything he'd said was everything Khariton had ever wanted. The shame he felt from the compassion in the other man's eyes meant nothing.

Gerasim sat back, looking away. "You want some advice, sir? Don't do these interviews now. These people don't know you. They're not going to tell you what you want to know. Just spend some time with us, see what life is like. I'll bet you won't have much left to ask after that."

"I understand," Khariton said. "Thank you."

He stayed behind for a long time after the guard left, wondering if he'd made his first friend.

*****

"They seem quiet," Chief Tihamtu said as he tracked a gibbon through the trees.

The journey from the Sacred Circle back to the village had seen growing humidity and heat, and the entire party glistened with sweat as they traveled down the jungle trail. Azial smelled a storm in the oppressive air. "Maybe the heat makes them tired," he said, his tone distracted. He'd had a bad feeling ever since leaving the Circle, and he didn't think the gibbons had anything to do with it.

Perhaps his meeting with Seruya had shaken him more than he thought. Seeing her alive and healthy had quelled a fear that had weighed on him since the last time he'd seen her, but relief had since faded into old resentment. He still remembered with perfect clarity the moment when she was hauled in front of the entire tribe to admit her crime. Tihamtu had banished her in answer, and Azial had realized the weight of their destiny now rested on him alone. Once the loud men had appeared and they'd both realized the threat prophesied in their vision was here, it had fallen to Azial to wake the Kith to the danger. Saving them was supposed to have been a shared destiny, and Azial didn't know if he could fulfill it alone, and be a father at the same time.

Ahead, the village wall came into view. Cries went up from behind it. As the party got closer, the gate slowly tilted open. Azial followed behind Tihamtu, ready to announce their success. Instead, his confident smile fell away. The open gate revealed Musuri, with Pirisati standing behind him, the other villagers keeping well back. No welcome calls, no cheers.

Tihamtu's face was grim. "Go to your family, Azial."

"Yes, Tihamtu." He ran ahead of the group, passing through the gate under the silent gazes of the entire tribe to stop before his son and wife. Their eyes were red, their faces haunted by knowledge. Worry churning his gut, he said, "What happened?"

Musuri lifted his chin and spoke in a thick voice, "Father. Tamzi is dead."

"Tamzi―" The words died in his throat. His son's short statement set off an avalanche in his mind. With perfect and detailed clarity, he saw the full extent of the disaster unfold. "How?"

Musuri swallowed hard. "While you were away, I traveled to the Yahua village. I scaled the wall and entered unseen. I went to Tamzi's house―"

"You tried to steal Tamzi?" Azial whispered. "To make her your wife?"

His son bit his lip and nodded. "She agreed. She was excited. She followed me back. She was right behind me when―" He wiped away a tear. "She felt sick. We had to stop. I tried to carry her, but then... It appeared. The Vile."

Azial shook his head. He wished Musuri would stop talking.

"I wanted to protect her. But when I looked back at her, she had the patches on her arms and face, and she wasn't moving. " He squeezed his eyes shut and balled his fists. "I ran away. It didn't follow. It wanted her."

"Because she caught the seed. She sprung a trap." Azial shook with sorrow and frustration, the pain he felt for Tamzi's loss made hollow by disappointment that Musuri had tried something so glorious, and failed so miserably. "You left Balbasu's last surviving child with a Vile growing inside her." He raised his fists, opened them, closed them again. "Why didn't you kill her?"

Musuri shook his head.

"Do you know what will happen now?" He looked at his wife, ignoring the bitter anger she threw at him, then back to his son. "Balbasu will go mad with grief. He will demand your death. He can't have it, so he will demand a trial. He'll set the greatest of his Sharyukin against me, and I'll have to kill whomever he chooses. And after that, he will not be satisfied. He will hate you, and me, and he will hate the Udaki tribe because it claims us. I don't know what he'll do. But he won't abide by the agreement. He won't stand with us again." He watched his weeping son try to keep a stolid face. "Go to the hut. We'll talk... Once I know what to say."

Musuri nodded stiffly and walked away.

"When did he get out?" Azial said to Pirisati, failing to keep the cold out of his voice.

She looked him up and down. "You think to blame me for letting him go? He's fifteen, Azial. He goes where he wants. He went to do the one thing that could earn his father's respect." She stepped closer, cheek twitching. "And you say it's his fault!"

Her anger struck deep inside him, but his own burned away the meaning of her words. He said nothing, and after another withering glance, she stalked away after her son.

Tihamtu appeared beside him and placed a hand on his shoulder. "Let's go. We need guidance, you and I."

Azial followed the chief through the village. The oil makers sat in a circle around the press, cutting palm fruits from bunches with obsidian axes and peeling the spikes off the fruit by hand. They looked up and muttered greetings to Tihamtu. Only a few offered guarded nods to Azial. He bit down on the humiliation, reminded of all the times he'd gleefully shared gossip. The village seemed much smaller than before.

They approached the lone tent that belonged to Merodakh. A deep, murmuring chant came from within the hide cover, and steam rose from the top. "He awaits us," Tihamtu muttered. "Our ancestors are close." The chief hesitated, then pulled open the flap and stood aside.

Azial entered the darkness.

Daylight left him blind even before Tihamtu followed him in and closed the flap, so he made his way inside by touch until he sat down on the dirt floor. Tihamtu sat beside him. Something bubbled, and a thick, spicy smell made the hot air unbearable. Azial wrapped his arms around his knees, trying to ignore that the chanting seemed to come from several voices.

"Azial. Your fate has begun."

The chant continued behind Merodakh's gravelly voice, but there could be no one else inside the tent. Azial clenched his jaw against the rising fear.

Tihamtu spoke, hesitant for the first time Azial had ever known: "Merodakh, I honor our ancestors. I seek their guidance in this difficult time. How can I repair what has been damaged?"

A soft laugh. "There is no way. Azial, you're the one who chose this way. You've shattered all paths but one, and now your heart is all the Kith have left. The trial you looked for all your life is here, and it's not what you think. The tribes can be whole, but you will walk a long and hard path to make it so, and you are not the only one to walk it."

"Seruya," Azial whispered. The thick air clouded his mind until all he saw was what the medicine man told him.

"Balbasu has already lost the battle for his mind. He will do the mad things his broken heart tells him. You cannot avoid what comes, and this is not the end of your suffering. You must keep your strength, and act with honor until the end." A scuff in the dirt. He felt the medicine man's whisper in his ear, "You will have a choice: to do wrong, or to stand alone. You must act with honor, as long as you can. You are not the one who will finish it."

The warm breath disappeared. Merodakh spoke again from the other side of the hut: "Tihamtu. You ask for guidance. This is it. You must act for the Kith in all things. Not for the Udaki. Not for Tihamtu. Live in the spirit of the Kith, even when it seems impossible. If you don't, you will be the last chief of the Udaki tribe." The chanting faded, leaving only the bubbling noise and the sound of Merodakh's slow, heavy breathing. The medicine man's faint silhouette sagged, shrinking with each exhalation. "Leave me," he murmured.

Drenched in sweat, Azial and Tihamtu emerged from the tent. They looked at each other, eyes slitted against the sudden brightness.

"When you and your sister had your visions, I believed you," the chief said. "I felt honored to live in such an important time. But now, I'm afraid."

Tihamtu's admission struck Azial like a blow. Only a simpleton would have failed to sense the power in Merodakh's words, but he'd hoped for Tihamtu's confidence to steady him. "I thought it would be enough to be strong," he said, his voice dull. "I don't know what I did wrong, so how can I avoid doing it again?"

"Go to your son, Azial. Listen to what he says, and what he doesn't say. He bears a terrible shame. No doubt he needs help."

Azial nodded. "Thank you, Tihamtu."

Musuri sat cross-legged inside the hut, head hanging, while Pirisati made him tea. Only she looked over when Azial entered.

Azial sat down in front of his son. "Musuri, look at me." The young man's eyes were flat and empty, sunken from fatigue. "Why did you try to steal Tamzi?"

Musuri's spoke in a loose, bitter tone: "I know the stories. I thought I would win glory."

"If you know the stories, then you know wife stealing is performed only when the parents object to the union. Your mother and I supported it, and so did Balbasu. Even then, Sharyukin are the only ones who ever do it. So why?"

"I―" His jaw snapped shut and he looked away.

"You what?"

Musuri refused to look at him. Azial ground his teeth and refrained from slamming the boy into the ground to get his attention. "This is no time for stubbornness. You made a terrible mistake, and I want to know why. If you think, after what you did, you have the right to sit there with your arrogance, you disappoint me even more than you already have."

Pirisati shook her head and muttered an appeal to her ancestors. Musuri scoffed and gave him an insolent look. "I did it because I wanted to be great! I wanted people to remember me by my name instead of my father's. I wanted to do something I shouldn't be able to do."

Azial forced himself to ignore Musuri's expression. "I understand your desire for greatness, but why risk Tamzi? Why drag her out into the jungle?"

He shrugged. "I didn't think I'd fail." Dark eyes full of hate bored into his own. "You never do."

Azial's gaze wandered as, for the first time, he tried to grasp the enormity of the gap between himself and his son. He struggled to find words for things he'd never had to talk about. "Musuri. I have failed. Not often, but I have. You shape the kind of man you are by how you handle your failure. And great rewards may come from taking great risk, but only when the risk is sensible. You must always ask yourself: what would be the consequences if I fail? Would I be able to live with those consequences? Would I still think the risk was worth it if I don't get the reward?"

Musuri chewed on his cheek and looked to the side, not quite rolling his eyes. Azial slapped him. He saw the sting in his son's face, saw him rise at the pain and humiliation―and then swallow it all into his stubborn, sullen rage, and remain passive. Azial stood. "I don't think I taught you disrespect. I know your mother didn't. The way you look at me and talk to me, I would never have done that to my father. I know you loved Tamzi, so I won't punish you. I will let her death teach you instead: the things that follow from what you do, are on your shoulders. And sometimes, those things can't be fixed. By anyone." He walked out.

Pirisati followed him. "What was that?" she said in a low voice as she walked beside him.

"You saw him. He won't listen. He thinks he has the answers, even after what he did. I don't know what it will take to make him understand, but I don't have it."

She grabbed his arm and forced him to stop. Her jaw quivered. "So that's it? He's your son! Try again!"

He looked around at the villagers watching them from the corners of their eyes as they worked outside their homes, then back at her. "Here? In front of the whole tribe?"

She released his arm and said with venom, "You think there's anything they don't already know?"

Filled with nauseating anger, he watched her return to the house. He should have gone to find Tihamtu, to plan for the meeting Balbasu was sure to demand. Instead, he took off at a run, towards the palisade. He reached the top with a single jump, then dove into the jungle. A good time to collect more trophies.

*****

Seruya crouched on the black branch, scanning the grasslands stretched out before her. Plenty of single trees dotted the rolling landscape, but the real jungle ended here, with the last blackwood tree. Grey, jagged mountains rose up beyond the horizon, ruled by the stern peak of the Mountain That Sees. She hadn't traveled this way in many years.

She slipped down from the branch and headed out into the open. A game trail made progress easy, but the open sky overhead and the smell of the dry grass reminded her of her vulnerability with every step.

The deep jungle already lay far behind when she stopped in her tracks. A small deer blocked her way, entirely white save for a few grey spots. Its fur lacked any trace of dirt or stain, and the animal seemed to glow in the sunlight. The old legends were rife with animals like it, sent as messengers by distant gods to guide the Kith in times of crisis.

This was no legend.

The animal awaited her approach without threatening to flee. She took the amulet around her neck in her left hand and inscribed a warding gesture in the air with her right. Staring down the intrepid animal, she muttered an ancient mantra.

The deer flinched and fled into the brush.

"I'm not so easily led," she muttered, and resumed walking.

She still lived because she had learned long ago to tell when she was being watched. That sense never let up after she'd banished the deer, spoiling her mood with every step. No animal tracked her steps, and the brush hawks wheeling overhead showed her no interest. Yet she'd become the object of something's attention.

She stopped and turned a full circle. "Come out or be gone! You won't deceive me, and you can't coerce me, so speak or leave me be."

The attention she felt gathered itself in one place, concentrating into a singular presence a little further down the trail. It took no physical form, but it felt as real as the village wall. She faced it, words of banishment at her lips as she reached into her belt.

"I know what you are looking for," a voice said in her mind. "I can help you find it. In return, you would provide a service." It spoke without any of the tribes' accents, and the voice gave no hint about age or gender. It felt distant, like an echo, every inflection muted and filtered.

Seruya laughed. "A spirit offers a questionable bargain, hinting at fulfillment of desires in return for a service yet to be named? Surely this has never happened before!" She flung a small packet from her belt in the direction of the presence. It burst in midair, scattering yellow powder. She advanced into it, ignoring the sting in her eyes as she repeated the warding sign with her left hand and chanted a steady stream of banishing mantras. The presence wavered, then dispersed.

Seruya blinked away the tears and looked around. She'd expected more of a fight. The powers she had used would have been plenty to banish any common spirit to the dream world, but this was a different entity. The sense of being watched had not diminished.

Seconds passed and her irritation spiked. "Fine," she snapped. "Come, so we can settle this. If you approach me again later, I'll be even less inclined to this bargain of yours."

As expected, the feeling once again coalesced into an undeniable presence, a few steps further down the trail. The voice spoke again: "I have no hostile intentions towards you or your people. Please listen, and allow me to explain what I am, what I seek, and how we can help each other."

Seruya had been taught to avoid conversations with spirits, since they inevitably involved deception. This entity seemed different in that it aspired to clear communication, where spirits with designs on living people usually stuck to vague hints and dubious promises. She sat cross-legged in the grass. "Speak. I will listen."

"I am one of many who have come from far away, beyond the sky. Some of my people are like me, and others are like you and live in a body. Eventually, their bodies will pass and they become like me, just like I will pass from this existence and inhabit flesh. When I exist in a body, it looks very different from you. Do you understand thus far?"

"Do you have a name?"

"You may call me Sage. Long ago, my people lost something on this world. Cocoons, holding the essences of many waiting to be reborn in the flesh. They were taken by those who lived here then, and used like you would use wood for fire, except our unborn are not consumed. We came to get them back, but these people fled this world to fight us from elsewhere. We have tried to retrieve our unborn ever since. Now those people are coming back here, looking for something of great value that was left behind. We do not know what it is, but we do know they believe it will help them fight against us. We must find it before they do, and we need your help to do so."

"Why do you think I can help you?" Seruya said, mostly to hide her confusion. This spirit was unlike anything from the legends.

"There is a structure close to the mountains, built by those who took our cocoons. There may be information inside that could help. It is also the origin point for the creatures your people hunt. They go there to recover from injury, and breed more of their kind."

He had to be talking about her destination. How improbably convenient. Still, she said, "Vile don't breed. They corrupt large living things with their seed, and use their bodies to make a new Vile."

"They have another method of reproduction. It is much slower, and requires the collection of living things and their processing." It paused. "I know you are wary of me. The service I offer you will be our aid in finding the structure I spoke of, and in finding a way inside. It is unlike the ruins you have seen around your homes because it has not decayed, and cannot be entered easily. I know some of its secrets, and I believe the answers you seek may also be found inside."

"You still haven't explained why you need my help."

"When living without flesh, we can travel quickly and far, and see more than eyes do, but we have little strength. We can move objects only infrequently and with great effort. We need you to act on our behalf."

"So you say we both have cause to enter this structure. You will help me get inside and find my answers, if I then help you find whatever it is that your enemy has come back for. Yes?"

"That is an accurate summary of my proposal."

"Fine." She stood. "I accept your offer, with two conditions. First, this agreement is dissolved if I ever believe you have deceived me. Second, I came here to help my people. We will see what we find in this structure, but I will do nothing more until I have returned and ensured that my people are safe. Once I know that, then I will help you find what you're looking for."

"Agreed."

"Now disappear," she said. "I don't enjoy your scrutiny."

"As you wish. For now, continue on this path. I will only speak to offer directions."

Seruya was alone again. She slowly came to her feet, her mind racing. "Did you foresee this too, Merodakh?" she muttered, and shook her head.

Chapter Eight

Commander Miron shuffled into Control, every limb screaming with fatigue. As soon as he made it to the chair next to Borya, he collapsed into it, earning the dull, empty relief of the truly exhausted. The Ship Master looked him over. "You're killing yourself," he said in a toneless voice.

Miron glanced at him. "You look no better."

"True. But I'm much older than you."

"I'll catch up," Miron said with a tired smile. Borya managed to lift one corner of his mouth.

The six fleet hands at their control stations resembled sandbags in their seats. The faces he saw embodied fatigue, pasty complexions marred by deep black circles under bloodshot eyes. Ipati at the gunnery station had lost half of her hair, once fine and shiny but now reduced to dull, wispy strands waving in the ventilation air flow. He almost fell asleep watching her as she rubbed and rolled her eyes, then blinking furiously to try and stay awake.

The door slid open and the next shift shambled in. They came from downtime, but looked infinitely worse than the crew they were replacing. Osip's cheeks were still wet. Broken blood vessels marred Gugal's face. They found their stations and muttered to their counterparts.

Miron blinked a few times and counted the relief shift. "Who is replacing Yegor at D-Ops? And Bogdan?"

"Oksana," Borya replied mechanically. After a few seconds, the implications of Miron's question filtered through his brain and he stirred, doing the same count Miron did.

"Get up!"

"Back off!"

Navigators Matfey and Osip struggled at their station. Borya appeared by their side, wrenching them apart with his shovel-sized hands. "Hey! Calm down! Where do you think you are?"

Osip stood at attention, trembling. "Master, Matfey won't stand down."

Miron watched the exchange from his seat. Borya didn't need him, and he didn't have anything to offer anyway.

Matfey swung in his chair to face Borya, but didn't get up. "Master, I volunteer for an extended shift."

"Fuck you, man," Osip ground out. "I'm not going back there."

Borya turned to him. "Look at me." Osip kept his fierce gaze on Matfey, who gripped the armrests and bared his teeth in a rictus grin. The Ship Master stepped between them. He gently grabbed Osip's head and forced their eyes to meet. "You're fleet crew. Act like it. Calm down."

Osip gave a skittish nod. "I'm sorry, sir. It won't happen again."

"Matfey." The navigator hadn't moved. "Go see Rurik in the infirmary. Have him give you something."

Matfey didn't move. Tears streamed down his face. Only when Borya gently took his shoulders did he allow himself to be guided to the exit. Osip sank into the vacant chair, giving a rough sigh. No one else spoke.

Borya returned to his chair, settled into it. He gave Miron a hollow look. "This is almost over," he said under his breath, barely audible over the hum of machinery. "They have nothing left to give."

Miron drew his battered body up straight and leaned towards the Ship Master. He pointed a finger at him. "It's not over," he said with all the force he could muster. "We're not done. It's not going to end this way. Don't you quit, Borya. You're all that keeps them going."

Borya considered a reply. Before he could offer it, something caught his attention. Miron looked over. The Master Tactical Display just completed its shift from the usual bright green to a painful shade of purple.

They looked at each other. Borya closed his eyes and chuckled. Miron's fatigue couldn't suppress a smile.

The door slid open again and Gervasi marched in, followed by Oksana. Miron watched them as they came around to stand in front of him.

"I know you had her killed," Gervasi said, her voice trembling.

Miron didn't try to hide his disgust with the creature standing before him. The Master Second's eyes glittered with satisfied hate even as she affected indignation. "Now you've had your dramatic entrance," Miron said. "What do you want?"

"You can't condescend to me now, Commander. You had Ilari killed. Do you deny it?"

"I don't, but I do question your competence if you think this is the appropriate place and manner for addressing such a concern."

"Why?" Oksana said, the word laden with unassailable outrage. "She wasn't dying, she was in a coma!"

Miron shifted his flat gaze to her. "I know why the Master Second would put on this show, but why are you here?"

"Ilari was my friend," she said in a biting voice. "And you killed her."

"She was stuck in a nightmare," he snapped. "She was never going to wake from it again. Is that what you wanted for her?"

"You don't know that," Gervasi cut in, pouring disbelief into her words. "How dare you make that choice for her?"

Loose, dangerous anger warmed Miron's limbs. He stood, putting him too close to the Master Second and allowing him to look down on her. "She would have never had a voice again. Are you so ignorant that you don't know what would have happened to her? How she would have lived the rest of her life?"

Gervasi didn't back up. She slowly shook her head. "You killed her, just in case that's what she wanted? You arrogant little tyrant, you think you can just sacrifice fleet crew whenever you feel like it?"

"I know your kind, Gervasi. You'll use anything to bolster your paranoid shit. Even an act of mercy."

Her eyes bulged. "Mercy? Convenience! Arrogance! You don't know mercy!"

"Victory, Master Second," he spat. "Mercy for all of us. It's the only thing that matters. Obviously, I don't need to ask if you feel the same way, else you wouldn't be here now, embarrassing yourself."

She laughed. "Victory?" The look of feigned astonishment on her face inspired an urge to violence, barely suppressed. "Like at Wicked Sisters, two months ago? I told you I was there, Commander. You send the entire squadron to die, when you knew _Revenge_ group was less than an hour away! Twenty-two ships blown to pieces. Only two came back." Her voice pitched higher, almost to a shriek, and a tear rolled down her cheek. "And it was for nothing! You could have kept us back! Help was coming! Do you know how many friends I lost? Damn near all of them!"

Twenty-two ships. Five thousand four hundred and seventy-nine fleet hands and guards, and a debt he could never repay. Beneath his fury at the vast well of pain and regret she'd torn open with such glee, Miron felt relief. Other than during his debriefing, he'd spoken with no one about the disaster. Gervasi's words echoed the ones he'd said to himself every morning of the seventy-nine days since it happened. On every one of those days, he'd stood before the mirror with the knife Ilya had given him before he'd sent her to die. Every day, he'd cut a line into his flesh, and sworn he would give answer for the lives he'd sacrificed. "I knew they were coming," he said, his voice hoarse. "I didn't know they were close. I made the decision. I took the risk. That's my job. Yours is to do as you're told."

"How easy for you to say that," she said. "You decide, but we're the ones who die. It's because of you that we're still out here. We should have turned back weeks ago!"

Borya stood and loomed over them both. "He's right. You know it. Everybody's tired, but you've crossed the line. You need to step back." Gervasi glared at him. He leaned forward, almost touching her. "Right now."

Miron expected her to back down. She didn't. The wavering look on her face slowly hardened into something else. Behind Borya, Oksana slowly reached behind her back, staring intently at the Ship Master. Gugal the gunner slipped out of his chair and crept up behind her, tense as a coiled spring.

Part of Miron realized what was about to happen. He had no answer to the situation. Boiling rage filled his mind, and he swore to himself that once it started, Gervasi would die before he did. His hand crept towards his pocket, where the stone knife sat in its sheath. He would only need one cut

"Control, this is Chief Zakhar."

Borya and Gervasi broke off their stares. "What?" Borya demanded.

"Ship Master, Ludmila is dead. Someone killed her."

*****

As soon as she cleared the high traffic areas, Shura activated the aircraft's autopilot and clambered over the back of her chair into the back seat. Popping off the panel over the backrest gave access to the PAV's transponder and communication unit. She reached in with one hand, finding the power supply by touch, and yanked it out, yelping as her fingers struck something hard. Despite the throbbing pain in her hand, she breathed more easily as she returned to the pilot's seat and disengaged the autopilot. She pulled the aircraft into a tight arc and aimed the nose down. Without the transponder, traffic control wouldn't be able to track her if she stayed low enough, nor would her bosses be able to take remote control of the PAV without a comm unit. If the auditors wanted to find her, they'd have to ask the System Defense Command for assistance in tracking her down, and she didn't believe her case warranted that kind of response. If she was wrong, she'd know soon enough.

Her vehicle shook with the strain of flying at full power, but she didn't dare slow down. They'd still be able to track her up to the point where she disabled the transponder, and the faster she got away from her original course, the better. The roofs of apartment buildings and manufacturing centers flashed by beneath her as she crossed the Districts. Construction covered most of Marshal's surface, save for the northern forests left alone for the value of their biodiversity to scientific research, but the planet's population had once numbered nearly twice what it did today. Vast urban areas lay abandoned, left intact to support possible future population growth, but no longer part of the Districts, and no longer maintained. The underground data network still passed through such areas, and still required people like Shura to perform upkeep and occasional corrections.

Ahead, a line divided the sprawling cityscape. Beyond it, the roofs turned a darker shade, the only immediately visible indication she was about to leave the Districts. As she crossed the line, a message on her display instructed her to exercise due caution, because rescue would be delayed in case of an accident. Rescue was the last thing she wanted.

The condition of the buildings below deteriorated quickly as she left the Districts behind. None had collapsed entirely, but moss covered most of the roofs, and grass lined the walkways. She even caught a glimpse of a tree growing out of a window.

Movement exploded across her windscreen. She screamed, trying to maintain control as impacts hammered the fuselage. As the rest of the flock of birds scattered around her, she checked her display, but the unchanged hum of the rotors reassured her even before the readout confirmed she'd suffered no damage. "I guess that's why they told us not to fly so low," she muttered.

A chime alerted her that she was approaching her destination. After curving around a square tower with gaping dark windows, a blinking red light came into view. Beyond, a wide layer of dark clouds crested the horizon, and a thick grey curtain crept across the abandoned city. She knew from experience she would have enough time to go back for Kirill before the storm reached the Districts, but she might have to fly out through rough weather.

She slowed down and circled the blinking beacon on its tall mast, inspecting the empty square below. Her landing site appeared clear, so she came to a hover and slowly guided the aircraft to the ground. While the engines wound down, she took the survival kit from underneath her seat and clicked it open. Emergency rations to last a week, thermal blankets, a heater and a water still, both portable, and a few simple tools and first aid supplies. Enough to last her and Kirill a few days.

She resealed the kit and stowed it under her seat before lifting her toolbox from its compartment, opening it only to remove the palm-sized stun gun. She'd only needed it once before, on a rare assignment to the northern forests to fix a relay handling data from all the research stations in the area. An eight-limbed purple mander had cut her off from her aircraft, and she'd left the weapon in the vehicle. She'd been forced to drive off the amphibian predator with nothing but loud screams and a few thrown tools, flapping her jacket to appear bigger. She'd sworn she'd never set foot outside in the wild without a weapon again, and although she'd seen no sign of animal life during her flight, she had no idea what might have moved into the area after humanity left.

Her boot settled into a soft bed of purple moss, growing in patches all across the plaza. Once the whine of the engines faded away, a thick blanket of silence settled in the square. A scratchy bird call could do no more than emphasize the total absence of noise.

Toolkit in one hand and weapon in the other, Shura set out for the center of the square. The complete silence reminded her of the forest, and despite her desperate situation, she felt a wild excitement at the prospect of living there. She'd wondered what it would be like ever since she'd first visited during wilderness training, and the quiet had soothed an ache she'd never known she had.

Her plans hadn't progressed much beyond going back for her son and escaping to the forest. Once they were out of immediate danger, she would worry about the specifics of finding the rumored outlaw communities. Although a group would offer better odds of survival, she had no idea if they would be trustworthy, and she'd yet to think of a way to find out without exposing herself, even if she managed to find them.

She reached a smooth concrete slab with a hatch in the center. Removing a small cover revealed an aperture, where she plugged in the security key from her toolkit. After she answered the query to her implant with the correct security code, the hatch hissed and clicked once. It opened easily at her touch, despite its considerable weight.

The opening revealed a shaft with a ladder reaching fifty feet underground, deep enough to avoid detection of the network hub from orbit while offering protection from anything but a targeted bombardment.

By the time she reached the bottom, her arms and legs burned with exertion. Darkness veiled her surroundings until she activated a work light and stuck it to a wall. Her work space measured exactly twelve by twelve by seven feet, most of which was claimed by the six four-foot thick cables leading out through the chamber's walls. They came together inside a round structure with a display unit facing the ladder. She activated it and accessed the system.

A few commands later, she had what she wanted: access to the entire communications network in the sector. The display dutifully tallied and categorized volumes of data passing through the hub. Much of that data fell under the category labeled "LAW ENFORCEMENT." After another security query and an insistent warning that unauthorized use would incur severe penalties, she gained access to the data. The right maintenance command here would shut down the grid, limiting communications to whatever the backup system could handle. Most of the remaining bandwidth would be dedicated to the needs of automated systems, so law enforcement would have a hard time coordinating anything. Their priority would become restoring the grid, not looking for one runaway worker.

"Let's see if you're looking for me yet," she whispered.

Her name and number yielded no results. She searched for Ermolei, Kirill, even the auditor, Koldan. Nothing came up. She felt unease instead of relief. With her clearance level, encryption was bypassed. If anyone had mentioned her in the last hour, she'd see it there.

She glanced at the edge of the display, where a small table continued to track the volumes of data moving. The volume had doubled since the last time she'd glanced at it. Somebody was talking about something.

"Since you're not talking about me..." she muttered. Her fingers twitched in the control glove, calling up random messages flowing through the hub. One by one, they popped up on her display.

MSGID 77#G54 FROM SECTOR Q9 DIRECTOR TO FIELD OP ID 4872:4998 DESIGNATED MUSTERING POINT COORD 129.45 - 74.30

She frowned and tried to think of a reason why over a hundred Auditors would need to be in any one place. Several more messages to other groups of Auditors came through, directing them to a number of mustering points, without specifying the reason. Finally, another message appeared:

RPT MSG. ENEMY BREAKTHROUGH IMMINENT. SYSTEM DEFENSE COLLAPSING. INITIATE EXPED EVAC - PLAN Q. DO NOT NOTIFY GEN POP. SEC ORDN 44.

EXPECT INVASION 1900. DEPARTURE WINDOW CLOSES 1600. RPT MSG.

She read the message again, then again. "They can't be serious," she whispered. She looked for more information. Every message that popped up on her display added nauseating detail to the impossible truth: the floaters had come to Marshal.

Everything was about to end.

She tore her hands from the control gloves and covered her face. Panic boiled in her mind, battering her with images from her nightmares. Alien monsters in her home. Taking her son.

Her fingers seized her hair. "No!" she shrieked, her throat raw. "Not now!"

I have to get back.

When the thought formed in her head, she could move again. She abandoned her tool kit, stuffed the stun gun in her pocket, and ascended the ladder two rungs at a time. She wouldn't sabotage the grid now. It was obvious no one was looking for her anymore, and she couldn't bring herself to act against her own kind now that the enemy had come.

The sky had turned a dangerous grey, and wind tore at her clothes. Without pausing to close the hatch, she flung herself into her aircraft and overrode the take-off prep. As soon as the engines powered up, she wrenched the vehicle into the air and headed for her apartment.

Chapter Nine

Khariton watched the guards file into the assembly room. He'd assumed it would be good form to arrive a few minutes before the briefing time, but until now he'd been the only one in the room. Some fifty men and women entered, walking single file down the aisle between the chairs as each broke off to take their seat. He wondered whether standing up when the guards entered would have made him feel less intimidated.

He'd spent much of the night going over First Squad's personnel records, and he recognized each of the guards as they came in. Talent Demyan, the squad's somber leader for almost two years, led the way for his guards. His perfect posture and ruggedly handsome appearance would be the grace of any recruitment poster, save for the ugly scar running from his scalp down his right cheek. His record noted the low casualty rates in his unit, along with a concern he might be too reluctant to send his guards into danger.

Volunteer Nikifor followed, ice blue eyes locked forward. Khariton looked away as her slight frame passed him by. The squad's demolitions expert was lab-born, like him, and her blue eyes were the result of a manufacturing defect. Her record noted several violent incidents between her and other labs. She also had a knack for placing ordnance, bringing down structures that should have been impenetrable. Khariton intended to stay out of her way.

"Hey, you catch your breath yet?" the next guard called over his shoulder, his tone two notches past amiable. "You were sweating like a rookie earlier."

This was Volunteer Radomil, the squad's other sniper besides Moisey, who happened to be walking behind him. Radomil's stout form was shorter than all his squadmates, but he'd once killed nine floaters single-handedly while defending a medical post that got cut off in a hasty retreat. Injured himself, he'd stayed when the medics fled and left the wounded behind. Seven witness statements were attached to the guard's file, each speaking in reverent tones of his desperate struggle with the last two floaters after they penetrated the position. Since then, he'd had over a dozen violent altercations with other guards, virtually guaranteeing he'd never advance in rank.

Whatever exertion had showed in Moisey's face previously had been replaced by a stony mask. "You should try it, chubby. Just don't get in my way, I don't want to trip over you."

"Somebody get Niki on a treadmill, maybe she can work that stick out of her ass!"

Khariton didn't see who made the comment. He did see Nikifor, sitting a few rows down, turn her head and hurl a disdainful glare down the aisle. "Why don't you come get it out for me, big boy?" she said with a lazy drawl. "Then we'll see who needs to work out." As she turned back, she paused to give Khariton a withering glance, making his heart jump as she turned away.

"Settle down, kids," said a deep voice, and Khariton looked over to see the hulking form of First Squad's second-in-command and heavy weapons expert Specialist Faddei stride into the room. "It's time to work." She'd signed up for guard service after Illarion fell to the floaters, where her three children died in the fighting. She'd been promoted for keeping her cool under fire after only six months, and great things were expected from her.

The guard behind her almost matched her bulk, if not her height. Volunteer Naum was the other heavy weapons expert, and by his file, he was considered a model guard. Aggressive and creative in combat, obedient to authority, and not prone to conflict with his comrades. During a floater raid on Arkhip when he was seven years old, his community complex had been caught in the impact of a stray railgun shell from a Commonwealth ship. His entire family and everyone he'd ever known had perished in the disaster, and he'd broken every bone in his body. The tragedy had left him with an intense hatred for floaters, and a deep frown that never left his heavy brow.

Med tech Taras came in next, her muscled frame hunched forward and her dour eyes locked on the deck. As a guard regular, she'd been part of the garrison at Oriel outpost when the floaters captured the base. When the Commonwealth took back Oriel seventeen months later, they found her alive, the last survivor of a desperate effort by the surviving guards to sabotage floater operations. At her debriefing, she claimed amnesia, leaving the details of her comrades' deaths a mystery. Her transfer request to the advance guards was approved regardless, and she became a medic in the 114th.

Gerasim entered with the last of the guards, and gave Khariton a nod as he passed by. He returned it with a smile that faded when the other lab-born sat down three rows over.

Another guard plopped into the seat next to his. "So who'd you piss off?" she said in a flat voice.

"Uh." It took a moment to put a file to the delicate face and its resigned stare. Volunteer Manya, a former doctor caught altering fitness reports to excuse people from military service. After enduring seven HROS assaults, being the sole survivor in three, her commanders had realized her worth and sent her to be a medic in the advance guards. "I don't know," Khariton said. "But that's not why I'm here. I volunteered."

"Volunteered," she repeated. "That's funny. That's my rank, you know. Volunteer." She gave a cold chuckle. "I never volunteered for any of this shit."

"Guards ready!"

The guards sprang up from their seats in perfect unison, Khariton following a second later. Raisa marched by, heading towards the display unit in front of the rows of chairs. "Sit."

She activated the display before facing the assembly. "In two hours, we will arrive at Matrix. It's a class eight planetoid that holds a research and mining station. Gravity is .81, stronger than you'd expect because of heavy metals in the crust. It's very cold and there is only a thin atmosphere of nitrogen, so suits will be in environmental mode. Four days ago, floaters came by and dropped off a strike force that penetrated the facility's perimeter. Space forces then departed, and were later sighted at the Pack, seventeen light years away. The enemy controls most of the facility, but the research team and a handful of guards are still holding a fortified position inside. We'll make our descent beyond the horizon, then follow the terrain to a landing zone about one kilometer from the outer perimeter. We'll enter the facility through the existing breaches and eliminate the enemy inside. First Squad will try to link up with the remaining defenders. Third Squad will guard the perimeter. Let's see the layout."

A three-dimensional rendering of the facility and surrounding terrain sprang to life over the display. The entire landscape consisted of sharp peaks and ridges, part of Matrix's equatorial mountain range, and the landing site was one of only a few available. The facility sat at the junction of two rocky slopes, with a defensive wall spanning the distance between them. The open space between the wall and the facility held two landing pads with airlocks leading inside. Instead of forcing these, the floaters had simply blown a hole in both the defensive wall and the exterior of the building. Khariton leaned closer and studied the internal layout, trying to pin down what bothered him.

"After the briefing ends, you'll have an hour to internalize the map and tactical data, and forty minutes for prep and ordnance loading. After losses taken in the initial assault, it's estimated at least a hundred floaters are inside the facility. Our objective is to eliminate the enemy with minimal damage to the station." Raisa crossed her arms. "So here's what makes this interesting. Matrix has seventy-one hour days, and sunset for the combat zone is less than five hours away. I told you it was cold, but after the sun goes down it sinks well below ACS tolerance. Which means we'd better be done by then, else we can look forward to shacking up with a bunch of angry floaters for a few days."

A hand went up. "Are we in communication with the defenders? Do they know we're coming?"

"We have exchanged messages, but what we get from them is fragmented. They're not in control of the comm relay that connects to the satellite, so they have to contact us directly, and they're getting interference from the heavy metals in the ground. Most likely, they are receiving our messages with the same interference, but I don't think our arrival will come as a total surprise. First Squad, just make sure you call out before you approach the defenses."

Another hand. "Will the interference affect local communications?"

"We have no reason to think so. If we lose contact, squad leaders will pursue their objectives independently. What little data we have indicates the floaters are all inside, but just in case, Third Squad needs to take root on that perimeter. Don't let anything in, or you can make the call and tell the fleet stew that the 114th needs to be rescued. Because I'm not doing it."

A few guards chuckled. "Uh, yes sir," said the guard who'd asked.

Khariton wished he had something worthwhile to add. He couldn't isolate what had him worried about the operation, and he'd begun to wonder if there was anything there at all. Everything he'd ever wanted was here in the same room with him, yet he'd never felt so apart in his life. He resented his intellect and his insight for failing to help him understand this simple thing that everyone else seemed to get without effort. His excitement for the upcoming mission had turned hollow.

An hour after the briefing ended, the unit gathered in the same room to gear up. Squads in formless, off-white underclothes formed up in lines in front of the transparent, tubular tanks that held the Adaptive Combat Suits when not in use. Guards stepped up to the tanks, put their hands under the nozzles, and the liquid suits poured out. The metallic substance spread out across the guards' bodies, covering everything except their faces. Clad in grey, the guards moved to the weapon racks and retrieved their arms. The compact Magnetically Accelerated Projectile rifle, along with stacks of magazines containing its tiny shells in explosive, armor-piercing, shock charge, and inert varieties, compact guided grenade launcher, stubby, short-ranged sonic destroyers, canteen, field rations, all equipment disappeared into the suit, to reappear as a smooth outline on the guards' backs. Faddei and Naum each took two additional weapons: the heavy-caliber, multi-barreled Reaper version of the standard MAP rifle, and the sleek, meter-long Prowler missile launcher. Their load equaled four times their body weight, and without the suit to support it, they wouldn't be able to walk two steps.

Khariton had joined the back of the line for First Squad. When the suit flowed across his skin, he felt exposed and on display. The guards probably hadn't expected him to don a suit, and now that he had, they wouldn't expect him to be effective with it.

His body entirely covered, a chime deep inside his ear alerted him the suit had connected to his implant. Green numbers and a diagram of his body appeared in his vision. Next time he spoke, his words would be transmitted to every other suit wearer within simulated audible range via the common frequency. If he wanted to speak to Raisa privately, he'd have to access a separate frequency.

He carefully stepped away from the tanks and looked for Raisa, finding her among the grey guards by the nametag projected over her form by his implant. "Chief, should I arm myself?"

She hesitated. "Have you practiced with weapons at all?"

"No. Just basic suit operations."

"Take a rifle," she said, eyes roving the proceedings. "You shouldn't be defenseless, but I don't want you to cause an accident."

As he walked to the weapons rack, he cursed himself for failing to ask her how to incorporate weapons into his suit. He recalled the relevant sections of the training manual, but they mostly covered the particulars of the mechanism instead of action required by the operator. Trying his best to appear nonchalant, he reached for a rifle. Even with the suit assisting his movements, the dark, dull metal felt much heavier than he'd expected. Before he had a chance to freeze up and panic, the material covering his hands stretched to cover the weapon. He felt its weight shift as the shape traveled up his arm, then down his back. Another chime confirmed it had settled into place, and a new indicator appeared in his vision, showing the status and ammo count of his only weapon system. He collected a few magazines and watched the count increase.

"Load up!"

The guards lined up and trotted out the door towards the landing bay, starting a low, two-toned chant that kept the pace. Khariton couldn't make out the words and followed at the end of the line, the only one silent.

Five landing craft waited on the flight deck. Bulky and angular, all the vehicles' surfaces were the same dark, dull grey, lacking any protrusions. Guards smoothly climbed in through open hatches on the flanks, projecting their suits to seize handholds and pull themselves up.

Five sets of engines began powering up before he made it halfway to the landing craft, drowning out all other sounds with a mixture of high-pitched whine and bone-shaking roar. As he climbed inside, the noise hammered his eardrums. The pain subsided after the hatch closed behind him, but the sound remained an overwhelming distraction. He took the seat next to Raisa. "How do you deal with the noise?" he yelled.

She tapped her head with one finger. "The suit's configured for ear protection. Just visualize and execute."

He sat back. She'd quoted him the suit operator's mantra, and he suspected she'd just put his claim of learning quickly to the test. The suit communicated with the implant in his brain, translating thoughts with intent into action. There was no limit to the shapes the suit could assume, but specific functions had to be pre-programmed. He pictured a circular, multi-layered honeycomb structure covering his ears on each side, and twitched his finger. The material on his head shifted and the noise sank into the background. Raisa gave him a nod. "Com check," she said, her voice clear in his ear. One by one, the guards checked in. Khariton added his own voice, pride and nerves battling in his stomach.

The howl of the engines changed pitch and the landing craft lurched into motion. After a brief period of crushing acceleration, the vehicle went through a series of wild maneuvers, leaving him breathing at the top of his lungs and fighting nausea. His only reassurance came from the slack, disinterested faces of the guards around him. Gerasim gave him a grin and a wink from across the cabin, which helped a bit.

The crisp voice of the pilot spoke in his ear, "Prepare for surface pressure equalization. It'll be rough going down."

"Everybody cover up," Demyan said, his tone curt and professional. All around, suits shifted to cover faces, leaving a transparent space for the eyes. Khariton had practiced this, and adjusted his own suit without assistance. The landing craft began to shake, hesitantly at first, then with increasing violence. Khariton seized his harness with both hands and held on with all his suit-enhanced strength as the vehicle tore its way through the outer atmosphere. A small voice in the back of his head mocked him for his pointless gesture, and he wondered at his complete inability to loosen his grip in spite of that knowledge.

As the violence subsided, so did his apprehension. Another curt announcement from the pilot: leveling off. Even before he finished speaking, Khariton's insides sank towards the floor of the craft. The skin on his face stretched down as he struggled to suck air into his lungs. Grey static crept in from the edge of his vision, but his suit had detected the excessive G forces and squeezed down on his lower extremities. The pressure eased off, and he took deep breaths, trying to reach the knot of terror at the pit of his stomach.

"Ten seconds," the pilot said.

The guards took hold of their weapons. Demyan said, "As soon as we hit dirt, I want the perimeter set. And watch the spacing. Nice and smooth."

With a final shock, the landing craft settled on the surface and the hatch sprang open. The guards poured out of the cabin without a word. Khariton followed last. As soon as his feet hit the ground, a blast of air almost knocked him over. A glance over his shoulder showed the landing craft accelerating away, joined by the other four. In moments, they disappeared behind a mountain peak.

They had been dropped off on a rocky plateau surrounded by jagged grey spars of rock. Khariton had to search to find the sun, a small blue orb barely surmounting the horizon. The pale light painted razor shadows on the landscape.

He jogged over to join the line of guards seeking cover behind a ridge. "Clear ahead. Second Squad, up front. Third Squad, watch the rear. We've got two hours and fifty-three minutes till sundown. Let's go." After a click in his ear, Raisa spoke again, "Khariton, stay in the center of the column. Don't wander off. I'll find you if I have to, but you won't like it."

"Understood."

The guards set out, moving quickly across the uneven terrain. Radomil flowed past on his left, moving smoothly on six scything limbs. Khariton stared after him, keenly aware he'd only just learned to extend his reach with his suit. His limited experience barely allowed him to keep up, and it took all his concentration to project his suit quickly enough to keep his balance. By the time Raisa called a halt and the company gathered behind another ridge, sweat drenched his underclothes and he struggled to catch his breath.

"Demyan, let's take a look." Raisa reached up with two tentacles from her suit to grab the rocky edge and pulled herself up. First Squad leader Demyan followed her up. They spent only a few seconds before coming down. "No changes from the briefing data. The breach in the perimeter remains unsealed. No sign of defenders. We'll stagger the advance, odds first. Questions?"

Khariton's analyst mind kicked in and he spoke before he realized it: "Are we expecting the perimeter to be held against us?"

Even before he finished speaking, he felt the weight of fifty guards shifting their attention to him. He kept his gaze on Raisa, grateful that his suit hid his flushed complexion.

"I'm not expecting anything, but we'll have the covering fire available if they do. The advance continues regardless. Anyone else?"

Khariton bit his lip, not even sure what else he wanted to ask. Something about her answer felt off, like everyone was missing something obvious. Worse, he felt sure he'd already have figured it out if he had access to his work database and a few quiet minutes to think.

"Odds, up and over!"

Thirty guards hauled themselves across the ridge and hit the ground running. Khariton gambled on a new technique, using arms as well as legs to run. He almost fell on his face before he got the rhythm down, but once it clicked, he found himself running on all fours, well able to keep up with the guards.

Raisa led them through a large shallow crater, where the thirty guards lined its far edge. Khariton took a place in the line and brought his rifle into his hands. All eyes scanned the grey wall half a kilometer ahead, nestled between two roots of a tall peak rising into the thermosphere behind it. Khariton peered at the collapsed section of the perimeter through the various filters built into his suit, but couldn't make out any details in the shadows. Nothing moved. He tried to calm his breathing, the clenching in his gut, and figure out why he felt uneasy.

"Even squads, advance."

He swallowed hard. If the floaters showed themselves now, he would fire a weapon for the first time in his life. He redoubled his efforts at scanning the wall ahead. Seconds later, the twenty guards of Second and Fourth squads raced by to their right, moving in a loose line. "Motya, Klim, that's too tight. Spread it out." The metal-clad figures dispersed further on their way to an angled plateau that presented a man-high vertical drop to their objective.

"Odd squads, advance. No one stops until we're inside."

Again they poured over the ridge and sprinted across open space. The wall loomed larger, the gap growing wider to swallow them all. Still nothing moved.

Halfway across, the pieces slipped into place in his mind. The realization almost made him stumble. He considered speaking up now, but stopping here was impossible, anyway; they were too exposed. The guards in the lead converged on the breach and disappeared inside. "Perimeter secure. Ghost shield is active."

Khariton stumbled into the complex, throwing himself aside to make room for the rest. They'd arrived in the open space between the wall and the featureless exterior of the complex itself. Moving with synchronous precision, Fifth Squad charged in through the breach in the station's exterior. "Interior bridgehead secure." Guards from Third Squad ascended the walkway along the inside of the wall to cover the advance of the remaining squads.

Raisa emerged from the breach, clearing the space before surveying the scene. "Evens, advance."

Khariton came up to her. "I need to talk to you."

"Go ahead." She turned to watch Third Squad spread out along the wall. "Fifth Squad, take position to defend the bridgehead."

"It's a setup."

She turned to him. "Explain."

"I've been thinking about this since the briefing, but it didn't make sense until now. These wall breaches were badly done. If the floaters had breached fifty meters to the right, they would have had a straight run to the shaft room, where the defenders are. Instead, they picked a route around the power plant, right through the equipment shops and environmental systems. Nothing but corners and tight corridors. It's paradise for the defenders."

Already, her eyes flicked away. "So they didn't know the layout of the facility, so what?"

He shook his head. "The layout is obvious even from orbit. The cooling tower alone shows the location of the power plant. At the least, they should have made another breach after they drove the defenders into the shaft room. There's only one reason not to do that: they wanted to control any further access to the facility."

She still hadn't looked back at him. "We already know they want to use the station themselves, else they would have just destroyed it. They're just trying not to give themselves more work later."

He stepped closer to her. "Then why didn't they hold the perimeter against us?"

She met his stare again, at first with the same rock-hard expression she'd had since landing. Then he saw her gaze shift, and he knew she understood. "There are floaters in the rocks out there. Is that what you're going to say?"

He nodded. "We can't detect them because of the metal in the stone. They lure us in, hold us inside while overwhelming force charges the perimeter, bound to be lightly held only as a precaution, and trap us inside. We'd be stuck between enemy forces and isolated from the station's defenders. They'd wipe us out."

"You'd be surprised. Any ideas?"

Although he'd devised a solution by habit, her question caught him off-guard. "Hold them. Outside. They have to cross the same expanse we did. The _Mitrofan_ can provide precision orbital fire to break up their attack. We'll still have to enter the facility right away, to pin the enemy in place inside, but only with a small force. The weight of the company holds the wall. The ghost shield is still up, so if we keep our heads down, they'll have no way of knowing we're waiting for them."

She considered. "Sounds good to me. Anything else?"

"Just the fact that this operation appears pointless for the floaters. We would eventually have sent reinforcements and destroyed their raiding force. Unless the ambush is larger in scale, and space forces are on their way to attack _Mitrofan_ and its escorts."

Raisa's eyes widened a fraction. " _Mitrofan,_ do you read?"

Minutes later, Khariton peered out over the wall at the barren landscape. Around him, thirty guards stood ready with everything in their arsenal. Naum stood to his left, using extensions of his suit to hold MAP rifle, grenade launcher, Reaper, and missile launcher all at once. Khariton wondered how he would aim and fire more than two.

"Enemy engaged."

The terse words in his ear meant Fourth and Fifth squads had found the enemy inside the station. If he'd been right, they would now signal the floaters hiding among the rocks to begin their attack. He shifted his stance and waited.

"Guard down."

He clenched his jaw, unused to seeing his strategies play out on the battlefield. He'd checked his logic over and over, but he couldn't dismiss his worry that he'd missed something. He glanced at the ink black sky. Among the countless pinpricks, one light blinked with steady, artificial intervals. _Mitrofan_ was the only ship left in orbit; _Victory_ had departed with most of the fleet after dropping off _Mitrofan_ with two heavy brawlers and an attack carrier as escort. Those three vessels had left orbit and taken position relative to the floater's expected arrival vector.

"Two guards down. Enemy moving to flank."

Khariton looked at Raisa. She ignored him and kept her eyes on the rocks beyond the wall. Still nothing moved.

"Guard down. They're pushing."

Raisa said, "If you need to, fall back―"

"Here they come!"

"Belay that," she snapped. "Hold your position."

Relief and adrenaline rushed through his body as he watched the dark grey, diamond-shaped creatures flow out of their hiding places. He'd never seen a floater with his own eyes before, but images of them had always made him feel like they belonged underwater. He felt even more so now, watching them race across the uneven rock with wings rippling in rhythm and tentacles trailing behind.

The world turned white. Successive shockwaves rattled the ground as the _Mitrofan_ delivered its ordnance. Blinding fire erupted in massive balls, burning new craters into the ground. The barrage swallowed most of the attacking floaters. Khariton watched as it shredded one into pieces in a heartbeat, the blast scattering the remains.

"Fire."

The wall spewed tracer fire from half a hundred barrels. Grenades sailed into the air, then activated propulsion systems and sought out concentrations of targets. Missiles screamed across the shrinking distance, some erupting in clouds of flame as floater psych charges knocked them out of the air. Floater return fire snapped into the wall, leaving angry, head-sized cavities.

From the chaos on the field, a handful of the creatures converged in a rush. "They're bunching up!" someone said, but even as fire tracked in their direction, they attacked. A section of the wall exploded, almost knocking Khariton off his feet. As he straightened, masonry rained down around him, striking his suit. He stared at his arm, once dull metallic, now covered in bright red. He sucked in a huge breath and braced for the pain. None came. He could still move his hand. When he wiped away the blood, his suit was intact underneath. Bile rose in his throat, made worse by the panic that followed close behind. He couldn't vomit in his suit!

A hand seized his shoulder, hauled him up. He looked into Raisa's fiery eyes. "Shoot! You can't throw up if you're shooting!"

He straightened, wobbled once. Rifle in hand, he took his place at the wall. The band of floaters he'd seen a moment ago had been reduced to a scattered mess of remains. Few of the attackers were left, but still they came. He sighted along the barrel. Light green squares appeared around his targets and dotted lines indicated his aiming point, adjusted for target inertia and atmospheric conditions. One of the last floaters raced low along the ground, dodging left and right as weapons fire threw up gravel to either side. He pulled the trigger, screamed. His fire tore into the sleek, dark body, sending it skidding across the ground. Dark fluids leaked from the ruined floater. It didn't move again.

Something left him then, something he'd never known he had, something that had given him a comfort he'd always taken for granted. Sorrow knotted in his chest as he felt the loss of having taken a life, and he sank to the floor.

Nothing remained alive on the field. Raisa's voice cut through his thoughts: "Third Squad, cover the wall and set up triage. First Squad, Second Squad, leave your wounded and get inside. Fourth Squad, what's your status?"

"Five guards are down. We're back at the junction, holding for now. They're pushing hard from the living quarters and shaft room. They're trying to go around through the equipment shop, but we put up a barricade with the machinery."

"Demyan, take your squad to the shop and set up a crossfire, then drop that barricade. I want you to push hard when they break. Try and cut off the attack from the living quarters. Motya, reinforce Fourth and Fifth Squads at the junction."

Acknowledgments clicked in Khariton's ears. She turned to him. "Well done. Actually, that was a great shot." He looked at her, and her eyes softened. "I know. Even though they're not human."

She took his arm and pulled him up. "Some of it gets better. Not all of it." As the guards carried out her orders, she walked with him along the wall. "I'm sure it's the same for them. We all do what we have to. Them and us. We're just trying to survive."

"Then why do we kill each other at all?" he whispered. But she gave no response, because they had come upon the site of the floaters' last desperate attack, and the head and torso of one of her guards blocked the way. The suit had sealed off the horrific wound, but a mess of blood and viscera stained the concrete where she lay. He didn't know the woman. Raisa did. He watched the rise and slow fall of her chest as the breath seemed to drain from her body. She kneeled and looped one of the dead guard's arms around her shoulders. "Don't," she snapped when Khariton made to help her. He straightened, stung, unsure of what to do. "Find Demyan," she said. "Go with him." The cold in her voice sent him fleeing.

Chapter Ten

Azial couldn't stop thinking about his son. His stubbornness was nothing new, but he'd seemed almost callous over Tamzi's death. He'd never taught his son to be indifferent. Was his need for glory really so great that he'd risk his lover's life to get it? Old resentment welled up inside him, for Pirisati, who spent more time with Musuri than anyone else. They'd clashed over his upbringing before, and her argument had always been the same: the boy needed his father. Even now, she blamed him for Musuri's failures, with no regard for Azial's responsibilities.

"Balbasu has not slept," Tihamtu said.

Azial looked at the bulky chief sitting at the opposite end of the circle, and once again found Balbasu staring a him. Despite the late afternoon sun, shadows ringed his small eyes. His bearing had changed subtly, yet dramatically. From a greater distance, Azial would have mistaken him for another. "To be expected, I think."

"It clouds his judgment further still," Tihamtu said. "Only his pain will speak today." He leaned over and accepted a bowl of water from one of his servants.

Tihamtu had invited Chief Kha-Hea of the Kinziru tribe to arbitrate the meeting. He and his entourage had arrived last, but only because both the Udaki and the Yahua delegations had come early. Kha-Hea had supported Azial at the last meeting, but he had no idea how the chief felt about the current conflict. Tihamtu had not expressed any thoughts on his choice for arbiter.

Kha-Hea stood. "For this tragic gathering of chiefs of the Kith, I beg the Great Mother and Great Father for their guidance. Bless us with your mercy and patience, so we may act in the spirit of the Kith and find our way to compassion."

Good words that made his stance immediately clear. Azial chided himself for having doubted Tihamtu's wisdom.

"Balbasu. You have a grievance. I invite you to speak your mind."

Balbasu dragged himself to his feet. He stood hunched, wayward hair sticking from his braids and clinging to his face. "I had eight children once," he said, his voice thick with bitterness. "Seven I lost to fate. The eighth was murdered. My last child, my only daughter, Tamzi, was taken from her home by Azial's son. He took her beyond the walls. Into the jungle. He is no Sharyukin, and he didn't have the strength to protect her." He paused. When he spoke again, it was through clenched teeth: "My sweet daughter, fourteen summers young, was taken by the Vile. The coward that took her left her to be violated. A monster now grows inside her cold flesh, while he still walks free, and whole. It is unjust that he would continue his life with my daughter's blood on his hands, unavenged. I demand his life. I will kill him with my hands. Though I will never feel joy again, at least the balance will be restored."

Kha-Hea turned to Tihamtu. "Chief of the Udaki. What do you say to Balbasu's demand?"

Tihamtu stood. "The Udaki tribe mourns Tamzi's loss as our own. No one would deny Balbasu's suffering, nor does anyone begrudge him his desire to seek reparation for his immeasurable loss. Musuri's act was foolish hubris, and he will be made to understand the consequences. But Balbasu knows that revenge is not the spirit of the Kith. Any other form of reparation, insufficient as such gestures must always be, will be given freely. Musuri's life will not be offered up."

"And what would you offer me, Tihamtu?" Balbasu rasped. "Goats? Pigs? In addition to my loss, must I endure the injustice of seeing my daughter's killer live the long years he took from her?"

"There is no balance in killing. You would only cause more pain, the same as you suffer now. What has befallen you, and what you propose for Azial, is loss that echoes through generations. There is no good to be had that can justify this."

"The same, you say?" Balbasu growled. "Not so, Tihamtu. I will kill the boy quickly, with my own hands. That's more mercy than he showed Tamzi. How can you say what is justified, when it isn't you who suffers injustice? Nothing will bring her back. Nothing will salve my pain, but justice comes closest."

Azial's stomach twisted at the chief's words. He'd been unprepared for the experience of hearing another man speak of killing his son. A pang of sympathy for Balbasu's loss was swept away in a wave of resolve: no matter what, he wouldn't let Musuri be killed.

Tihamtu spread his hands. "Were you never young and foolish, Balbasu? Musuri made a terrible mistake. He will never forget what he did. And without comparing his pain to yours, he will never live without the torment of those memories. As time passes, his failure will blossom with wisdom, and he will seek for the rest of his life to give back to his people. Would you deny the Kith such tempered wisdom?"

"Stop speaking, Tihamtu," Balbasu thundered, hands balled into shaking fists. "Everything you say reveals your ignorance! You speak of his future, and all I see is the one he destroyed. Should I be pleased that Tamzi's murderer will grow wise because of her death? Bring him to me. Give me his life, and I swear I'll demand nothing more."  
Tihamtu stood silent for a moment, and only Azial heard his quiet sigh. "Musuri will not be given up. I will not change my decision."

"Coward! Weakling!" Balbasu paced back and forth, grasping his scepter in both hands, as if to snap it in two. "A trial! I demand a trial!" He aimed the scepter at Azial. "The Yahua champion will kill your champion, Tihamtu. I've made my challenge, now you accept or you give me what I want!"

Azial scanned Balbasu's entourage. He'd known from the start it would come to this, but the wrongness of it weighed much heavier now that the words had been said. He would have to kill one of the Kith. Which one?

"I accept," Tihamtu said, and sat down. "I'm sorry, Azial. I'd hoped I could dissuade him."

Azial stood and loosened the straps of his armor. "I thank you for that." Fire rushed through his veins, loosening his limbs. He had no doubt about the outcome of the fight, no matter the opponent. He would not allow his son be killed for his mistake, nor would he allow himself to die when so much work remained to be done.

Cries of challenge went up from the edge of the circle, and a lone voice answered them. A Sharyukin ran into the circle and leaped up to the roof close to Azial. He recognized Lakhmu, one of those left behind to guard Udaki village. Exhaustion sat heavy on the warrior's wide brow, and twigs stuck to her braid. "Tihamtu, I greet you. Azial, Pirisati asked me to come. I ran for a day without stopping. Musuri is missing. He has left the village."

The world faded to grey. "Where has he gone?" he asked, his voice dull to his own ears.

"He left no clue or message. Pirisati thinks he seeks penance."

Realization hit him like a rock striking water. "Why are you here? Why aren't you with the Sharyukin, tracking him?"

Lakhmu's jaw bunched. "The Elders forbid it. They say the village will be vulnerable if we leave. I came without their permission, because Pirisati begged me."

Azial turned to the jungle. Before he could take off, Tihamtu said, "Azial. Look at me."

Reluctant, he faced his chief.

"You can't go. If you forfeit the challenge, Musuri will be killed."

Azial couldn't fathom the depth of the need inside him. He had to wait before he could speak. "My son is alone in the jungle. He wants to redeem himself. What will he do?" He spun to face Lakhmu. "You have to go in my place. Find Musuri. Don't look near the village, the gibbons leave too many tracks. Search between Yahua and Udaki village. Maybe..." He shook his head. "It's the only place I can think he might be."

Lakhmu's breathing still hadn't recovered, and a sheen of sweat covered her body. She looked away, nodded. "I will find him, Azial. I will bring him back."

Azial grasped the woman's shoulder and squeezed hard, resisting the urge to embrace her. He might be sending her to her death. Lone Sharyukin were vulnerable. And yet. "You have my gratitude, Lakhmu. You and your family. For life."

Lakhmu slipped over the wall and disappeared into the jungle. Azial stared after her.

"Balbasu has made his decision," Tihamtu said behind him. "It seems you'll fight Gusur."

Azial closed his eyes. The leader of the Yahua Sharyukin, and an efficient killer of Vile. A valuable warrior. "Such a shame." He resumed taking off his armor, and Tihamtu helped him take the pieces off. He stood before the chief, wearing only his breechcloth. They looked at each other. "Don't shame him, Azial. Respect him, then kill him quickly."

As the sun sank behind the trees and the sky turned to red, Azial descended into the circle. He met his opponent in the center. "Gusur. I never wanted to meet you in this way. To you and your family, I apologize for what I must do."

The other warrior stood a head taller than Azial, and carried twice the weight in muscle. His eyes were hard. "Your son caused this. For that, I accept your apology, but don't be too quick to offer it. You may pay with your life soon, and that will settle all debts."

"Your chief doesn't want my life, he wants my son's. In any case, I won't die here. So you must."

Gusur scoffed and took two steps back. Azial mirrored him.

Kha-Hea stood again. "Both parties have agreed to a trial by combat. Two warriors stand opposed. Each wears no armor and carries only the blade that kills the Vile. May the great Mother and Father show their favor and reveal the truth." He took his scepter and sent it flying into the circle. Before the dust from the impact billowed up from the ground, the Sharyukin moved.

Gusur came on hard, driving him back with probing cuts that traded on his superior reach. Azial slid away from each attack, yielding space until he sensed the wall close behind him. The next cut he took on his blade as his right foot stamped down on Gusur's left. Unable to catch himself, the taller warrior struck the wall hard. His foot lashed out and Azial failed to dodge it entirely, taking the hit on his hip and causing his artery-cutting slice to go wide. Gusur was on his feet again and neatly circled away from the wall.

The Yahua warrior came forward again, leading with his empty hand. As he edged back, Azial slashed at the extended arm twice before reversing the grip on his blade and ducking forward, leading with his right leg and pulling his weapon arm back across his body. Gusur's extended arm came down for a stunning elbow strike, but Azial had already twisted to catch it with his left hand. He intended to sink his blade into his opponent's heart, but Gusur managed to shift his weight enough to avoid the killing strike. The blade scored his ribs instead, leaving a flap of skin hanging loose and spraying blood when he moved. They separated again.

Gusur breathed heavier now, and not from exertion. Azial looked for his gaze and caught it. In the other man's face, he saw the knowledge he'd had since the start.

Now Azial attacked, driving back his opponent by slipping past his guard with quick cuts he could only evade by falling back. The end came faster than Azial had expected, when Gusur ran out of space to run. He'd miscalculated the distance to the wall, and slammed into it as he dodged another attack. Shock broke his balance for a moment, stealing his momentum. Before he could move, Azial's blade slid into his chest with just enough force to pierce his heart. His eyes grew wide and his mouth opened.

Azial leaned against the wall next to him, still holding his blade. "I am sorry, Gusur. Find your way to paradise now."

"Fa—father...!"

He recoiled as if stung, ripping out his weapon and staggering back. His heart hammered in his chest as he watched the Yahua warrior sink to the ground in a pool of his own blood. There was no question that the body cooling in the dirt had belonged to Gusur.

But the voice he'd heard had been Musuri's.

Fear threatened to surge into panic. He felt helpless, like he hadn't since his sister had been banished.

Balbasu screamed, a fearsome cry of frustration and rage. "Coward! Traitor! You cheated him!"

Kha-Hea came forward. "The challenge is complete. Azial of the Udaki is the victor. In the eyes of the great Mother and Father, the matter is settled."

"Nothing is settled!" Balbasu roared. "It won't end like this!" He pointed at Azial with his scepter. "Your son will pay! I will take his life! It belongs to me!"

"Balbasu," Kha-Hea said. "You demanded the challenge, and you were heard. Now it is done, and you have your answer. There is nothing left to do. The great Mother and Father made their favor clear."

"Didn't they also make me?" Balbasu demanded. "Didn't they make these arms, and these legs, and these eyes that see too well when they're closed? If I use them to gain justice, wouldn't that mean their favor is mine?"

Kha-Hea had no answer. He stared, then glanced at Tihamtu, who could say nothing. Balbasu barked at his followers to prepare to leave while Azial climbed out of the circle to stand beside Tihamtu.

"What will he do?" Azial said.

"I don't know." Tihamtu shook his head. "I fear for his people."

*****

Seruya reached down and plucked a honey beetle from the ground. She popped it into her mouth, savoring the sweet and bitter flavors stabbing at her tongue. With an effortless jump, she ascended a tree and settled down on a branch. Ahead, the Mountain That Sees rose far into the sky, its slate-grey slopes turning to white just before they met the clouds. The lesser peaks stretched across the horizon to either side. The sight brought a cascade of memories of the last time she'd seen the mountain from this close. She'd ascended a tree much like this one during a rare moment of rest, searching for Vile as Azial treated his injuries. She recalled her dismay and Azial's brief look of despair when she warned him of another four monsters coming at them. It had taken the night and most of the next day to reach the mountain and leave the Vile behind. They'd been fighting for five days without reprieve, and they hadn't even started the climb yet. At first, the way up had been easy, but the snow had fallen low that year. With fingers turning blue, they'd managed to kill a mountain bear and its cubs, and used their meat and hides to survive. The rest of the journey she recalled only as a white blur, with flashes of vague images she suspected had been conjured by her exhausted mind. It would have been impossible to jump such a chasm with Azial clinging to her shoulders. Inconceivable, that he could fight off the wolf pack by himself while she tried in vain to free her leg from a crack. All that remained certain in her memories was the biting clarity of the visions they'd shared once they'd reached the Whisper Rock and succumbed, awaiting death beneath the bear skin as the blizzard raged around them.

Their people. Dying.

Not while she still lived.

Before her, treeless grassland stretched in a circular clearing surrounding a bone-white structure. Smaller towers formed a cordon some distance from the main building, with scarring on the walls indicating something had once linked them all together. In the shade of these towers and the structure itself rested the Vile.

She had never seen so many together. Their camouflaged hides made them difficult to count, but she estimated there were well over a hundred. None of the monsters moved.

"We're here. How do we get in?"

Sage answered immediately, though they hadn't spoken in days. "The entrance you see facing you is the only one. It has been sealed by its former occupants, and can only be unlocked by a certain species. We cannot determine for certain what species is required."

"Species?" Seruya frowned. "How would the door know who is knocking?"

"Tools smaller than you can imagine test the blood. That is how it knows."

"How do you propose to get in if you don't have the blood you need?" she demanded.

"I suggest our first priority is to find a way past the creatures that guard the building."

She chuckled. "Watch." She dropped down from the branch and walked towards the structure. Swarms of Vile sat in groups, and as she progressed, she saw more clinging to the shadow side of the smaller buildings. She kept her eyes moving, scanning the monsters for signs of aggression as she passed close to one of the small towers.

The smile on her face froze as one of the Vile moved its head to look at her. She slowed her step and came to a stop, maintaining eye contact. When she risked a glance around, terror blasted through her veins. Every single Vile in sight had turned to watch her. She felt their regard as a crushing weight on her shoulders. One more step meant her death.

A breeze rustled the grass and toyed with her hair. A hawk cried in the distance.

Slowly, she turned away from her destination and pulled back one of her feet. The Vile didn't react. Her other foot joined the first and she took a step back the way she had come. After three paces, the monsters lowered their heads one by one, until all returned to their original positions.

She stopped under the tree she'd used to scout the area. Sweat dripped from her forehead, and her nostrils flared as she tried to slow her breathing.

"I assume the creatures did not react as you anticipated."

She snorted. "What gave it away?"

"We will have to find another way to bypass them. Do you have another suggestion?"

"No." That wasn't entirely true, but she wanted to see what the spirit could contribute besides directions to places she would eventually have found by herself. The reaction of the Vile, though unexpected, had taught her much about the reason behind their behavior, and she believed she knew what needed to be done.

"There is a herd of large animals grazing nearby. Perhaps they could serve as a distraction, if we can cause them to panic and flee through this area."

"Show me."

Sage led her away from the site and through a grove of trees to a clear space. Crouched in the bright green grass, she watched a massive herd of rhinoceros amble through. "How do you intend to incite a panic?"

Something moved in the corner of her vision, close by. She spun to face it, blades in hand. A camouflaged Vile stood six paces away. Before she could attack, it spoke: "I have no body, but I can make myself seen for short periods of time, and produce sounds. There are enough of my kind present to frighten these animals."

She suppressed the desire to snarl at it. "After the stampede begins, you'll need to guide it towards the building. As close as possible. The Vile are guarding that place, and they will not react unless forced."

"I understand. We can begin at your convenience." The apparition dissolved.

Although she didn't think her lone scent would disturb the rhinos, Seruya stayed downwind of the herd and out of sight as she circled around. The herd included over a dozen calves, trotting along on their short legs to keep up with their mothers. A thoughtless adult knocked aside one small youngster, separating it from its mother. It cried out, a pitiful sound of fear and longing. Seruya clenched her teeth and ignored the pang of regret. "I'm ready."

All at once, a score of Vile appeared from thin air in a rough semi-circle around the edge of the clearing. Alarm calls went up, and the adult rhinos quickly guided their young to the middle of the herd. The larger males milled about the edges, defiant but too spooked even to mount fake charges in challenge.

The apparitions moved closer, screeching in an entirely un-Vile fashion as they came. Immune to the incongruity, the mass of rhinos edged away from the threat.

Seruya sprinted forward, screaming. Blades drawn, she plunged in between the animals. Every one she passed, she nicked once, just deep enough to draw blood. Within a few heartbeats, the entire herd had panicked. She jumped up and steadied herself on the back of a frenzied male. Her allies advanced further, and the herd surged into a stampede.

She sheathed one blade and used the free hand to cling to the animal's leathery hide as it thundered through the grass. The grove of trees she'd passed through was right ahead, but the herd did not slow down. Snapping and crackling sounds accompanied the destruction of small trees and shrubs. The sea of grey backs parted around the larger trees, shaking them with glancing impacts. Here and there, animals crashed to the ground, creating chaos for their mates behind who had to find ways around them.

As the stampede devoured foliage, the building came into view. Chilling screeches from her allies drove the mad beasts straight for the towers, aiming to pass between them, then past the entrance. She would dismount, and Sage would open the door. Ideally.

The resting Vile ahead stirred. Seruya wondered how they would respond to the stampede. A rhino had the strength and weight to crush one of the monsters, but the Vile were much faster. Within seconds, the entire herd would be upon them.

They exploded into motion towards the stampede, hides rippling with shifting colors. Something cold traveled down her spine. They couldn't mean to―

The Vile cut into the rhinos. Individual monsters darted between the grey behemoths, lashing out with their claws. Blood sprayed across the front of the herd. Animals fell and were immediately buried by other following close behind.

She cursed and crouched on her panicked mount. If she did nothing, the Vile would slaughter the rhinos until they turned away. She pushed off, dancing across the animals' dusty backs as she made her way to the front.

A Vile erupted from below, digging into rhino skin with one claw while reaching for her with the other. As her mount bellowed its pain, she severed both claws with her blades, and the monster was sucked into the chaos. Her balance gone, she used arms and feet any way she could to keep from falling. She'd made it to the front of the herd, but only a handful of rhinos remained. The stench of blood and ruptured entrails saturated the air, driving the beasts deeper into terror.

Three Vile raced towards her, claws tearing up the dirt and grass. The first threw itself at her. She twisted to avoid its claws and clipped its knee with her blade as it flew past, enough to cripple it for a while. The other two attacked together, one slashing at the frantic rhino, the other coming straight at her. As the animal beneath her shuddered and stumbled, she dodged one claw, knocked the other aside with her blade and slashed at the monster's eyes. It lost track of her long enough for her to leap off her dying mount. The animal crashed to the ground, burying the Vile that had killed it. Seruya barely managed to grab the shoulder of another rhino and hauled herself up. Her new mount shook itself to try and dislodge her, but kept running. Its course would pass the entrance at too great a distance. She had no way to direct the crazed animal.

A Vile appeared to her left, but its jarring shriek revealed it as one of her allies. The rhino shied away from the new threat, and towards her destination. When the range was at its shortest, she leaped off.

She'd misjudged the distance, and although she landed as intended, she skidded right into the wall. Pain scoured her mind. The world spun and erupted in colorful stars.

"There is no time to explain what needs to be done. You must let me into your body and take control, or you will die."

Her vision cleared. Half a dozen Vile had broken away from the remains of the herd and came at her. She couldn't fight six on the open ground. There was nowhere to run. "Do it."

Pressure filled her skull. She was no longer alone in her head. Half a dozen incantations and wards came to mind, each sufficient to drive the spirit from her body. She had to fight to keep from uttering them as her body moved without her command and turned to the entrance. Her hand entered a small square opening to the side of the door. Light appeared inside it, and warmth tickled her skin.

With a deep hum, the door slid aside. She ran inside and turned. The Vile were seconds away. "How do I close it?"

Her own hand reached out in answer, slapping a large red knob to the side of the door. A discordant honk echoed twice, and far faster than it had opened, the door slammed shut. She was stuck inside.

Chapter Eleven

Miron watched in silence with Borya and Gervasi as the conference room display showed the killing of Chief Ludmila. She'd been alone in a corridor far from the engine room, working inside an access hatch. A figure rushed in from outside the view and struck her on the back of the head with a tool. She collapsed, and the attacker leaned down to hit her again. Blood pooled as the figure straightened and his features came into view.

"I can't believe it," Gervasi muttered.

Core Chief Nazar glanced at the camera before closing the hatch and running off. Ludmila lay still in a spreading puddle of her blood. Miron knew the recording was genuine, yet he still found it difficult to believe the core chief had murdered a fellow human being.

"Turn it off," Borya said.

Gervasi hit a button and the display winked out. "This happened less than a minute before Zakhar found her," she said. "Nazar probably heard him coming. The surveillance system went out a few minutes after that. It's safe to assume he sabotaged it." Her tone was quiet, and her face hadn't recovered any of the color it had lost when she'd realized what had almost happened in Control. She'd refused to look either him or Borya in the eyes ever since. As much as he hated her, he had to admit it seemed she hadn't been aware of the planned mutiny.

"Is internal tracking working?" Miron said.

Borya shook his head, staring at the bulkhead. "No. And we need to find him. So we'll do it the old-fashioned way." He glanced at Gervasi. "Gather up the fleet guards, orderlies, any engineers not working on anything critical. Anyone not required to keep the ship on course and at FTL. Take them to the mess hall. We'll pair them up and search the decks that way. It's not such a big ship. We'll find him."

"Yes, sir." She got up with no further comment and left the room.

Borya remained still, gazing at the same patch of bulkhead. "Why didn't you come to me about Ilari?" His voice held a hollow tone Miron had never heard him use before.

"It was the right thing. You didn't need to be involved."

The Ship Master turned in his chair to face him. "You think you saved me the trouble. It doesn't work like that."

Miron said, "Would you have done differently?"

"So now you can speak for me?" Borya demanded.

Miron breathed deeply, trying to banish the fog that haunted his mind. "It was my intention to do what had to be done without bothering you for a decision I knew you would make anyway. I meant no disrespect, and I don't know why you would choose to see it that way."

Borya's jaw bunched and his eyes turned colder, and Miron realized with shock that the Ship Master felt betrayed. Borya's regard for him had suffered irreparably. "You took responsibility for this mission. To achieve it, you can tell me to do anything you want. But I was given command of this ship. I took responsibility for her, and for her crew." His voice rose steadily as he spoke. "So if anything needs to be done about either of them, unless immediate danger to life or the ship exists, I expect to be included! You would have demanded no less when you had _Inflexible_ and I had my flag there. How can I be their leader if I'm not responsible for them? If Ilari needed mercy, it was my duty and my right to offer it. You think you did me a favor?" He stabbed the air between them with his finger. "What you did was to salve your guilt over the people that died by your orders! There's no getting away from that, Miron. I know. You made that call, so you live with it. Just like I did. Don't fuck with my crew so you can feel better." He stood. "Gervasi is a piece of shit. But she's not completely wrong about you."

"You're going too far, Borya," Miron said, fury burning in his throat. "You know you can't talk to me like that."

Borya spread his arms. "Demote me, then." He disappeared out the door. Miron remained behind, feeling entirely alone.

Miron studied the available data on their destination until his temper had deflated to the point where he could be in the same room as Borya without voicing any of the retorts he'd been repeating in his mind. Eventually, he made his way to the mess hall, where around twenty fleet hands listened as Borya explained the situation: "She was murdered by one of our own. Chief Nazar. He beat her head in with a spanner. We don't know why, and right now, we don't care. We still have a lot of system trouble, so we can't track him by his implant. We're going to search the decks in pairs. It might be tricky, because he knows the ship; he helped build it. As far as we know, that spanner is his only weapon, so you're not getting sidearms just yet. I don't want anyone shooting a comrade by mistake. If you find him, call in right away and keep him there however you have to. I want to talk to him, but I'd rather have him dead than free. Any questions?" The group exchanged dull glances, but no one spoke up. "Master Second, assign pairs and give them a deck to search."

Gervasi quickly went through the whole group and sent them on their way, until only Esfir, the jealous orderly, remained. Before Gervasi could ask Borya what to do with her, Miron said, "I'll go with her." The look on her face made it clear that she didn't appreciate the pairing. Part of him hoped she'd push him.

"Deck Ten is yours, Commander," Gervasi said.

Miron looked at his partner. "Let's go," he said, and headed for the door.

The stairway to deck ten left them in a corridor at the front of the ship that led off to the left and right before curving sharply towards the rear. Miron recalled this section held mostly cargo space, designed to hold the PRISM cores once the landing craft brought them up from the surface. He'd given little thought to that stage of the mission ever since keeping the ship functioning had required everyone's constant effort.

"You should know that if I had been the ship's doctor, I'd never have let you kill one of my patients," Esfir said.

"I hope you feel better with that off your chest," Miron answered distractedly as he peered down each corridor.

"I should have been," she said with an edge. "But someone changed the assignment. I'm sure you don't know anything about that."

He poured his disgust and frustration into his voice: "As much as I would enjoy listening to you justify your petty jealousy, we have work to do. We'll split up, and at least cover ground more quickly that way. If you find him, call it out." He left her seething and headed down the left corridor.

He had no clue what Nazar's motivation had been for murdering Ludmila. They'd worked together during _Tenacious_ 's construction, so a personal conflict was a possibility. Ludmila hadn't liked the man, and she'd avoided him as much as possible. Perhaps a concern for her safety had been part of the reason why.

He opened the door to one of the cargo bays and looked inside. Other than the cargo restraints, it was empty. The cavernous space offered no place to hide, so he moved on.

He'd long ago developed his own misgivings about core crew. On every ship he'd commanded, the core chamber and its caretakers had felt apart from the rest of the ship, and although his orders had never been refused, he'd always had the impression that the core chiefs considered themselves his equal. Miron suspected that somehow, even though the full details of the PRISM cores' origins were supposedly restricted to officers of high rank, they were aware of the life that generated the power they used. Other than the core operators themselves, few people knew what their training entailed, or how far the Core Guild's influence truly reached.

Another junction to the right connected to the corridor Esfir had taken. He watched her steal past before continuing.

He considered the possibility that Nazar had simply snapped. The thought had a comforting simplicity, but he couldn't deny that even the insane have goals, though they make no sense to anyone else.

What could an insane core chief want?

He opened another door, leading to the docking bay for one of the landing craft designed to haul the power cores back to the _Tenacious_. The blocky craft sat silently in its cradle, front loading hatch facing a massive pressure door that separated the docking area from the cargo bay he'd just visited. Access to the vehicle should have been restricted, but he'd have to check anyway. As he entered, he twitched his finger and contacted his search partner. "Esfir, make sure you check the landing craft."

"Doing that right now."

A very large part of him wanted to strangle the Gervasis and Esfirs of the world. Just do away with them, to be replaced by skilled, rational people who acted out of common sense instead of blind, selfish emotion. But somewhere, he knew that even these people had value to the Commonwealth, and that much of their behavior was due to having barely slept for weeks.

He searched behind docking equipment and bulkheads, circling the docking bay before testing the landing craft's access door. It was locked, but what if Nazar had gained access and locked the door behind him? He could open the door to check, but the tight space of the control section meant he wouldn't see his quarry until he was very close. There was a chance he wouldn't even have the opportunity to voice a warning.

Instead, he responded to the lock's queries with random security codes until it shut down. Now, only a unique key and the Ship Master's voice and pass code could open the door. Unless Nazar forced an emergency exit, which would set off enough alarms to bring the entire crew down on him. Miron left the docking bay and continued down the corridor.

He passed another intersection, leading to a stairwell on his left and the far corridor on his right, and waited for Esfir to appear.

Minutes passed. No Esfir. He contacted her. "Where are you? I'm waiting."

"Leaving the docking bay. It took a minute to search the lander, you know."

He'd neglected to tell her to just seal the door. Oh, well. Too bad she didn't find Nazar in there. Finally, she appeared around the corner, glancing his way before continuing―She looked back at him and straightened, a cold smile thinning her lips.

Realization came just in time for Miron to spin around, hands raised. Something struck his right arm where his head had been a moment before. He cried out, pain shooting up his arm. Nazar stood before him, drawing back for another swing. Miron threw himself at the core chief, slamming him into the bulkhead before both went down. His right arm wouldn't work right, and Nazar easily got on top of him. Before the core chief could strike again, Miron managed to put his foot on the man's hip and pushed him away. He gasped for air as he twitched his finger. "He's here! Deck ten!" Nazar backed away, seething hate in his eyes. He turned and fled up the stairs. "He's heading up to deck nine! Stairwell B!"

With a groan, Miron rolled upright. If Esfir had been a better actor, he would have been dead now. There was no sign of the traitorous bitch. He imagined she'd deny the whole thing later, claim he'd seen an apparition instead of her. So he would say nothing, and remember.

Nazar got away for the moment. By the time they reached the stairwell he'd used to escape, he was long gone. Despite Borya's assertion, the _Tenacious_ was just too large for twenty people to find someone who knew the ship well. With the Ship Master's blessing, the crew began sealing the spacetight hatches that secured the stairwells in times of emergency.

"We're running out of time," Gervasi said through the comm. "Less than thirteen hours left before we arrive."

"With the hatches sealed, he's not getting off whatever deck he's on right now," Borya said. "We search again, in teams of four now. We secure decks one at a time until he runs out of places to hide. Gervasi, reassign the teams. Let's get it done."

Miron didn't contribute to the conversation. He'd begun to suspect that Nazar wouldn't be caught so easily. Sealing the stairwell hatches was supposed to close off every other means of access as well, but the sorry state of the ship's systems meant Nazar might still be able to find a way to move around.

He headed for deck six, the place where Ludmila had been murdered. He couldn't get his earlier thought out of his head, that Nazar wanted to achieve something. Maybe the site of his first crime would trigger some insight.

Someone else had beaten him there. An engineer in grease-streaked, yellow overalls stood with half their torso buried in the access hatch Ludmila had been working in. Miron kept quiet until he stood next to the fleet hand. "What are you doing?"

A strangled grunt and the sound of a skull impacting metal. The fleet hand withdrew from the panel, and Miron recognized Anisim, the engineer he'd caught sleeping when he first visited the engine room. "Sorry, sir," he said.

"You should either be searching the ship or keeping it together. Which is it?"

"I'm on the search crew, sir. This is my deck. No sign of him yet."

The man had evaded his original question. "What were you doing in that hatch?"

He glanced away and hesitated. Miron said, "Anisim, right now I'm beginning to suspect you may have been in on Ludmila's murder. If that's not the truth, then this would be the time to spit it out."

Angry, horrified eyes met his own. "No, sir! I didn't know a thing about it! I came to check on something."

"Be more specific."

Anisim straightened and took a deep breath. "Before the chief was killed, she was in the engine room. She said something to me before she walked out. She said, "Anisim, how would you like to have a good night's sleep tonight?" I was tired and I didn't really understand her question, but she was excited. She went straight here. She must have, there was no time for her to go anywhere else. I wondered why."

"You're sure that's what she said?"

Anisim nodded. "Yes, sir. I didn't get it, but that's why I remember."

Miron gave him a hard stare. "Do you think she was talking about the shield?"

A furtive nod. "Yes, sir."

"So what's inside this panel?"

"Command processors. Instructions from command stations route through here to resolve conflicts before they're sent to each system. This is the main cluster, that's why it's right in the middle of the ship, so enemy fire won't damage it. There are two backups elsewhere, but they only kick in if this one fails."

"How does this processor affect shield operation?"

Anisim hesitated, no doubt translating his answer into terms Miron would understand. "A command to activate the shield passes through here like any other command. If all the backup processors failed together with these, the command wouldn't get through. But we would know, because we wouldn't be able to control the ship."

"Ludmila came here for a reason. She was too busy to waste time." He scratched his chin. "Stick your head back in there. I'll keep an eye out. See if you can find anything."

Miron spent the time keeping his expectations in check. Part of him desperately wanted the shield to work again, but he had to remind himself that they were only pursuing a lead, with no guarantee it would go anywhere.

"Ha!"

Like clouds parted by the sun, the red overhead lights smoothly shifted back to daylight. Miron blinked, fighting the relief that threatened to rush in. "What happened?"

Anisim emerged from the panel, his face split by a mad grin. "It's working again!" He laughed, squeezing tears from his eyes. "I can sleep!"

Miron grabbed his shoulders and shook him. "Damn it, are you sure?"

Anisim controlled himself. "Yes, sir. The processors were sending the same shutdown command to the shield for every instruction they got. It was all translated into "turn off". All I did was reset the unit and it cleared."

Miron wasn't ready to celebrate. "How did this happen?"

The answer obviously bothered Anisim. He fidgeted before he spoke. "Somebody did it on purpose. It's impossible to happen by accident. Somebody took our shield down." He looked at Miron, bewildered. "Who would do that?"

"We have one certified lunatic on the loose, and he's crazy enough to commit murder."

"Maybe he wants us to turn back," Anisim suggested, his tone questioning his own suggestion.

"Maybe." Nazar had disabled the shield, and killed Ludmila when she'd been about to restore it. Assuming he hadn't defected to the floaters―something that had only ever happened in rumors―his actions were probably not intended to destroy the ship, or harm the Commonwealth. Then why compromise defenses? Could he be acting under orders from the Core Guild? The organization answered to no one but the Supreme Commanders, but their mandate was simply to train core operators and find more efficient ways to generate power with the cores. If Nazar pursued some personal goal, it would be impossible to make sense of his actions. If not, then he had to believe he was acting in the Commonwealth's best interests. "It has to be the mission," Miron said. "He doesn't want to kill us all, he just wants us to abort. Anisim, if you wanted to force us to abandon our mission, how would you do it?"

"Kill the shield," the engineer said without thought. "The book says, avoid confrontation and seek friendly space if we lose our shield."

"And if that didn't work?"

Anisim looked up at the overhead for a long moment. "Weapons. You don't need weapons to run away."

"Now take a minute to think about this. How would you sabotage the weapons systems?"

Anisim squirmed. "I don't like this, sir. I'm not a traitor."

A long-forgotten memory flashed through Miron's mind, of his six-year old son trying to avoid answering a question, even though they'd both known Yekim knew the answer. He held up his hand. "I know you're not. I'm so sure of it that I'm willing to ask you that question, because I know you would never actually do something like that. But someone on this ship would. I need your help to figure out what he'll do next, so we have a chance to catch him. The ship is too big. He can hide anywhere. We won't find him before we arrive and we'll have to fight. What if he commits sabotage then?"

Anisim stared at the floor. "You can't turn off all the weapons just like that. But you wouldn't have to. You can't shoot without aiming. I would sabotage the fire control system."

"Where?"

He shrugged. "I could do it in half a dozen places. Hardest to find would be here, like he did with the shield."

"Tell me all the locations." His finger twitched. "Borya, you need to hear this."

Borya was not convinced, but he did have Gervasi assign two fleet hands to each of the potential sabotage targets, except the one Miron and Anisim would cover. They stood inside an equipment locker within the Detection compartment, with the door at a crack so they could watch the bulky mass of conduits and displays that made up the accessible part of the echo locator system. Without the ability to send out distortion pulses and interpret the resulting echoes, the ship would be virtually blind.

He hoped Nazar would try his luck here. This time, he'd have the upper hand, and he wouldn't let the core chief get away. The frustration and stress of the past weeks ached for an outlet, and he saw no need to restrain himself now. Nazar had brought horror and suffering to the _Tenacious_. No explanation or belief could justify that.

Behind him, Anisim let out a quiet snore. Miron smiled and didn't wake him. Now that the crew would be able to rest and the Engineers could make repairs without interference, the _Tenacious_ would have a chance after all. Once the fight was won, they would retrieve the PRISM cores from Nadir and head back to Commonwealth territory. There, the Gervasis and Esfirs could be dealt with appropriately. He'd been right to press on; everyone would see that now. He looked most forward to mending his relationship with Borya. Though the Ship Master had been out of line, Miron was prepared to forgive, considering the circumstances

He sucked in air with a sudden breath. Adrenaline rode a painful wave through his body. He'd fallen asleep. If Nazar had come and gone...!

He moved his head to scan the area through the small crack. A panel on the machinery was loose at one corner. Had it been that way before? He ground his teeth. Anisim would have to check if the device was still working, risking Nazar seeing him and realizing they were waiting for him.

A breathless voice inside his ear said, "We got him. Deck seven."

He jabbed Anisim with his elbow, eliciting a startled grunt. "They caught him. Come on."

The core chief had taken a severe beating. Both eyes had swelled to slits, and blood leaked from a cut on his brow and from his mouth. Someone had broken all his fingers, and three of his teeth lay on the floor in red puddles.

The damage made his expression unreadable as he hung between the two fleet guards that had caught him. Borya and Gervasi had already arrived, and Chief Zakhar came up from the other side as Miron and Anisim approached. The Ship Master loomed over Nazar as he questioned him. Miron caught the traitor's mumbled response: "Yes."

Borya trembled. "Why?"

Nazar attempted a smile. "You don't know anything about the enemy. You fear them, and their silly illusions. Your fear doesn't let you see the truth. They are more frightened of us. Because of what we do to their young. You know about that. The Guild knows." He turned his head to look at Miron. "So does he. You know how we power this ship. Do you know what happens when they board us? They come to the core chamber, to see if they can help their infants. But they can't. They never can. But they stay, and keep trying. And all the while, they are watching their young ones suffer. It tortures them. They can bear danger, and death, and loss, but not that. It is the only thing we do that hurts them. I have run this core for sixteen years. _Courageous_ , _Magnificent_ , and now _Tenacious._ Every day, I made the enemy pay. And now, one ship, alone, so deep in floater space? A core shouldn't be wasted on this idiocy! " He raised a mangled hand at Miron. "You would throw it away! You would sacrifice the ship! I thought you knew! That's why you gave up those lives at Wicked Sisters. To protect the titans. The cores. That's all that matters! You think you can win by destroying ships, and taking planets? This is how you win! You make them despair!"

Borya looked down and nodded. "I see." He glanced back at Miron, then back to Nazar. "You are crazy, but that won't help you. You talk about despair. How much, to make somebody walk out an airlock? How much suffering, to choose an end like that?"

He seized Nazar's collar and started walking, the core chief stumbling to keep up. Gervasi, Zakhar, and the two fleet guards came along. Miron and Anisim followed. Borya turned a corner, hiding him from sight momentarily. Nazar gave a shout, followed by sounds of struggling, and Miron hurried to catch up.

Once he passed the corner, he saw Nazar fighting to break Borya's grip. The Ship Master had stopped before a pressure door. Horror closed iron hands around his chest as he realized what Borya intended, but he said nothing. The murderous core chief had earned this end.

"Open it."

Nazar redoubled his struggle while Gervasi unlocked the interior door of the airlock. "No! Please! Not like this!"

Borya grabbed the core chief's ruined face with both hands and stared into it. "Yes. Like this. You're going to feel every second of it." He gave Nazar a firm shove, sending him flying into the airlock. He hadn't gotten back to his feet when the door slid shut.

Borya waved Gervasi aside and put his hand on the control pad. Nazar's face appeared in the porthole, screaming. Borya met his battered stare as the warning buzz sounded. With a hiss of air, the pressurization mechanism activated.

They watched Nazar die as the air drained from the airlock and vacuum wrecked his body. It took longer than Miron had expected. After the core chief had gone still, Borya used the mechanical arm inside the pressure chamber to guide the corpse through the outer door. It disappeared immediately, vaporized by the forces of the distortion field.

Borya repressurized the airlock, then turned to the others. "Now we can get back to work."

Chapter Twelve

Shura guided her aircraft between two tall buildings, catching a glimpse of stunned faces as she passed within a few feet of the transparent wall. Up ahead, her community complex appeared from behind a bulbous wrack processing tank.

Despite the evacuation order, she refused to assume she would be ignored altogether. She aimed her craft at the roof, circling once to get her bearings before landing next to the rooftop access door. Leaving the engines to idle, she got out. The storm had followed her to the Districts, and wind chilled her scalp as she headed for the door. She slapped the entry button and the door slid open with a squeal of disuse, revealing a gaping stairwell leading down into the building. After a moment's hesitation, she dug into her pocket and took out a stimulant tablet. The pill dissolved on her tongue with a metallic sweetness that faded into a soapy aftertaste. As a warm rush of energy spread through her limbs and burned the fog from her brain, she took the stun gun from her pocket, put it in her belt behind her back, and entered the complex.

She ran down the stairs as quickly as she dared, glancing out the stairwell windows facing the courtyard. Children and parents crowded the space, exercising and playing games like on any other day. The floaters were hours away, and these people had no idea.

When the next level came into view, she saw the tall man in auditor's uniform standing outside Dorei's door. She was going too fast to stop, and the man turned her way as she stumbled into the corridor. A stunner appeared in his hands. "Don't move. Dash one-two-one, you are being detained for acting against the best interests of the Commonwealth. If you do not obey my commands, I will use violence to subdue you. Do you understand?"

She swallowed, terror and panic swirling in her gut. "Yes."

"Put your hands up and slowly move towards me."

She shuffled forward, her thoughts screaming chaos. Though the auditor had twice her weight, though she couldn't make a single move without being shot, resolve burned white-hot in her mind: she would not be a prisoner. He wouldn't take her now.

"Stop there."

She halted a few feet from the auditor.

"Turn around and put your hands behind your back."

As she began to turn and lowered her arms, she heard the clatter of his restraints. An image flashed in her mind: his hands, both occupied, eyes cast down―

Without a conscious thought, she ripped the stun gun from her belt, spun as she went down to one knee, and shot him in the stomach. As he doubled over, restraints in hand, she shot him again.

After taking his weapon, she hammered on the door and mauled the buzzer with her other hand. "Dorei!" she shouted. "It's Shura! Open the door!"

No answer. She left her finger on the buzzer this time. "Dorei! I swear, I'm just here for my son. You need to open the door right now."

"Go away! They said not to let you in!"

Of course they did. Who knew what they had told people about her? No one she encountered would be on her side. She let go of the buzzer and lowered her voice so others listening in wouldn't hear. "Tell them I threatened you. They'll believe you." It would become the truth if Dorei didn't cooperate. The unconscious auditor was bound to have some method of door lock override tool on him. "Please. I'm just here to take my son. Then you'll never see either of us again."

She bit her lip as the silence stretched. Finally, the door slid open. Kirill rushed out and wrapped his arms around her waist. "Aman!"

She crouched and embraced him. "Hey, cub! It's great to see you! I'm very proud of you, for being so good while I was gone." She didn't give a shit whether it was true or not.

"What did you do?" Dorei said, staring at the felled auditor.

Shura turned to her. "Dorei, listen to me carefully. Forget about all this, because it doesn't matter anymore. The floaters are coming. They're in the system, right now. They're fighting, and we're losing. They'll land in a few hours. Most of the auditors are already being evacuated. Probably all the important people. If you want a shot at getting out, you need to leave now."

Dorei's expression made it clear she questioned Shura's sanity. "Floaters? That's impossible. They couldn't―"

"Believe what you want," Shura interrupted. "I just repaid your favor. Good luck."

Kirill clung to her hand with desperate strength as they ran back the way she'd come. By the time she reached her aircraft, her lungs burned with exertion, and Kirill panted in her wake. He fit into the back seat with room to spare. She tightened the straps around his tiny chest as far as they would go and hoped the ride would be smooth.

Before she got in, she looked up at the sky. A massive front of dark clouds slowly covered the city. Lightning blossomed within, followed by the rolling crash of thunder. In the last patch of clear blue to the south, a different kind of lightning sparked. Even in daylight, she could make out tiny shapes moving in chaos. One erupted in a brilliant flash.

She took her seat, hands trembling. The pressure threatened to paralyze her, the cost of failing now too great to consider without being overwhelmed. She clung to her sense of purpose: before anything else, they had to get off Marshal. She closed the door, secured her harness, and took off.

She had noted down some of the evacuation site coordinates she'd intercepted and entered them into the navigation system. It guided her due east and south, offering repeated warnings about restricted airspace she chose to ignore. Allowing the vehicle's computer to take control, she looked over her shoulder and summoned a wide smile for Kirill. His golden complexion had turned pale, but he seemed calm. "How are you doing, Kiri?"

"Okay," he said.

"Smiley still with you?"

He nodded.

"When we land, you're going to have to be brave again, okay? Just like you've been doing. If I tell you to run, you have to run. Can you do that?"

He leaned forward in his seat. "Smiley says I shouldn't leave you!"

She fought a surge of frustration. Why had she mentioned him in the first place? "Smiley isn't your mother. You have to trust me. I know you're scared, but it's going to be all right as long as you do what I tell you. Okay?"

He nodded, but wouldn't meet her eyes. She faced forward and stifled a curse. Of all the times for Smiley to get contrary.

A soft buzz in her ear. "All citizens, this is an emergency alert. Marshal has come under attack. Out of an abundance of caution, all non-combat personnel are ordered to report to the nearest evacuation site for temporary relocation off-planet. Evacuation site locations are accessible from your Personal Data Display. Tube cars will be available to transport you. Bring no possessions except what you can carry on your person. You will be returned to your home as soon as the enemy has been destroyed."

"Now they tell us," she muttered.

Ahead, the cityscape yielded to a sprawling dirt lot surrounding an industrial facility. Six boxy spaceships waited in the empty space, each surrounded by a handful of tiny figures. Two law enforcement vehicles sat off to the side, drawing a surge of fear. She shook it off. They wouldn't still be looking for her after the general announcement.

"Hold on, cub," she said, and guided her aircraft down. She aimed for a spot far from the Auditor vehicles, and not too close to the ships and their guards. As soon as her craft settled on its supports, she killed the engines and opened the door. She lifted Kirill out of his seat and put him down before opening the cargo compartment and seizing her bag. "Okay, Kiri. You see those black ships over there? That's where we're going. We're going to walk fast and I need you to keep up, okay? Come on." She set out at a steady trot, allowing Kirill to keep pace.

Movement from the corner of her eye caught her attention. One of the orbital lift tethers twisted in a slow, serpentine motion, parts snapping off as it steadily bent towards the ground. She'd never seen one so much as sway in the wind.

A blast of air made her stumble, pelting her with dirt. Using her hands to shield Kirill's eyes, she tried to find the source. The whine of protesting engines rose above the wind noise, then wound down. An Auditor's aircraft blocked her way.

As soon as she recognized the vehicle, she knew who was inside. Koldan leaped down from the craft, landing in a puff of dust and striding towards her. She reached for the stunner in her belt. Before her hand could close on the grip, her entire body tingled sharply. Her limbs locked up and she hit the ground like a deflated ball.

"You should have stayed outside the Districts," Koldan said as he approached, holstering his weapon. "At least you would have been free. But I knew you'd come back for your son. You should have left him. He was never supposed to live."

Her body refused to move. Koldan crouched by her side and looked at Kirill. "Boy! Come here. If you don't do as I say, I will hurt you. Do you understand?"

"Run, Kiri!" Shura screamed. "Run to the ships! Go!"

Koldan glanced at her. "You know I'm not going to let him go."

And even if he had, Kirill wouldn't go. He stood rooted to the ground, his soft features frozen in shock and terror.

A vast shadow spilled over the clouds overhead, followed by a massive shape slicing silently through the grey shroud. The spaceship rolled as it descended, impossibly fast, its prow boiling with orange flame and fire bleeding from gashes and craters all over the hull. Chunks broke off to tumble away. As it passed, a deafening crack assaulted her eardrums, so loud she felt them vibrate. The ship slipped out of sight behind the auditor's aircraft.

"Don't worry," Koldan said as he took out his restraints. "You'll be evacuated. Your son, too. You will both face justice when the enemy is beaten."

"Kiri, please just run!"

Koldan looked up. "Boy, I said come here."

Kirill came running like he'd been caught doing wrong, throwing her a guilty look. The conflict of fears writ plain on his face broke Shura's heart. "It's okay, cub," she said, and tried to smile. "It's not your fault." Koldan slipped the restrains over her wrists.

New shadows stretched around them as a different light lit up the clouds from below. A noise like an avalanche went up, quickly growing louder. From the corner of her eye, Shura saw a wall of dust racing towards them, knocking over Koldan's aircraft as if it were a toy. The force that struck her knocked the breath from her limp body and sent her skidding across the dirt. Koldan was sent flying. Kirill had thrown himself on the ground and crawled towards her, squinting to keep the dust out.

The violence dissipated, leaving the air hazy and brown. Some distance away, Koldan coughed and scrabbled in the dirt. With all her might, Shura managed to move one arm a fraction, a feat that inspired a surge of meaningless hope. Kirill grabbed that hand, and his dirt-smeared face came into view. "Aman, get up! We have to run!"

"I can't, Kiri. I'm hurt. You have to go. Go to the ships. They'll take you somewhere safe. You have to get away."

Kirill looked to his side. "I don't know how!" he wailed.

"Of course you do," she pleaded. If he lost it now, it would be all over. "Just run away!"

"Yes." The word came like a sob. Kirill didn't move, but kept looking off to the side. "But I'm already scared!"

She started to reply before she realized he wasn't talking to her.

"I don't get it," he moaned, his voice febrile with panic. "I can't do it!"

Koldan appeared beside her, his hair a mess and a bloody scrape on his cheek. Something had changed in the auditor's cold regard. His movements were jerky, and he breathed too quickly. "Kirill, go now!"

Kirill got to his feet, arms shaking, and drew himself up. His face twisted into an expression she'd never seen before, a mix of primal dread and infantile rage. "I'm too scared!" he shrieked, the shrill tone stabbing at her ears.

Now she felt it, like a solid wave of panic rising up to drown her. She could do nothing. This evil man, who believed with all his heart that she'd done a terrible thing, had them in his power. They would be evacuated, just so they could be censured.

Seven years of living in fear, finding loopholes and avoiding scrutiny any way she could. It had all been for nothing. Seven years. That was all she'd gotten him.

Whimpering, she tried with everything she had to move her legs. One knee rose a few inches, followed by the other. Not enough.

Koldan squeezed his eyes shut and muttered something to himself. Dirty sweat rolled down his forehead into his eyes, forcing him to stop and wipe his face with his sleeve. She felt his arms tremble as he reached for the restraints he'd never managed to lock.

"What are _you_ so afraid of?" she rasped.

"Shut up," he said, his voice a plea.

"You sh―you should run away! Th―the floaters are coming and they're gonna kill you!" Kirill shouted. Each word landed in Shura's gut like a physical blow, magnifying her panic. Every breath came faster than the last as the feeble remnants of her self-control dissolved, along with the fleeting question of why her son's voice made her feel this way.

Kirill gave a wordless scream, and two fist-sized red eyes opened in the air next to him. The dust underneath twisted into a floating, weaving, transparent shape, a nightmare materialized. It drifted towards them, slow, inexorable, merciless. Its fiery gaze seethed with cruelty.

Koldan gave a wild scream and stumbled back, falling on his back. He struggled to his feet and fled into the haze, dust swirling behind him. Shura closed her eyes and screamed, raging fear shredding her thoughts.

Kirill threw himself at her, bawling, pulling at her arm. She managed to lift it and wrap it around him. "Go away!" she shrieked.

"We have to go!" Kirill said, and wriggled in her arm.

She opened her eyes. The shape was gone. "Kiri, what was that?"

He pulled on her arm. "We have to go now! They're gonna leave us!"

"Help me up."

Her limbs still felt like limp noodles, and it took all Kirill's strength to get to her feet and throw her bag over her shoulder. She leaned on him as much as she dared and let him guide her through the murk. They passed the wreckage of Koldan's aircraft and the dim shapes of the spaceships came into view. It took forever to get close enough for the guards to see them and rush over to help. Shura allowed herself to be carried inside, hoping only that Koldan wouldn't make it to the same ship.

Chapter Thirteen

"You sure took your sweet time about it!"

Khariton and the guards of First Squad followed Raisa as she climbed over an elaborate barricade into the cavernous shaft room. He moved over to allow Naum to be carried inside. The heavy weapons expert had taken a glancing hit to the leg, scooping out a chunk of muscle. The suit had sealed the wound and kept the pain under control, but it couldn't make him walk.

The rest of the guards clambered over the obstruction to join Raisa. Talent Demyan came through last, surveying the area with a single glance. "Rad, watch the barricade," he said.

"Yes, sir," Radomil said, and slipped past Khariton to take position at the entrance.

Some two dozen survivors awaited their arrival, only half clad in ACS. The rest wore basic orange environmental work suits, and each looked like repairs had replaced most of the original material. The two groups stood apart, a detail that left Khariton uneasy. After a glare at the man who had spoken first, one of the guards came forward. "I'm Talent Afon. In charge, I suppose."

Raisa nodded. "I'm Chief Raisa, 114th Advance Guards. We're securing the station right now, but floaters remain outside the walls. How are you doing in here?"

Afon looked back at his fellow survivors as Manya and Nikifor carried Naum to a spot where they could lay him down. "We're out of everything. Even water; after the floaters took the living quarters seven days ago, we couldn't get more. No pressure since the inner wall was breached. We got maybe forty rounds a barrel left. Nothing heavy. We lost..." He fell silent. After a pause, his lip quivered. "What the _fuck_ took so long?" he snapped, and looked away at once, chest heaving.

"We came as fast as we could, Talent," Raisa said quietly. "We're here now. We'll get you out before nightfall. It's just about over."

"And what happens to the station?" the same nasal voice that had offered the derisive greeting cut in. The diminutive figure stalked towards Raisa. "I didn't drink my own piss for a week to let the floaters take all my hard work home with them."

Raisa's head turned a fraction. "Who are you?"

"Fima." He aimed a thumb at himself. "I'm the guy whose research we're putting into practice here. You didn't answer my question."

"Because I can't," Raisa said, her tone dry. "Outside the scope of this operation. I was ordered to defeat the enemy and evacuate the survivors, and that's what we're going to do."

"I'm not leaving until you guarantee me someone is coming to take care of this facility, or at least taking the equipment out. Don't you think there's a good reason the floaters came here?" He gestured at the shaft in the center of the space. "Compound armor almost three times denser than that polysteel crap. Hyperconductors virtually eliminating response times. This could win the war!"

Demyan stepped up to him. "Chief Raisa is much too polite to point this out, but you're going to be on that lander, conscious or otherwise. Your choice, but―" He shrugged. "You know. Not really."

Fima turned to Demyan, fists raised. He stood over two heads shorter than the talent. "Why don't you try it―"

"Fima," Raisa cut in. "If the Commonwealth considered this base expendable, we would have destroyed those sections held by the floaters and evacuated you after making sure nothing else was left alive. That said, Talent Demyan is right. You might want to sit down before you force him to embarrass you in front of your team." Fima scoffed and looked Demyan up and down before walking away.

Talent Afon said, "What do you need from us, Chief?" Khariton winced at the bone-deep weariness in the guard's voice.

"Help keep this area secure," Raisa said. "It's our command post for the rest of the operation. Taras, Manya, take a look at these people."

Med tech Taras joined the ragged survivors. Manya still fussed over Naum, ignoring his attempts to wave her off until he said, "Really? You're gonna make me look bad in front of these people?"

"Rot, then," she muttered, and did as she'd been told.

Specialist Faddei came up to Afon and offered her canteen. For one second he held it still, staring at the oblong container, before he slowly raised it to his mouth. His suit made contact and created a seal, and he drank deep.

The rest of the squad followed suit, sharing their canteens with the other survivors. Khariton had to stay behind, because he hadn't brought one. He feebly searched for something to say that would explain his oversight without being too obvious, and found nothing. He'd managed to exclude himself once again.

Instead of standing around feeling stupid, he surveyed the space. Alcoves spaced regularly along the circular walls held supplies and machinery, most of which looked improvised. A massive drill head dangled over a meter-wide shaft, held up by a tripod structure that looked solid enough to carry the entire planet. A nest of blankets probably served as a sleeping area.

His inspection complete, he turned back to see Raisa and Afon conferring on the other side of the shaft. Squad medics Taras and Manya worked on the wounded while the rest of the guards stood with the survivors. Gerasim held an engineer in a gentle embrace as the orange-clad figure trembled and shook its head. Second-in-command Faddei sat with another one, nodding occasionally and reaching out once to rest her hand on a shoulder.

"Like a rat's nest, isn't it?"

Fima stood next to him. Khariton caught a glimpse of sharp, rodent-like features behind his faceplate and wondered if the man's own appearance had inspired the analogy. "In a way."

"A lot of ways." Fima shook his head. "It got real ugly in here. Had the ghost shield go out a couple of times. That's a fine way to spend an afternoon. You gotta race 'em, you know. You only got a couple of minutes before they start sabotaging your shit. If you don't get it up again quick, they start breaking stuff faster than you can fix it. And before you know it, your dead buddies show up to watch you work. Tons of fun." He nodded in Afon's direction. "You know why he doesn't like me? Because I know what needs to be done. Hard facts. I told him right from the start, pull back to the shaft room. All our work's in there, the one thing the floaters are after, and the ghost shield generator on top of that. He wanted to fight for the living quarters, because he had wounded there that couldn't be moved. Big fucking deal. They took it anyway in the end, the wounded died, and the only difference was he lost people defending it." He stepped closer. "I know you get it. That's why you need to talk to that chief. I saw you. Same rank, but no authority. What are you, an observer? I know you're not one of these maniacs. Talk to her. Orders be fucked, she's in charge down here. Tell her we need to save this research!" He closed his hands into fists. "I spent twenty-one years making this work. She's going to _ruin it!_ "

Khariton knew he was right. Raisa could make the call to _Mitrofan_ and request evacuation of the machinery and research samples. For all his ego, the man might even be right to say his work could change the tide of war, but the words tasted like bile in his throat. He felt a far greater need than to agree with Fima's logical argument. "I'm sorry about your research," he said, jaw trembling. "But I am one of these maniacs."

Fima's mouth slowly opened, then snapped shut. He turned away with a sneer and stomped off to the bank of machinery along the wall. When Khariton looked back, he saw Gerasim had watched the exchange. The guard gave him a nod and a thumbs-up.

"All right," Raisa said. "First Squad, let's get out there and bring in the wounded. You know what to do. Taras and Manya stay behind."

Demyan gestured for his guards. As they gathered, he sent them out to the other squads in pairs, following the last pair out by himself through the narrow opening in the barricade.

Khariton walked over to Raisa. "What should I do?"

"Take over guarding that entrance," she said. "I don't know if we missed any floaters in the sweep."

Khariton took his position by the door, stomach tingling. The other four quads still hunted floaters in the station's cramped passages, and although he'd seen the meticulous way they'd swept the approach to the shaft room, the nightmare maze of conduits and tight corners offered plenty of opportunity to hide. He rested his rifle in a narrow crack and peered down the corridor.

Time crept by, until Demyan curtly announced the approach of friendlies. Khariton checked his chronometer and realized with shock that fifteen minutes had passed. Seconds later, the first pair of guards turned the far corner. Each one carried another, and Demyan brought up the rear with a limp figure over his shoulder. Khariton put his rifle away and helped carry the wounded over the barricade.

Two of the injured guards had lost limbs, and a third looked like some giant predator had taken a bite out of his torso. Taras worked on him with frantic energy, her tools slipping through the suit's material without breaking its seal.

"You're relieved," Nikifor said, and took Khariton's place at the door.

Raisa wasn't done talking to Afon, so he found Demyan. "Anything I can do?"

The talent looked him over. "Are you trained to render medical aid to suit bearers?"

"No."

"Just sit tight, then." He hesitated. "That was a good call out there, earlier."

Pride rushed up into a wide smile. "Thank you―"

"Varlam is dead," Taras said. She shook her head once as she withdrew her instruments from the dead man's suit, and moved to the next injured guard.

Demyan's face hardened as he turned away, joining Nikifor at the barricade. Varlam's suit slowly changed shape, hardening into a shell to ease transportation of the remains. Khariton stared at the oblong shape. That man had been alive when they'd landed on Matrix. Sometime between then and now, he'd found the end to his life. Had he ducked faster, had someone else gone before him, he'd still be alive and someone else's flesh would be cooling inside the rigid case made by the suit as the last service to its operator.

It could have been him.

That thought, one he'd known to be true even when he'd just embarked on his assignment to the 114th, now shocked him with its gravity. How did these people live with such intimate knowledge of their mortality? How could anyone stay sane in the face of such persistent reminders that their lives, the entire sum of their existence, could be taken away at any moment?

Gerasim stood next to him. "Making you think, right?"

Khariton nodded, ashamed at the comfort the guard's sudden presence offered him.

"Everybody asks the question some time. Why him? Why not that guy?" His voice trailed off into a pause. "There's no answer. His luck ran out. That's all it is. Everybody gets a share, except nobody knows how much, so you just do what you do. Trust your buddies, and hope you stay lucky. Until you're not."

Gerasim's words filtered through his mind like a soothing balm. "It could be worse," he said.

"What?" Moisey said in a dangerous tone. He'd been sitting close to the shaft, studiously checking his weapons, and came to his feet in a fluid motion.

Fear sank into his gut. "One could do worse, I mean. Than dying in the presence of friends."

"Oh, because you would know." Khariton had no answer. Moisey took a step closer. "You spend one fucking day out here, and suddenly you're the expert. I'm so glad they sent us some tuber piece of shit to tell us―"

Gerasim's fist connected with the angry guard's faceplate, rocking his head back. Khariton stepped back, sucking in a horrified breath.

"Gerry!" Demyan snapped. He covered the distance from the entrance in no time, placing himself between the two guards. Gerasim looked past the talent at Moisey. "Tuber piece of shit? Is that right? I guess it's good to know where I stand with a comrade!" He pointed at Khariton. "That's a chief you're talking about."

Demyan glanced over his shoulder. "Moisey, go watch the barricade." The guard hesitated, still staring at Gerasim. "Go!" Demyan snarled, and Moisey spun away into a stiff march to join Nikifor at the entrance.

"What's wrong with you?" the talent said to Gerasim. "You're acting like a Regular."

Gerasim stood painfully straight. "A momentary lapse in judgment, sir," he said in a monotonous voice. "I apologize."

"Don't start with this shit, Gerry. I have enough hotheads already. Understood?"

"Yes, sir."

"I'll deal with you when we get back." Demyan walked away.

Gerasim glanced at Khariton. Torn between dismay at the conflict he'd caused and gratitude for the guard's words, he didn't know what to say, and only managed a nervous smile and a nod. Gerasim gave him a wink.

When Khariton looked away, he caught Raisa's eyes. She'd watched the incident, and now came over. "Walk with me," she said. He followed her to one of the alcoves in the wall. "You're doing well," she said. "That call during the approach made our lives a lot easier. But let me give you some advice: don't open your mouth so much until you've been here for a few weeks and you have an idea of how these people think and feel. They're still trying to figure you out. Let them get used to you being here, and in the meantime, you can get used to them."

"I appreciate your advice," Khariton said, and meant it. "I never really know what to say. I don't know what it's like to be a part of anything."

She searched his face for a long moment. "Do you know what they call you now?"

He shrugged, stung by her question. He didn't need reminding that these people saw him as an outsider. "Tuber?"

Raisa gave a rueful chuckle. "They call you "animal." On account of the way you run in your suit. They all know it was you who sniffed out the trap."

A surge of pride welled up into a wide smile. Relief and delight forced a single barked laugh from his throat. "Animal." He could taste the name.

Raisa slapped his shoulder. "Come on. Let's go wrap this up."

*****

Rain hammered the forest, drenching the earth and loosening Azial's grip as he traveled through the trees. The deluge had started the previous day, a final gift from the dying rainy season, and it had slowed their progress to a crawl. Below, Tihamtu and his entourage struggled through the mud. Azial suppressed a spike of anxiety with a deep breath smelling of wet earth. They were close, but he'd wanted to be home by now. With Tihamtu's grudging approval, he'd left the Circle even before the Udaki delegation had departed, searching for Musuri. He had found nothing, and after he'd rejoined the column for the last leg home, he'd learned that no word had come from Lakhmu since she set out to look for his son.

Even his aching worries couldn't fully eclipse the regret of having killed Gusur. The challenge had been fairly made and fairly met, but the outcome left Azial with a sickness in his stomach. He couldn't help but think he'd failed, even though it had been Balbasu who made the challenge, and Balbasu who refused to accept the consequences. A warrior of the Kith had been slain in righteous combat. The sacrifice should have been enough to settle any dispute. The fact that it hadn't left Azial wondering: what other sacred laws would Balbasu break, and what would become of the Kith because of it?

Cries of challenge pierced the rattle of the rain. The village gate appeared through the curtain of water, already swinging open.

Someone stood in the opening.

Azial increased his pace, closing the remaining distance ahead of Tihamtu and the rest. Whoever stood in the open gate held another in their arms. As he slipped out of the trees and landed in a splatter of mud, he recognized Lakhmu. The Sharyukin had lost an eye to a deep cut across her face. Blood and rain dripped down her face.

The one she held―

Azial halted. One more step and he'd know. He stood at the edge of despair, searching for a way out, a different answer. Nothing came. He'd taken every step to get here, and now he couldn't go back. If he could only stay here, in this moment, before his last shred of hope―

"Azial," Lakhmu called in a broken voice, anguish twisting her face. "Come and take your brave son. He walks with his ancestors."

He screamed and ran. Seizing the body from Lakhmu, he sank to the ground and cradled his son's still form. Musuri's eyes were closed, and a grimace twisted his features. Deep cuts all over his body. One leg dangled by a shred of flesh. "Musuri! Come back to me! Come back to me, my son! Don't leave me now!"

Musuri didn't stir. His wet limbs remained stiff and cold.

"He found Tamzi," Lakhmu said, her voice a distant echo. "But the Vile was there. He fought it. I know, because it had wounds when I found them. He wounded it, Azial! I killed that one, but more came. I could only bring back his body."

Musuri!

My son!

I've killed you!

Azial squeezed his son's body and rocked back and forth. _If I'd gone instead of Lakhmu! If hadn't spoken to you so harshly! What did I say to you? "The things that follow from what you do, are on your shoulders."_

A hand rested on his shoulder. "Where is Pirisati?" Tihamtu said.

"She went to her hut after seeing Musuri. She hasn't come out."

"Azial, you have to go to her."

_Don't you understand?_ He'd failed her as much as he'd failed his son. With brutal, mocking clarity, he understood only now that he'd sent Musuri down this path. Bad enough that he'd been cursed with a father he could never hope to surpass, but Azial had ever refused to express his pride. His stubborn fear that his son might content himself with mediocrity now returned as a knife twisting in his heart. And Pirisati had seen it all, and tried to make him understand. She'd shown him all the patience he should have had for his son.

He'd thought she was teaching him to be weak.

Burying his face in Musuri's wet hair, he screamed. Throat raw and lungs heaving, he found no relief no matter how loud his cry. His voice had left him by the time hands gently lifted him up and took Musuri away. Tihamtu half-carried him into the village, to his home. No light waited within.

"I'll take care of Musuri," Tihamtu said. "We will prepare him. Rest, and calm your heart. He feels no pain now. He found glory with his end, and honor. Even now, he sits with our ancestors as they celebrate his life. Tonight, we will do the same."

Azial staggered into the hut to escape Tihamtu's cutting words. He sank to the ground in the shadows, unable to see or think past the merciless knowledge that his son's life had ended.

"You wasted him."

He recoiled from Pirisati's dead voice. "I know everything you could say. Please."

"Please?" Listless mockery in her tone. "You think because now you understand what you did, you can silence me? No, you will hear me. I told you. I told you what he needed. But you insisted he learn everything the hard way. You refused to bolster his confidence. What choice did he have, but to make some grand gesture? You are Sharyukin. He wasn't. He was always going to feel unworthy, but you made sure that he did. Imagine his pride, stunted from the start, and how it must have stung every time you refused to acknowledge his success."

"Be quiet."

"No. I have no compassion for you. I have no feelings at all. I died when Musuri did. I'm a ghost now, and the hurts of the living cost me nothing. You took my son from me. You think you feel pain now? You at least know why you suffer. After all, it was your fault."

His palms stung as tears leaked into cuts made by his own fingernails. "I love him. I wished him well. I wanted him to have a good life."

"Wishing and wanting aren't enough. It's what you wanted, but it's not what you gave him."

"I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I want him back."

"He's gone. Forever. He walks with our ancestors, but where are they? No, he is gone. Lie there, Azial, and think about that. Your son is gone."

That night, once the rain had abated, Tihamtu personally came to escort them to Musuri's funeral. The boy's lanky frame lay on a wooden frame, sideways since the body had stiffened while Lakhmu carried it. The tribe had gathered in a circle around the pyre. Azial kept his eyes to the ground, terrified that he might be caught by a sympathetic glance. Cringing with every soft, empty word of condolence, he fought the urge to flee. Only his desire to honor his son prevented him.

Merodakh stood alone inside the circle next to the pyre, a burning torch in one hand. His ash-covered face revealed nothing besides the nod he offered. Once Azial and Pirisati took their place in the circle, he spoke: "Musuri, son of Azial and Pirisati, child of the Udaki tribe, is dead. His flesh is empty. His spirit is free. Our fathers' fathers and mothers' mothers welcome him home as one of the Kith." He looked around the circle. "Musuri fell to the Vile. I've said this about others before. The monsters remain. Our sacred task remains. But Musuri didn't fall easily. He took a wrathblade on his journey, and the monster that took his life paid in blood. Musuri fought the Vile! A young man, born without the Blood in him, fought back against the Vile! It is said his enemy bled from a dozen wounds, and died easily soon after. This is glory! This is strength! Musuri lost his life in service to our oldest law: slay the Vile wherever they are found."

Merodakh turned and looked at Azial and Pirisati. "It's been said that Musuri sought renown. Let it be known to all the Kith that Musuri, son of Azial and Pirisati, died a brave warrior, carrying the spirit of the Kith into battle! His faults are washed away with the blood of his enemy. We will remember him by his strength and his bravery." Merodakh approached and held out the torch. When Azial didn't take it, the medicine man gently reached for his hand and lifted it to place it on the torch. "Light the pyre, Azial. Send your son home."

It took all his strength to step forward and hold the flame to the oil-soaked wood. The fire spread quickly, aided by the light breeze. In minutes, the area bathed in the flickering light of his son's ascendance. Azial found he had no power or inclination to hold back his tears. It shocked him how empty his life now seemed. He'd filled all his days with work for the future of the Kith, yet Musuri's death stole the meaning from his every act. Despair tempted him. Why continue?

Pirisati moved faster than he'd thought she could, aiming to climb the pyre. He barely managed to grab her ankle before she could get away. Others came forward and helped him drag her down. "Leave me!" she screamed. "I laid him to rest, now let me follow! Cowards! Selfish thieves! I spit on all your names!"

He knew she was right. How could he ask her to stay? For what? And yet he couldn't bring himself to let her go. His tears now came from shame and frustration as he dragged her away and laid her down. She curled up at once, weeping bitter tears with long, heaving sobs. He'd never heard a more wretched sound. He sat beside her and watched the fire consume Musuri's body. Ashes floated away with the smoke.

Chapter Fourteen

As soon as the door closed, Seruya said, "Get out."

"I am not able to."

Of course not. So her trust had been betrayed after all. "You know I will force you."

"You must try to understand. This place is protected by a field of energy that drives away my kind. I can only be here clothed in your flesh. You cannot eject me, because there is nowhere for me to go."

"How convenient for you."

"I would be able to scout this location much more quickly were I free to move around. I had intended to explain this before entry, but circumstances made that impossible. As soon as we leave, or manage to disable the field, I will vacate your body."

Seruya felt Sage's presence as a constant, inaccessible awareness. It felt like a violation, and having agreed to it initially didn't make it any better, but she could endure it a while longer.

She slowly scanned her new surroundings, so unlike anything she had seen before. She stood in a short corridor with white walls and a grey floor that felt cold to her feet, with a single door leading further into the structure. A bright part of the ceiling lit the space. "Since you're going to be here, guide me. How do I open that door?"

"There is a knob on the wall to the right. Pushing it should open the door."

She followed the instructions and the door slid sideways to disappear into the wall. Light spilling out from the corridor revealed only vague shapes, but as soon as she stepped through, glowing rectangles in the ceiling blinked to life. She stood at a crossroads of three corridors. The two to either side featured doors on one side, spaced regularly apart, and terminated at corners leading further into the building. Ahead, the third corridor led to another intersection, but a section of the wall to the right had been cut down to chest height, creating a separate, square space that contained many small doors and things she had no words for.

Nothing she saw existed in her world, and the sour, dry air added to her sense of displacement. She couldn't begin to grasp how this place had been created, or what purpose all these things served. Her reflexes and experience were useless. She wouldn't even know how to detect a threat, let alone deal with it.

"I suggest you go into the enclosed area ahead. We may be able to access information there."

Somewhere inside, she would find the way out of this place. As much as she detested relying on the spirit, she would use it to learn everything she could. A Sharyukin was nothing if not adaptable. She approached the low wall.

A stool sat behind it. Bones lay scattered on the seat and the floor around it, along with a skull and a shiny round object. The confirmation that someone had been here before sparked a sense of relief and reassurance, that she hadn't accidentally passed into some demonic underworld. "This one will be of little help."

"Perhaps. Do you see the small square object lying among the bones?"

She'd assumed it was debris. "What of it?"

"It is a device that contains information. Its placement on the floor suggests this individual held it in their hand when they died, which might mean they wanted it to be found."

She picked it up and held it up to her eye. A black square the size of her thumbnail, as thin as a flake of flint. "This contains information?"

"Additional devices are needed to access it. If you turn to your right, you will see a desk. Towards the―"

"What's a desk?" she snapped. "Speak plainly!"

"A horizontal surface used for work. Do you see the hand-shaped objects on top? Just below the one on the right, there is a small opening that should fit the device."

"What will happen if I put it in?"

"I am not sure. You may hear a voice, or see an image. Nothing may happen, since this place is very old."

Sage wasn't as useful as it claimed to be. Still, she had no other ideas. She found the opening and inserted the device.

A sigh echoed through the space. Seruya found a wall to put her back to and drew her weapons. No one was present to have made that sound. She glared around, expecting an attack.

"There is no immediate danger. As I explained, the information on the device is recorded in the form of a voice. It is like a memory kept outside your head. I suggest we listen."

"I don't quite know where to begin," said a deep voice. Exhaustion and resignation weighed heavy on its tone, and Seruya could barely penetrate the slurring accent. "I suppose I might introduce myself. Hiam Antipin, Director of Biotech Weapons Research, Human Enhancement Division. I had a not-insignificant part in the mess we made for ourselves. I assume you're aware of what I'm talking about, or maybe you're hearing this hundreds of years later and it's all ancient history." He sighed again. "I dearly hope not. In any case, the reason for this recording is that I won't be leaving here, and I want to leave behind something of a record for the benefit of anyone that might make it this far. If you're here, it means you've made it past the Marauders outside, which means you have substantial motivation. Either that, or they've all died, but I can't believe that. Not for a moment. Those things are a nightmare, and I can't help but believe that you're here because of them, because you're trying to exterminate them and you're having a difficult time. The good news is, you came to the right place. Sadly, there isn't a grand secret I can tell you that will solve your problem."

Seruya blinked furiously, trying to understand. Half these words she'd never heard before.

A sloshing sound filled a pause in the man's words, followed by a wet cough and a pained grunt. "All right. A brief history lecture. Once upon a time, there existed two schools of thought in regards to biological weapons. One held that microscopic entities held the most promise. Too small to see, and hard for the enemy to identify even when engaged. Diseases, bacteria, all such unpleasantness. The other concerned itself with enhancing the capabilities of the human body. The theory was to multiply the strength, agility and intelligence of a human being, while retaining an independent mind that could analyze situations and make appropriate decisions, even if circumstances developed beyond the scope of the initial assignment.

"I suspect I sound biased." A loose chuckle. "That's because I am. The human enhancement program was mine. The Ascension program. The microscopic technology program was headed by someone else. I'll discuss it further shortly. What we did was collect a group of the local primitives and place them in a controlled environment. We needed healthy specimens to work with. We took the strongest, healthiest young adults, and we _changed_ them. Although I'm tempted, I'll restrain myself and leave out the technical details, since I'm a bit too drunk to do twenty-three years of research any justice.

"Now, depending on your moral standard, you may think that this was uh, cruel. That we didn't have the right. And you'd be right to think that. Those people were perfectly happy where they were, in their rainforest. Which we were cutting down a few thousand acres at a time." He paused. "What to say? What _can_ I say? Nothing. I did it. And I understand now. But I won't regret having done it. If not for my work, those _things_ out there would strip the world bare in less than a hundred years. Not to mention... I never would've..." The voice trailed off, and paused in favor of a slurping noise. "The technology failed in one specific way. We hadn't intended for any of the traits we were enhancing to be hereditary. As it turned out, nearly all of them were. Inconsistently so, and it was entirely possible for an Ascended to have unenhanced children. But even these unenhanced children could produce Ascended offspring.

A rattling belch. "So then. I promised I'd address the other school of thought, so here you are. Microscopic entities. As long as their research was limited to bacteria and viruses, their progress was glacial. But then they employed a breakthrough in robotics, and that's when they became dangerous. They staged endless experiments, including with my subjects. Some truly terrible work. But in the end, they developed an entirely new concept: a core of microscopic automatons, with the unique ability to take organic matter and modify its form and function. The core collected material and used it to construct an entirely new being around itself. The resulting creature was essentially part robot, but one couldn't tell by looking at them.

"Perfect obedience. Astounding strength and speed, and powerful natural weaponry. Camouflage in the form of environmentally adaptive skin. Not something to be thrust into open battle, but in urban or forest environments, they were lethal. In numbers, they were unstoppable. But the most unpleasant aspect of the project was the creature's primary mode of reproduction. The intention was to create something that could sustain operations in the long term, even in the face of heavy losses. So they endowed them with the ability to repurpose living beings. Mechanical spores enter the host body and start rewriting its biology. They make a cocoon inside, and a new creature grows. The host dies at some point, of course, but not before being compelled to find a quiet spot for the cocoon to finish developing. And the spores are in constant communication, so each time a host is successfully infected, a Marauder comes to protect the cocoon.

"What makes them truly terrifying is the problem they were never able to address: if left alone with standing orders long enough, the Marauders start to _reinterpret_ those orders. For instance, say they are instructed to take a structure from the enemy and keep it secure. After completing the initial objective, they will expand their numbers, and venture beyond the established perimeter to seek out incoming threats and eliminate them. The more of them there are, the further afield they go, and their definition of 'enemy' starts to erode. The only major field test had to be terminated with the help of four entire infantry divisions and substantial air support, because the Marauders threatened to overrun the entire test range with no signs of slowing down."

He coughed. "In the meantime, of course, our expansion into space took over all the headlines. Not that any of them mentioned exactly how we were doing that. Vague references to copied alien technology." The man snorted, and his voice turned low and bitter. "Forget whatever you think you know. An alien ship did crash in the Hope Desert, but everything else has been an evil lie. The ship's technology was useless to us. As far as we could tell, it was incomplete. Some critical element was missing, and we never figured out what it was. It should have been on the ship, unless its absence caused the ship to crash in the first place. But then, how did it get as far as it did?" Another sloshing sound, followed by a noisy swallow. "Regardless. The ship was useless to us. So were the two dead aliens inside. But... Its cargo..." He sighed. "The ship carried dozens of pods of unknown function. Experiments showed they reacted strongly to radiation by generating massive amounts of energy, seemingly without requiring replenishment of any kind. The PRISM core was born as a result, and they are what powers our proud space fleet, as well as this facility.

"Then the aliens came. And contrary to what I'm sure you've been told, they tried to talk to us. In our heads. The first humans they encountered were told the entire story." He gave a disbelieving laugh. "I'm sure you know what our answer to that was; you probably have one in your own head. Our great leaders found out the truth of what we had done: the pods were cocoons. Alien cocoons sit at the core of every FTL-capable ship we've built. And what did they do? What was their response to realizing the accidental atrocity we'd perpetrated? They made us all deaf! Implants for every citizen! The aliens use telepathy to control our minds, and we must protect ourselves!" The man drank again, swallowing several times until he sputtered and coughed. He gave a long groan that trailed off into a deep sigh. The slur in his voice deepened: "As I'm sure you've realized by now, that was the true reason why the aliens invaded. Can anyone blame them? And rather than surrender our precious, fledgling space empire, rather than compromise all those countless interests in space travel, our leaders chose to fight. And that is why I'm now sitting here, by myself, one of the last humans left on Nadir. Safe inside my... anti-alien-mind-control shield. And with no way out.

"So now we get to the point of this little presentation. When the aliens were approaching Nadir and it was decided we ought to pack up and try our luck elsewhere, some of us were faced with the reality of not being able to take everything with us. Our research, our subjects. Our work. The man in charge of the microscopic research division didn't care for the idea. He believed his work was so groundbreaking, it had to be preserved at any cost. And he was quite serious. So he activated all the Marauders he had left, and he gave them one simple order: secure this facility against all access. And he did this knowing that one day soon, these things would forget what he told them and start killing everything they found.

"I had my subjects. The Ascended. I had to decide what to do. Orders came down to terminate them, but I couldn't. You must understand that these were people. None of them had ever asked to be experimented on. They couldn't begin to understand what we'd done to them." He laughed, or sobbed. "They liked us. They liked _me_. I taught them our language. I taught them math and basic science. Someone taught them how to fight in groups. They were excited for all of it." He moaned. "Have mercy, what have I done?"

A deep, shuddering breath. "I gave them weapons. Fighting knives, the only thing that was left behind. I told them a story, about the Marauders. I told them they had to kill the monsters, any way they could, at every opportunity, or they'd spread out and destroy the world. The Marauders needed an enemy. As long as they were kept engaged, there was a chance they would stay within the limitations of their initial assignment. I knew the Ascended could fight them. We'd tested it. I sent them out. And they were... They were glorious. They cut their way out. Didn't lose even one. I watched her go, leading the way. She never looked back." The man gave a strangled sob, then stayed silent for a long time.

"In regards to killing the Marauders. They have no specific vulnerabilities. Their hides are resistant to heat, cold, acid, kinetic force, and no doubt anything else you can think of. They bleed very little, and heal quickly. The automaton core is the key. As the creature develops, the automatons merge together into a more complex entity that can meet the needs of the growing organism. They surrender their flexibility to achieve greater functionality. It was a necessary step in the creature's development, but it means the core is vulnerable to catastrophic damage. It lies buried deep inside the body, in the center of the torso. It's well protected, but a high-powered projectile can reach it. So can a laser beam. A large enough explosion can be effective, but bear in mind that the core must be sufficiently damaged, else it will recover over time.

"Other than the Ascended, I don't think anyone can fight them in the jungle. They're much too fast, and too hard to see. They can even lower their body temperature to be invisible in the infrared spectrum. Assuming the Ascended remain, they are your best hope. If they are all gone, then I think it might be too late. If you represent a nation with an army, use every resource at your disposal to fight them. Infantry should operate in large, tight formations close enough to provide overwhelming mutual support. Saturation bombing can be a viable option, but it's imprecise. You must be sure to destroy every last one."

He gave a rough sigh. "There is one other option. As I said before, there was some experimentation with the Ascended. One such experiment involved treating specimens with automatons designed to form a link between the human brain and the Marauders. Utilizing the brain's functionality as part of the communication process would allow the controlling individual to issue complex instructions nearly instantly, and with a high degree of accuracy. The intention was for one Ascended to command a legion of Marauders in the field, without the risk of them losing focus. The experiment did not go well. Two subjects died. A third completed the operation, but went insane shortly after and had to be terminated. It seemed the strain of communicating with so many individual units was too much.

"I complained and had the experiment stopped, but the technology remains. If you have no other option, you could allow an Ascended to undergo the treatment. Assuming they survive, and assuming they can stand the pressure, they should be able to command the Marauders to stand down. But you must understand that this isn't likely to work. It never has. There is also the fact that you will be granting enormous power to a single individual. If they manage to take control and learn to command these things, they could become a terrible threat. Consider this a last resort, only marginally preferable to the Marauders roaming free.

"Such is my tale. I wish you good luck. Sadly, there is little else I can offer you. Rest assured that most of us paid for our sins." A pause. "I'm sorry. Lilith... I'm sorry. I should have opened my eyes sooner. I hope you live well. I love you."

Silence.

Seruya stared at the bones in the chair. She'd understood enough of the message to know it spoke of her people, and the Sharyukin. She knew now that there was nothing divine about their mandate to kill the Vile. There was no paradise they had been driven from by the monsters. No Deliverer who had brought them there out of pity. No hateful Magus who had made the Vile to spite the other gods.

She felt sick.

"We should―"

"Silence!" she hissed.

How many years had they sacrificed themselves to hold back the Vile? How many had died horribly at their hands? It had all been the work of selfish men, trying to fix their mistakes by spending the lives of others. "I want the Vile," she said.

"You will likely die, or lose your mind."

"How else do you expect to leave here? The Vile are everywhere outside. I'll be attacked the moment I open the door. No doubt you will simply abandon me to be killed, but I intend to survive. That means compelling the Vile to hold back, and we just learned how to do that. One of your cocoons is here, no? How do you propose to remove it?"

Sage was silent for a time. "We have no business on this world except to uncover what our enemy seeks here. I will assist you in exchange for your word that once you take control of the creatures, you will abide by our original agreement and assist us in our search. I have learned much, but I still intend to look for information about our enemy's objectives here."

Seruya scowled. "You reveal much of yourself when you question the word of another. We made our deal. You have not yet betrayed me, therefore it stands. Now tell me where I have to go."

Sage led her back to the desk, where she was forced to relinquish control of her body for a time as the spirit stared at glowing symbols and lines rapidly scrolling through the air. Only the knowledge that it had no way to escape without her gave her some reassurance.

"I know where to go. There is a testing chamber that contains the equipment. I will direct you."

Guided by Sage's voice, Seruya navigated the deserted halls of the ancient structure. She couldn't help but wonder about these people, and what had become of them. The dead man had mentioned their departure, but where could they have gone? Beyond the sky, where Sage had claimed to be from?

She didn't think she would like to see them return. Her heart burned with shame for her ancestors, who had been so taken in by the powers of their captors that they had proclaimed them gods. Should they ever come back, she would show them how far their victims had come since they left.

"Pass through this door."

The one she opened seemed no different than any of the ones they had passed, save for the symbols on it. Light sprang to life as she entered, illuminating a completely white room holding a vaguely person-shaped table fitted with restraints. A box on wheels and a cluster of tools surrounded it. More small doors lined the walls of the room.

"The procedure is largely automated. I will make the necessary preparations when you are ready. However, there is something you need to know before we begin."

"I've already accepted the risk of death or insanity. They will not befall me."

"That is not what I mean. This procedure will inject tiny machines into your brain. This was previously done with the use of an anesthetic. I have no doubt the machines are still active, but the anesthetic has likely lost its potency since it was last used. You will suffer extreme pain."

Seruya allowed herself a small smile. "Begin preparations."

"As you wish."

Sage once again took control of her limbs and performed a series of actions she couldn't begin to interpret. She managed to ignore the discomfort of watching her hands move without her say-so, but she still yearned to be free of the spirit's insistent presence. She felt certain it believed it could maintain its presence within her against her will. She'd taken its word that something here prevented it from leaving, but her next priority would be finding out how to remove that effect. Then she would discover its true nature.

"The procedure will begin once you lay down on the table."

She did as instructed, taking care to avoid showing signs of apprehension. As soon as she lay still, the restraints snapped shut. Steady breathing kept her calm. She'd been through―

Agony exploded at the base of her skull. She strained against the bonds, blindly seeking relief. All thought burned away, leaving her only with the need to escape. The impossible pain obliterated the notion of control. Her screams echoed through the chamber.

Pressure swelled in the back of her head. She expected to die, but her life persisted. She tried to beg Sage for an end, but couldn't form the words.

The pressure abated. A moment later, the agony receded until only an intense, pulsing ache remained. The restraints snapped open. She rolled onto her side and curled up, trembling hands covering the back of her head as she fought against the tears. She lost, and lay weeping on the table, sobs shaking her body.

All her strength, all her stamina and experience and the calluses on her soul... and still helpless. She slammed a fist into the table, unable to escape the shame of her weakness in the presence of another.

"Are you―"

"Shut up," she croaked. Slowly, she managed to sit up, grimacing. She drew a shaky breath and wished she had water. Other than the pain, the echo of pressure in her head, and her hammering heart, she felt little different than before. Part of her hoped the operation had been a failure, and she wouldn't have to endure any more trials. "You said there is a force protecting this place. Can we destroy it?"

"It is part of a security system, and requires passwords to access. However, I can show you where the device that creates the field is located."

"Let's go."

Her legs unsteady, she followed Sage's directions deeper into the building. As she walked, she became aware of another presence in her mind, a demand on her attention she couldn't ignore. Once, she stopped and looked around, half-expecting someone to be near, but saw no one. It sat in her head like an unanswered question, the kind that wouldn't let her forget until she found the answer.

After traversing a maze of pristine corridors, Sage led her into a large space containing a separate structure roughly the size of a hut. "This is where the device is located. The door will not open without authorization."

The new sensation had intensified to the point where it demanded her constant attention. She felt like she was trying to remember something without even knowing what. Could this be the Vile?

"Are you well?"

She spared a glance for the door in front of her. It seemed thicker than the others she'd seen, and lacked handholds of any sort. "I can't open this."

"Perhaps we can look for a tool to assist you."

Seruya suspected the spirit had run out of ideas, because this one smelled of desperation. "No. We will go outside."

"Have you gained control of the creatures?"

She smiled. "We shall see."

She recalled the route back to the entrance well enough to make her way without assistance. She opened the inner door and, without hesitation, struck the button to open the outer gate. She sensed Sage's agitation as the strip of daylight at the bottom grew larger, but she said nothing. The widening gap gradually revealed even ranks of Vile, lined up neatly a few paces from the door. Each one stared at Seruya, and their overwhelming regard triggered another spike in the new presence in her mind. It demanded her attention, insisting on a response. Her jaw bunched as she fought off panic. She phrased a simple command in her head: _go inside._

Nothing happened. Then again, they weren't killing her either.

She tried again, visualizing the monsters filing into the building. As soon as she formed a clear picture in her mind, she envisioned herself trampled by dozens of Vile mindlessly shuffling inside. She discarded the image, but not before the mass of Vile took a unified step forward.

Sweat tickling her skin, she directed her efforts at the six that stood closest. _Follow me._ After holding the thought in her head for a few seconds, she turned and went inside. She had to suppress her reflexes when she heard the clicking of Vile claws on the hard floor behind her. She'd expected to feel relief at her success, but turning her back to the monsters went against everything that had kept her alive so far. This arrangement would take some getting used to.

She led the six Vile back to the door she hadn't been able to open and turned to face them. Their hides had shifted to match the monochromatic color scheme. Standing well off to the side, she visualized them tearing the door from the wall. Nothing happened at first, so she summoned a sense of urgency. The monsters lunged forward, and the door shrieked as the Vile sank their claws into it. They made no sound as they tore the material into three ragged chunks and ripped them off their supports. Their task complete, they gathered into a group and stared at her.

Forcing herself to ignore their demanding stares, she entered the room. Light blinked to life overhead, revealing a monolithic object as tall as she was, rife with tubes and protrusions. Once again, she summoned her pets, and visualized them tearing it to pieces. Sounds of destruction followed her as she stepped outside. From one instant to the next, Sage's presence vanished from her mind, prompting a deep, involuntary breath. "I take it the field has been disabled?"

"It has. My brethren are among us."

She detected a subdued tone in the spirit's words. She suspected it hadn't expected her to succeed so easily, and imagined it felt concern over having armed her with this incredible weapon. Although she'd only begun to consider the possibilities of her newfound power, Sage hadn't crossed her yet, and she intended to follow through on her end of the bargain. "Have they located your unborn?"

"Yes. Will you assist us in freeing it?"

She needed the practice. "My monsters will help. Direct me."

With the spirit's guidance, she made her way to a large chamber still further inside the structure. Equipment similar to what Sage had operated lined the walls on three sides. In the center, a large, light blue orb rested on an elaborate framework inside a circular housing that was clear as water. Thick pipes emerging from the wall penetrated the barrier to wrap around the sphere in a coil. Light shimmered inside it. "What do you need?"

"We will shortly terminate the draw of power from the building. When the light stops flickering, break the outer barrier."

She turned to her pets. So far, she had given them precise instructions, down to the specifics of executing their task. She needed them to be able to give them a goal and decide how best to achieve it. She considered various commands before settling on a simple one.

The glowing panels overhead winked out, replaced a moment later by a red glow. The wild patterns of light on the orb had been reduced to gentle, wispy swirls that slowed even as she watched. _Break down the outer barrier._ She visualized only the result she wanted: a hole large enough to extract the cocoon. With a burst of concentration she'd found to function as a signal to execute the provided instructions, she put the Vile to work. All six stalked over to the clear barrier and assaulted it. The material echoed under the blows, forcing Seruya to cover her ears. Even so, the noise was deafening, and she felt the sound rippling over her skin.

A web of cracks spread across the surface, just a moment before it shattered. She ducked her head as clear shards scattered all across the room, some striking her skin and leaving tiny cuts deep enough to bleed. When she looked up, the Vile had already gathered off to the side.

With the barrier broken, a vast sense of suffering and despair rolled over her. Its sudden appearance and intensity were enough for her to see the emotions came from outside herself, but even so, she had to resist an overwhelming urge to fall down and shed every last tear in her body. "What is this?" she snapped, her voice thick. "Are you doing this?"

"You feel the suffering of our unborn. Do you see the two protrusions from the wall resting on the outer shell's surface?"

She approached the orb. "I do."

"Please break the contact between them and the cocoon."

She did as she was asked, and the orb went still, the last stirrings of light fading into a deep blue.

"They have been trapped in this place for over a thousand of this world's years, tortured for every moment of that time," Sage said. "Each has gone insane, and no longer recognizes their own kind."

Seruya stared at the cocoon, mouth agape. Her mind traveled back through the years, to the beginning of her life. For all that time, and so much longer before that... She couldn't begin to grasp the full measure of the torment imposed on these creatures. What manner of being could inflict this on another? Any other? "Who?" she whispered. "Who did this to you?"

"Those who built this place. Who took your ancestors and made them into what you are today. They fled this world because our kind had defeated them, and rebuilt on another. They had grown strong by the time we found them again, using our unborn to fight us. We have warred against them ever since."

"And now they're coming back?"

"Yes."

"We shall welcome them. When they land, I will destroy them."

"We do not seek revenge. Only the return of our unborn."

She waited for Sage to speak again. After a time, she said, "You have been at war for a thousand years to get back what was taken from you, and you have learned nothing?"

"Inflicting suffering in turn does not improve our situation, nor does it change what has already happened."

Irritation sharpened her tone. "You're twice wrong. Punishing those who take from you teaches them and others that doing so carries a heavy price. Thus, they will reconsider before acting against you again. In that way, you ensure that the sacrifice of those who died won't have to be repeated."

"There is no strength you can show that your enemy will not learn to disdain with the passage of time. One day, they will once again believe themselves stronger, and all they will remember is their cause to hate you."

"Then you remind them!" she spat. "You watch them! When they make weapons, you take them away. When some speak of war, you kill them. When they hide from you, you expose them. They've already shown you their ways. Vigilance is your only defense!"

"And how long would you be vigilant? A hundred years? A thousand? Will the next generation remember the past well enough to keep the watch? If not, then one day their guard will drop and the enemy will return, and their memory of inequality will be more recent than yours. They will believe themselves the ones wronged, and some of yours will wonder if they agree."

Seruya growled in frustration. "If this is your attitude, then I don't wonder why your war has lasted so long. Why resist at all? Offer your enemy everything you have, because one day, they'll take it all anyway."

"There is a way to end it. Once we reclaim our unborn, we can afford compassion and mercy. When your enemy understands they were wrong to oppose you, you obtain true victory."

"And what if betrayal is in their nature?" she hissed. "What if it's inevitable that they turn on you again when it suits them?"

"Then it is inevitable, and nothing we do will change it."

"Gah!" She threw up her hands and turned away. "Are all your kind as thick as you? If this is truly your strategy, then keep your warriors strong, because you will need them to die for you again." She looked at the Vile over her shoulder. _Follow me._ As she left the room, the monsters shuffled after her. "You said you intended to look for information here. When you have learned what you need, come to me and I'll help you find whatever it is your enemy seeks."

"Where will you go?"

"Home."

Chapter Fifteen

Miron walked into Control feeling better than he had in weeks. After participating in the frantic effort to repair as much damage as they could before their arrival, he'd collapsed on his bunk for six hours of uninterrupted sleep. Opening his eyes to the simulated daylight in his cabin rather than a dull red glare had been one of the best moments of his life. Even pulling on his orange vacsuit and the solemn reminder of imminent battle had failed to dampen it.

All in vacsuits, the command crew worked at a feverish pace, calibrating controls, testing tactical systems, and securing the Control compartment for combat. Gervasi moved among them like grease, directing with her sharp voice and assisting when needed. Borya sat in his chair, staring at the Master Tactical Display's rendition of a planetary system. Graphs and lines indicated gravitational forces and the orbits of the planet's two moons. Miron took the seat next to him. "How are we doing?"

Borya didn't look at him. "Better. Our guns are all tracking, and ammo feeds are working for now. Still plenty of problems left, but at least we can shoot. Anisim says the only weapon he won't sign off on is the Lancer cannon."

"Anisim?"

"I promoted him. He's the new engineering chief."

Miron nodded. "He has good intuition." After a moment's silence, he continued, "What do you have in mind for today?"

"We're still in poor condition for a drag-out fight. This needs to be quick, close, and brutal." Borya pointed at the display. "I aim to put us into a powered elliptic orbit with a tight perigee. When they drop down to sublight, we'll be coming in fast while they're stuck at transition speed. Even if they see us, they can't adjust their entry point. Guns will aim for the drive nodes. That will shackle the enemy to planetary orbit. For the second pass, we'll shorten our orbit with a burn, then go for the kill with a Viper missile salvo."

Miron didn't need the Ship Master to point out each pass would offer the enemy an opportunity to land heavy hits on _Tenacious_ , any one of which could compromise a jury-rigged repair and put the ship out of action. It was a typical, all-or-nothing Borya scheme. It had failed him at least once before. "We should land a small crew before they get here. They might not notice, and it'll give us some options if _Tenacious_ is too badly damaged in the fight."

Borya shook his head. "Not a good idea. We need every hand to patch any problems that come up once we engage. That, and this crew has lived in a nightmare together for weeks. Now we either make it, or we don't. They all deserve that. No one's more important than anyone else."

_Including you._ Miron heard the implied statement clearly enough. Borya had lost sight of the objective. "It's not about you or me, or the crew, or the ship. It's about our species. Don't you remember that?"

"I could never forget. And to me, there is no point in stranding a handful of us on a planet they may never be able to leave. If _Tenacious_ is crippled, what will they do? Start walking? Without the ship's equipment, we have no chance." He shot Miron a glance. "You still don't understand our situation. It's just us. No one else is coming. This ship's crew is a limited resource. No one is expendable anymore." He turned to Yegor, assigned to Detection with Oksana to replace Ilari. "D-OPS, do you have the enemy's course plotted? Do we have an entry point for them?"

"Yes, sir. It's on the display now."

"Navs, are your courses plotted?"

Matfey gave a deliberate nod without taking his eyes off his display. "Yes, sir. Coming up on MTD now."

A yellow line appeared on the display, looping around Nadir. Pulsing dots indicated the relative positions of the _Tenacious_ and its pursuer at the moment it was expected to slow to sublight speed. "Two minutes until we terminate FTL," Osip said from the helm station. "The enemy should arrive ninety-eight minutes, forty-seven seconds after us."

"What's our projected closing speed upon contact?" Borya said.

Matfey replied after the briefest pause, "Sixty-eight point zero nine kk's."

The Ship Master nodded. "OC, alert level one. All crew to combat stations."

"Alert level one, yes, sir," Bogdan replied. The claxon blared eight times in rapid succession.

Gervasi chimed in without turning: "Engine room, prime main drive."

Miron watched the Ship Master from the corner of his eye. Borya had always been stubborn and prone to creative interpretation of orders, but he'd never before disrespected Miron. Was it the stress of the journey, or was he the cause? Had his actions on Ilari's behalf pushed Borya this far?

He ground his teeth and dismissed his concerns for now. If they survived the upcoming encounter, he'd find the time to sit down with Borya and hash out their issues. They'd known each other too long to just leave it at this.

"Ten seconds to sublight."

He counted down in his head as Gervasi came to the third command seat, just in front of Borya and Miron. She hesitated before she sat, giving him a searching glance before facing forward and belting herself in. At zero, the ship shuddered for a long moment. Once it had settled, the silence rang in his ears, and it took a while before he realized what was missing: the deep, steady hum of the FTL drive.

_Tenacious_ had arrived.

The Master Tactical Display's rendition of Nadir changed as the computer received more data. Geographical features popped up one after the other, followed by atmospheric conditions. Only Borya and he knew the truth of their destination, and though he'd studied the map during his briefing, the sight of what had once been their homeworld left him with a knot in his throat. Deep blue oceans covered most of the globe, surrounding two large continents. Tall grey mountains cast harsh shadows over a verdant stretch of green, and elsewhere, golden plains stretched from coast to coast. A single, smaller continent peeked out from beneath the thick clouds on the northern hemisphere. Every part of its surface he could see was covered in white.

"All right," Gervasi growled. "That's enough of that."

The entire command crew quickly returned their eyes to their displays. Miron scanned their faces and saw far too much emotion in some. Clearly, there had been plenty of speculation about their destination.

Borya looked at him, and shook his head with a chuckle. "So somebody figured it out," he said to the command crew. "It's true. That's Nadir out there. That's where we all came from. You want to see it for yourself? You blow that floater bastard to pieces when he shows up."

"Yes, sir!" At least three voices joined in the answer.

"Ten seconds to main engine burn," Osip said. At the end of the count, a deep rumble rose from deep inside the ship. The pulsing dot that tracked _Tenacious_ 's progress through the system slowly picked up speed.

Gervasi turned to Matfey. "Navs, how's acceleration? Are we on the curve?"

"Right on it, sir. On track to hit thirty kk's in nineteen minutes. Apogee in thirty-one minutes, forty-eight seconds."

Miron breathed deeply, seeking the quiet state of mind he used to prepare for battle. It wouldn't come, no matter how many steady breaths he took. He had no fleet to command, and Borya knew how to handle the ship in battle as well as he did. He'd be little more than a spectator this time. On top of that, both ship and crew were far from ready for combat. Half a day of uninterrupted work and six hours of sleep couldn't reverse weeks of sabotage and unrelenting harassment.

Gervasi called for updates every few minutes. Gugal reported issues with two railgun turrets not loading ammo, and tension mounted as engineers worked to solve the problem. The timer hit ninety minutes and continued its steady countdown.

Miron scanned the MTD again, trying to get a picture of the battlefield in his head. _Tenacious_ had reached the furthest point in its orbit and now raced back towards the planet, plunging into its gravity with the aid of the ship's main drive. At the moment of the enemy's arrival, the ship would be at peak velocity; well beyond what was needed to achieve escape. They'd be forced to use the drive to remain in orbit and come around again, exposing the stern and the vulnerable thruster exhaust as they curved around the planet. Hopefully, damage and countermeasures would be enough to keep the floaters from making significant hits.

One number caught his attention, nestled among a list of statistics about the planet. "Borya, look at the CO2 in the atmosphere."

Borya's eyes flicked over, then away, then back again. "That's way over projections."

For whatever reason, CO2 levels far surpassed what the briefing had told them to expect. Volcanic eruption was a possible cause. Burning fossil fuels was another.

"One minute until enemy entry," Yegor reported.

Borya turned to the gunnery station. "Guns, firing plan. Your primary target is the drive nodes. I need the enemy incapable of breaking orbit for the duration of the engagement. Release chaff as soon as the angle on our exhaust opens up. Understood?"

"Aye, sir," Ipati and Gugal echoed.

_Tenacious_ raced towards the intercept point. Miron dried his palms on his knees.

"Three seconds!"

A second dot flashed into being, right where it was supposed to be. Detection of the target filled in the final parameter in the instructions provided by the gunners, and the ship's weapons opened fire. A loud whine rose quickly to a high pitch before terminating with a rattling noise. At the same time, a rapid series of dull impacts set the deck to tremble.

"What happened?" Gervasi demanded.

Ipati said, "Lancer cannon misfired, sir. It sounded like the capacitor failed."

Gervasi looked at her. "Sounded?"

The woman glanced at the Master Second. "Yes, sir. I tested particle cannons for two years. It's ballast until we get to a dockyard."

A two-month delay to figure out how to fit a Lancer-type particle cannon in a spaceframe as small as _Tenacious_ , just for it to fail at first use in combat. Miron shook his head and shelved his disdain for designers who failed to account for real-world conditions. None of them were here to witness the consequences.

A separate section on the MTD showed a diagram of the enemy ship, fashioned from whatever information the ship could detect. Miron's jaw tightened as he recognized the Type 7, a ship twice the length of _Tenacious_. Nicknamed Arrowhead, it carried more than enough floaters to penetrate _Tenacious'_ s armor if they struck together. Single impacts blossomed all along the sleek, cross-shaped hull. They quickly tracked down its long wings as the fire control system made corrections, concentrating on the bulging stern.

On the tactical diagram, _Tenacious_ closed the distance. A series of staccato echoes meant the turret railguns had come into effective range and opened fire. More impacts peppered the enemy ship as it initiated a roll, hiding the already damaged sections from fire. Numbers tracking its acceleration began to drop.

"Roll all you want, you're not going anywhere," Borya muttered. Before he finished speaking, a deafening crash rocked the ship. Only Miron's harness kept him in his seat. Two more followed, each sending violent tremors through the ship.

As _Tenacious_ blasted past its opponent, ports around the stern released the ship's countermeasures. Miron didn't need the display to picture the dozen stout buoys tumbling away from the hull, each equipped with a ghost shield. Not that they carried anything worth shielding; their purpose was to frustrate the floaters' targeting efforts. Shockwaves rocked the ship, but no direct impacts registered. As the range opened up, the turret railguns ceased fire.

"Report damage," Gervasi said.

"We took three armor impacts on the way in, one for seventy percent and two for about forty," Bogdan said. "Nothing got through."

"The enemy is adjusting course to enter low orbit," Yegor said. "Projected orbital speed is twenty-five point four kk's.

Borya squinted at the MTD and muttered to himself, fingers twitching as he worked with his implant to calculate speeds, courses, and distances. "Navs, new parameters: adjust orbit for optimal firing angle on the target's projected position. Helm, execute upon acquisition."

Matfey replied at once: "New burn angle ready."

"Burning now," Osip said.

The deck trembled as the MPD thruster fired up, adjusting _Tenacious_ 's orbit to give them the best possible angle on the enemy ship when they swung back to the planet. Borya gave a contented growl and said, "Activate Viper launch triggers. Full salvo." The next time the two ships passed within range, the fire control system would release the four unguided distortion-drive missiles from their ports along the flank. Although only capable of FTL speed for a tiny fraction of a second, and utterly helpless after that, the Viper missiles packed overwhelming punch within their limited range.

On the display, the floater ship entered a simple circular orbit at a mere two thousand kilometers above Nadir's surface, traveling perpendicular to _Tenacious_ 's trajectory. The line indicating its orbit began to flash as the planet hid the ship from direct detection.

Miron would have done the same if his ship was crippled and under attack; the low orbit gave the ship more speed than it would have been able to sustain with its damaged drives. It also meant _Tenacious_ would have to time its approach carefully, or risk the planet spoiling their fire.

_Tenacious_ reached the apogee of its elliptic orbit. With another reorientation, the main drive fired again, propelling the ship back towards Nadir. Thirty, then forty minutes passed, until the line depicting the floater's orbit turned solid again. On the display, the two combatants closed rapidly. The deck shuddered under the stress of the two heavy railguns opening fire.

"Enemy ship turning towards us," Yegor reported. "Projected speed differential will be eighty-nine point five six."

Dozens of heavy shell impacts left a dull glow on the enemy ship diagram. Miron leaned forward. As the glow faded, he confirmed his suspicion: most of the new hits overlapped those form the last run. He glanced at the gunners, both absorbed in their work as the turret railguns joined their heavier brethren. Although the computer did most of the calculations in communication with the gunner's brain, skilled gunners could adjust for anticipated movements by the target in ways the computer couldn't. But to hit the same sites again, when speed, position and angle had all changed? He had to forcibly dismiss the notion of luck.

The distance shrank to its lowest point. A muted shriek echoed through the ship as the Vipers burst from their tubes, and the enemy ship diagram lit up with bright patches of yellow. Chaff burst from _Tenacious_ 's stern. The ship lurched, then shook twice. Restrains dug into Miron's skin and his vision turned red at the edges. As if from a distance, he heard an alarm, quickly joined by two more. One indicated a pressure loss, the other two... His brain wouldn't work.

"Report damage," Gervasi barked. "Guns, tighten that chaff timer, that was fucking glacial. Secure Viper launch trigger, and tell me why that ship is still intact."

"Inner hull breached at Deck Nine, E-section, starboard side," Bogdan rattled off. "Interior bulkheads are sealed. Six armor impacts between twenty and forty percent, all around the stern. Power failure on Deck Three, sections N through P. Looks like some of those fixes didn't hold. Number four and five turrets are out again. Engineers are looking at it."

"Sir, only two Vipers cleared the tubes," Ipati said. "The others misfired. No response to queries. Something must have burned out."

"Two Viper impacts confirmed," Yegor picked up. "Total armor elimination in two separate locations. No atmospheric venting detected."

The Arrowhead's massive armor protection had been just enough to save it from destruction. Miron looked at Borya, staring at the MTD and mouthing silent words. "You can't afford another pass like that. If you open the range, floater accuracy will suffer more than yours."

Borya gave him a quick glance before shaking his head once. "Every minute I drag this out is to their advantage. I need to force a decision before the ship falls apart all by itself." He raised his voice. "Navs, new parameters. Adjust orbit to one thousand kilometers below the target's. Assume target's orbit remains constant. Skirt the atmosphere, but stay clear of drag, else they'll see us first. Helm, execute upon acquisition."

"Yes, sir. Calculating." After a few seconds, Matfey added, "New burn angle ready."

"Burning now," Osip replied. The deck trembled as manifolds redirected the main thruster's output forward.

"Osip, when we regain the target, orient the ship to track through fifteen degrees. Guns, firing plan. You'll get only a few seconds of heavy railgun fire, so make it count. Activate Viper launch trigger. Concentrate your fire at the central hull. Break his back." Borya sat back, folding his hands together.

Miron took a deep, quiet breath, and tried to feel the Ship Master's confidence. Speed had been their main advantage so far, and Borya was willing to give it up for a chance to surprise the enemy. If it failed, they faced a long, vulnerable climb out of low orbit, and they only had one salvo of Vipers left.

The distance to the planet slowed its steady decrease, and settled at one thousand kilometers. _Tenacious_ skimmed the atmosphere, lying in wait. Bogdan reported the two unresponsive turrets were too damaged to repair. Between the Lancer cannon and the turrets, the ship's firepower had been reduced by half.

The timer tracking the floater's expected reappearance still showed nine minutes when Yegor said, "Target reacquired―"

In the moment of the Detection Operator's hesitation, Miron saw the disaster unfold. His stomach turned hollow as the MTD updated the floater ship's orbit.

"They adjusted their orbit," the officer continued. "Flattened it. They're almost at apogee. Closing speed at maximum effective range will be thirty-six point three nine."

Borya's jaw bunched, his only visible reaction to the failure of his tactic. "Guns, turrets only. Helm, emergency burn, full power."

Miron silently cursed Borya's stubbornness. The situation had been reversed, with _Tenacious_ stuck in low orbit while the floater ship controlled the distance. Obviously, they'd overestimated the damage done to the enemy's drive nodes. The floaters had probably managed to coax out just enough speed to bounce off the atmosphere. The MTD continued to update the target's projected orbit as the pulsing dot traveled back towards Nadir, making it clear the enemy still retained some ability to maneuver. The yellow line doubled back across itself, which would give the enemy the option of a clear run at _Tenacious_ 's stern as she struggled to regain speed. Borya could turn away to protect the drive, or risk fatal damage and continue to accelerate. The former likely meant the floaters would get at least one more pass. The latter could mean _Tenacious_ 's destruction.

"Helm, cease emergency burn," Borya said. "Reorient the ship to face the target, and continue to track for heavy railgun fire." It was the sensible choice. The floater ship responded by keeping its distance, not risking a close pass without a chance for a crippling hit.

Miron studied the display. They were at an impasse: though they were creeping into weapons range, the floaters seemed unwilling to close in the face of _Tenacious_ 's heaviest weapons, and _Tenacious_ couldn't accelerate out of orbit without exposing her drive. But the enemy was running out of time: in minutes, _Tenacious_ 's close orbit would put the planet between them and the floaters, and they'd be able to reorient the ship without fear of enemy fire.

The dim, pulsing echoes of heavy railguns brought Miron's attention back to the target diagram. It was a valiant effort by the gunners, but they were firing at the extreme end of their range. Even with the shells tracking the target, the enemy's increased velocity meant the chance of landing hits was―

More impacts blossomed on the enemy ship, including multiple overlapping strikes on the central hull, between the smooth curves of the wing roots. Bright yellow lines indicated armor penetration.

"Target is venting atmosphere in two locations," Yegor reported. "Indications of serious structural damage." The floater ship rolled lazily, trying to hide its injuries.

Miron stared at the gunners. Ipati whistled a taunting melody.

Finally, the floater ship disappeared behind the horizon. "Reorient the ship," Borya said. "Emergency burn. Get us out of this orbit." The drive engine labored to accelerate the ship, and the deck plates trembled with the power released. Yet as Miron watched, _Tenacious's_ speed indicator on the MTD slowed its steady rise.

"Anisim, Control. What's going on?" Borya said.

"Number three fuel injector failed," Anisim said through the comm. "Fuel line broke. Looks like floater sabotage." The engineer's voice sounded like he was yelling over background noise. "I can fix it, but I need the engine shut down and cooling for six hours before I can start."

"Forget it," Borya replied. "Just find a way to get more thrust out of that engine, right now."

Although the MPD thruster retained enough power to push them out of their low orbit, it would take much longer to do so. Every minute of reduced acceleration meant more time stuck in low orbit.

"Target acquired!" Yegor snapped. "Coming in at relative twenty-three point one seven!"

The enemy orbit line solidified on the MTD, now drastically different in shape. Miron turned to Borya in horror at the truth it revealed: the enemy hadn't been anywhere near as crippled as they'd shown themselves to be.

"Cease burn! Osip, turn us around! Guns, fire as you bear. Release countermeasures." The Ship Master looked disgusted. "They got me," he muttered. "Gutsy bastards."

The deck heaved before Miron had a chance to speak, crushing him into his seat. A deafening impact echoed through the ship, followed by a sickening groan. Blood drained from his head, his sight slowly turning to grey.

The pressure relented before he passed out, but he didn't need to hear a report to know the ship was out of control. The acrid stench of an electrical fire penetrated his nose, and smoke clouded his vision.

"Report―" Gervasi coughed. "Report damage!" she managed, her hoarse voice loud enough to defeat the sirens and the deep creaking noise of a ship in its death throes. "Somebody kill that fire!"

Bogdan gave a retching cough and straightened in his chair. "Drive's out. The keel broke. Hull breaches... Ah. Many. Local emergency power only. Guns are out." A pause. "We're adrift."

Borya and Miron locked gazes through the rising smoke, and the Ship Master's eyes slowly hardened. Without breaking their eye contact, Borya called, "D-OPS, where is the target?"

Yegor spoke with a slur: "They're slowing down. Closing the distance."

Borya nodded. "If you want to go, you should do it now," he said.

"Damn it, Borya," Miron said in a hoarse voice. "It doesn't have to be this way."

The Ship Master shook his head. "It does. It's been coming for a long time. Ever since the fight at the Pillars. You remember that?"

Miron nodded. Of course he did.

"I thought I would die then. It was a good time to go. A good way. It was the least we could do, to die with those stubborn bastards of _Vengeance_ group _._ After what they did. But then, we survived. Some of us. The demotion..." He scoffed. "I was still trying to understand why I still lived. But I think I know now." He gave Miron a rueful smile. His tired eyes held a clarity Miron hadn't seen in them in years. "It was you. That wasn't your death, and I couldn't take you with me. And they made you a Commander." Smile fading, he leaned closer. "Command means killing. Theirs, and yours, too. It always hit you too hard. You can't fix it, Miron, and you can't make up for it, because there's no other way. It's just how it is."

Miron swallowed through the painful knot in his throat. "I'm going to try," he whispered. "Dying won't help."

Borya sat back and faced forward. "It's going to help. That ship needs to go, or they'll just hunt you down. If we all abandon ship now, they'll know what we intend to do―and they'll still hunt us down."

"The target is closing topside," Bogdan reported. "They're aiming to board."

Borya gripped the armrests of his chair. A terrible look came to his face, a far deeper cold than Miron had thought him capable of. "Get going, Miron. These bastards rode us halfway across the galaxy, and now they're going to pay for it. I'm going to blow up their precious cocoon in their faces. Hopefully, they'll live long enough to realize it." He turned to the dazed gunners. "Hey! Wake up. We're not done yet."

Miron stood. It wasn't the first time he'd left a friend to die. As before, all the things he'd never managed to say didn't fit in the few seconds he had left, and he tried to say it all with a look and a nod. As before, it was enough. Borya returned the nod, and said, "Be on your way now."

"Commander," Gervasi said, and turned her chair to face him. "You're an asshole. But... I want you to know: I now think you meant well."

"I'm truly sorry about your friends," he said. She turned away without another word.

He stepped out of Control. The last words he heard Borya say were, "Guns, firing plan―" before the door slid shut behind him.

He ran down the corridors of the doomed ship, heading for the nearest lifeboat. The Control compartment's armored cage had protected it from the worst of the damage, but the rest of the ship had been wrecked. The way ahead flickered with firelight, and even before he got close, he felt the radiating heat. The metal bulkhead itself had caught fire, sparked by a surge of power within and sustained by the melting power cables. An engineer lay on the floor nearby, her body charred and blistered. The fire burned too hot to approach. He had to find another lifeboat.

He had no plan beyond getting off the ship. All he knew was if he died now, the mission would be over, and he would have failed. He wasn't going to let that happen.

Turning the next corner brought him face to face with fleet guard Chief Zakhar. The man's stony expression hadn't changed from any of the other times Miron had seen him. He wore his grey ACS like leisure clothes, utterly unaffected in his movements. Each hand brandished a weapon. "Commander. Do you need help?"

The chief had been patrolling the doomed ship, prepared to do everything he could against enemy boarders, and unconcerned with things he couldn't change. He needed this man. "Come with me," he said. There was someone else he would need, another man who would do his duty no matter the circumstances. Zakhar followed without comment.

The infirmary stank of burned meat. Rurik and his two orderlies rushed around half a dozen wounded. One man screamed as he writhed on his bed, and Miron caught a glimpse of charred flesh and gleaming bone. "Rurik. Come with me."

The doctor shot him an astonished glance. "Do you see these people?" he snapped. He told the orderly, "Tie it now, and get the HS. You're doing this one."

Miron stepped close. "Doctor, you are leaving. We're out of time, and I need you, right now. Do you understand?"

Rurik didn't even look at him this time. "I'm not leaving these people now, Commander. You can censure me later, but I can't help but feel we'll all be dead before you'll get the chance. Making my refusal somewhat easier to bear." He lifted a woman's eyelid and flashed a light inside.

Miron turned to Zakhar. "Knock him out and bring him."

The chief stepped up behind Rurik and struck him on the temple. The doctor collapsed into Zakhar's waiting arms without a sound.

"What are you doing?" Esfir demanded, her voice tight with panic even as she continued working on her patient.

Miron left the infirmary. Zakhar followed, the motionless doctor draped across his shoulders.

A spacetight emergency door blocked the way to the lifeboat. The ten-centimeter thick barrier glowed red in the center, and groaned as it changed shape. The detour didn't take long, but every second, Miron expected the ship to tear apart around them. He wished he had time to find others who would be of use to him on the planet, but time had run out.

A square, man-tall hatch in the outer hull came into view. He ran up and slapped the single button on the side. The hatch swung up to the overhead with a hiss, and he stood aside to allow Zakhar to carry the doctor inside.

Before he stepped inside, another figure rounded the far corner. Esfir. Their eyes met.

_You're not leaving. You're going to die here._ Miron closed the door behind him.

Zakhar had strapped Rurik into one of the six seats and tightened his own harness. Miron hit the launch button before finding his seat at the lifeboat's rudimentary controls as an icy female voice counted down.

When he faced the entrance, he saw Esfir's wide-eyed, terrified face pressed against the window. The double barrier didn't carry sound, but he didn't need to hear to imagine what she screamed at him. He quelled the horror in his heart, and met her frantic stare with cold indifference. At least Rurik had had to be forced to leave his patients. Esfir still stood at the window when the countdown reached zero and the lifeboat blasted away from the ship. He held her gaze until she was too small to see.

From the outside, _Tenacious_ looked like a derelict. Craters marked the once smooth, dark grey surface. An entire section on the starboard side had been blown out from within. The drive exhaust and the entire lower half of the stern had been torn away, all the way forward to the distortion projector ringing the hull amidships. Miron didn't bother wondering about the fates of Anisim and the rest of the engineering crew. Most of the department where he'd worked all those hours was gone, and the rest was exposed to space. The final hit that had put them out of the fight had been massive.

The floater ship didn't look much better. Now that he actually saw the vessel instead of interpreting a diagram, the skill of _Tenacious_ 's gunners became even more obvious. Dozens of hits marred a handful of heavily pockmarked sites around the bulging stern with its tear-shaped drive nodes and in between the four sweeping wings. The ragged wounds trailed strands of once-molten metal, now solidified in the cold of space. Even from the extreme angle of his view, he could see the charred interior of the enemy ship.

The lifeboat's controls beeped at him, demanding he choose a course of action: maintain orbit, or descend to a specified location on the planet's surface. Little information had survived the Exodus, but his briefing had included a list of regions where advanced technological research facilities might have been concentrated. He set the lifeboat's destination to an area in close proximity to several potential sites, allowed the system to choose a suitable landing zone.

As the lifeboat's engines reoriented the craft, a flash of light on _Tenacious_ 's hull made him look over. The low-powered docking thrusters sprouted bright blue jets, sending the ship into a gentle tumble. The missile ports along her starboard side slid open. Now he knew how Borya meant to end it, and his frayed nerves tightened his jaw. If they were still too close, there was nothing they could do.

The floater ship slowed its approach. They likely realized the danger, but the prospect of recovering their cocoon made them reckless, as it always did. As _Tenacious_ rotated, her armed missile ports came to bear on the enemy.

Space exploded with light, searing his eyes. Before he could cry out, the lifeboat tumbled like a toy. Wincing at the pain of the straps cutting into his flesh, Miron tried to keep his head from swinging around. Blood rushed to his head, then drained away in a moment. A claxon blared a warning, and a single thought found voice in his head: if the lifeboat couldn't correct its orientation before entering the atmosphere―

A sound like hammers battering the fuselage. Bright yellow flames streaked past the viewport, and still the craft rocked like a leaf in the wind. A brief metallic shriek ended with the craft jerking to the right. Sweat sprayed from his hair with every motion. He wondered if he would burn too quickly to feel it, or if the dying craft would keep back the heat enough to prolong his death.

The hammering noise faded, but the flames remained, streaking by the viewport. The air screamed at the falling craft. The lifeboat had finally steadied, but the warning claxon continued. Miron nudged Zakhar with his elbow and shouted over the noise, "What's that?"

Zakhar turned his head slowly and gave him a chagrined look. "Brake chute damage!"

Miron went still. It was over. He was going to die in here. All the deaths he'd failed to answer. The lives he'd spent like currency, all for a final outcome that would justify everything. Instead, the Commonwealth would fall to the floaters. Everyone, every last human being, would die. He balled his fists, the impossible rage in his chest consuming him from the inside.

In the end, he was completely helpless.

A different alarm howled with urgency. Miron only felt the first instant of the impact.

Chapter Sixteen

Turbulence buffeted the landing craft, and Shura kept an iron arm around Kirill as the ship shook around them. He sat huddled in his harness, legs pulled up and fists curled under his chin, staring at the floor and muttering to himself. Guilt gnawed at her as she watched him. She'd utterly failed to protect him. Whatever had appeared in the dust to scare off Koldan, it hadn't been her doing. She'd yet to put much thought into what it might have been, afraid of the answers she might find.

The porthole between two other frightened evacuees sitting across from her showed grey clouds whipping by, pierced occasionally by bursts of light. All at once, the clouds fell away and revealed the deep dark blue of the high atmosphere. A new wave of fear rolled over her. She'd never been to space before.

Bright flashes from the porthole behind her made her turn to look. A massive spaceship drifted what seemed like within arm's reach. She knew it as a Commonwealth ship by the somber, dark grey tint of the hull, even though little remained that wasn't scorched, twisted or torn away. It burned in a dozen places, fierce blazes feeding off the air escaping the ruined ship. A damaged section of the hull blew open, spilling debris―

She looked closer, then recoiled, blood draining from her face as she realized what she saw. A few pieces of debris still moved as the ship fell away from her sight.

Startled gasps from those seated near the front preceded a wall of grey cutting off her view. She caught glimpses of other ships docked at a structure, of a vast space filled with small ships and tugs moving in apparent chaos. A sudden maneuver of her ship tore her eyes from the view.

The craft slowed down, then shook as it docked. A fleet guard stepped out of the cockpit. "All right, listen up, because I'm only saying this once. You are on board the titan _Incomparable_. You will file out of this craft in a calm and orderly fashion. You will be given directions to a mustering station. You will receive further instructions there." He slapped a button and the hatch opened. "Let's go!"

Shura threw her bag over her shoulder and joined the line for the exit. "Aman, you're hurting my hand!" Kirill whined, but she didn't loosen her grip. She couldn't know for sure, but she fully expected to find Koldan somewhere on this ship. He'd already made it clear that he wouldn't let minor inconveniences like enemy invasions interfere with his duty. The only thing that gave her confidence was these guards seemed much more attuned to reality, and she didn't think they'd be interested in helping the auditor find her. At least, not yet.

A tunnel connected the landing craft to the larger ship. When they emerged into a bright, steel-blue corridor, a cordon of stone-faced guards bellowed repeated instructions to keep moving, walk in an orderly fashion and keep children close. Once, the deck trembled, and one of the guards cast a worried glance at the ceiling before catching Shura's gaze. He looked away as she passed, the moment's fear hidden behind the guard's mask.

She hadn't believed for one second the announcement that claimed the evacuation was a 'temporary relocation,' but somewhere inside, she'd thought that someone was still in control, that this crisis was within the Commonwealth's means to handle. What if it wasn't?

What if these were the last days of her kind?

She looked down at Kirill, then scooped him up and wrapped him in her arms, smelling his hair as she followed the crowd. She squeezed him until he complained, immersed in the sorrow she felt for him. His future had always been uncertain, but now, she wasn't sure if there was a future left for anyone.

Her arms burning, she reluctantly put him down. They passed through a gaping doorway into a cavernous space spanning several stories. Refugees filled the space, sitting or standing in groups. Three titanic red loaders rose like mechanical islands from the murmuring sea of humanity. Strange faces tracked the newcomers, the initial hope for new information replaced by resignation and disquiet. Shura made sure to stay in the middle of the crowd, scanning the faces around her for the auditor.

There he was, barely entering the holding area. In the instant she saw him, his eyes flicked across the assembly. She crouched before Kirill and put her hands on his shoulders. "Okay, cub," she said, "We're going to move ahead. We're going to slip right in between all these people, just like an eel. They're all slippery all over, so you can't get stuck anywhere. Okay? Just don't let go of my hand."

"Okay."

She surged ahead, staying low and trying not to crush Kirill's hand as she slipped through the crowd. She weaved left and right, watching people's eyes and gestures to anticipate where they'd go. Repeated glances assured her Kirill put his small size to good use. She left behind a muttered curse or two, but no one had the heart to confront her.

She made for a bright red loader close by, where a few other people had sought refuge from the crowd. Kneeling behind one of the loader's hover pads, she tried to look for Koldan without being too obvious.

"Hey," a voice said behind her.

Her body jerked at the greeting, and adrenaline blasted through her veins even as she spun around, pulling Kirill close. The man who had spoken raised his hands and took a step back. "Sorry to scare you," he said, though the dour expression on his square, bearded face held no apology. "Not my intention. I'm Rodion. Saw you looking for a place to hide, and I think I saw the man you're hiding from. He will find you here. Just a matter of time."

She tried to steady her breathing as she looked him over. She'd never seen his kind of clothes before, all roughly woven fabrics in brown and grey. "You have a suggestion?" she said, her tone sharper than she'd intended.

"Yeah. You're not the only one trying to stay out of the auditors' way. It's a big ship. I got a spot that's good for now. At least until they get organized again." He half-turned to walk away and looked back at her. "Up to you."

She followed without hesitation, Kirill in tow. "We're coming with you."

Rodion led them to the back of the holding area. At first, she thought he headed for another corridor, sealed by a line of guards. Before she could protest, he turned away, stopping at a small door she hadn't noticed until they stood before it. He opened it, peered inside, then entered. "Come on," he said, holding the door open for them.

Past the door, Rodion led them down the narrow passage. Another distant tremor shook the ship, followed by two more, but he didn't slow down. Once, they crossed a fleet hand hurrying in the other direction, a tablet in his hand. The man shot Kirill a suspicious glance in passing, but said nothing.

Down the tight passage, through a door leading to a large empty space, then another, wider corridor. From there, Rodion took them through another small side door and yet another narrow passage.

"Aman, I'm tired," Kirill mumbled at her hand.

"Me too, cub," she said without slowing down. "Just a little more. Right?" she added, looking at their new companion. The further they went, the less she felt inclined to trust him. It had begun to occur to her that he'd given her no reason to believe a word he'd said. What if he had no intention of leading them to safety?

He shot her a guarded look over his shoulder. "It's a very big ship. But we're most of the way there."

Reaching behind her with her free hand, she confirmed the presence of the stunner in her belt. If Rodion tried something, she'd make him regret it.

The journey continued, one corridor after another, each seeming darker and more neglected than the last. The last effects of the stimulant tablet faded away, leaving her limbs heavy and her mind sluggish. They passed through a section scorched by flame hot enough to leave the walls rippled and blistered. Debris blocked the way in places, threatening to trip her exhausted feet. She'd almost made up her mind to confront him when they took another turn and faced a dead end. The ceiling had collapsed, blocking the passage passage ended where the ceiling collapsed, but Rodion didn't stop until he reached a square hatch in the wall. He opened it with a grunt and looked back the way they'd come one more time before climbing inside.

Rodion helped her get Kirill inside, then herself. On the other side, the air was much colder, and she caught a glimpse of her breath clouding before Rodion closed the hatch, leaving them in darkness. "One second," he muttered. A beam of blue light pierced the darkness, illuminating the wreckage surrounding them. "Doesn't look like much, but it opens up a lot further down. You're about as far from active areas as you can be." He scrambled past them and led the way, following a path Shura hadn't yet noticed.

"Smiley says it's okay," Kirill whispered. "The man's not going to hurt us."

"Yeah, it wouldn't really be his problem, would it?" she muttered, but she followed Rodion anyway.

The walls to either side ended in ruins, leaving only darkness all around. Rodion stopped. "You can't see it, but we're in a damaged section near the stern of the ship. The outer hull was destroyed, and panels were put up to restore pressure. They haven't repaired anything else. With the evacuation, they probably won't. No more shipyards."

Shura put down her bag and reached into the emergency kit for her own hand lamp. When she turned it on and aimed it at the ceiling, the faintest spot of light appeared in the distance. She moved the light across the surface, dazzled by the distance and what it meant for the size of the space.

Rodion said, "We're set up to the left, in the debris. We're clearing an area. You're welcome to join us."

More people she didn't know. She hadn't even decided she trusted Rodion yet. "We'll be fine on our own," she said. "Kirill's been through a lot, and he's not used to other people." Rodion said nothing, so she added, "Thank you. For taking us here."

Rodion nodded. "If you change your mind, you're still welcome. We're going to keep quiet and keep the light down until the fighting's over, then we'll set up the heater. Do you have something to keep you warm?"

"We'll be fine," she said again.

"All right." He made to speak again, but he stopped as a deep, steady rumble rose from within the ship. "That's the distortion drive," he said. "Looks like we're making a run for it. There shouldn't be any more fighting for now." After a moment's hesitation, he offered a half-smile and added, "I'll see you around, then." He disappeared behind a pile of debris on the left.

Shura faced Kirill and summoned her best smile. For the first time since he'd been born, Kirill was safe, if only for the moment. She kissed his forehead, then hugged him close. "Okay, cub," she said. "It's you and me again. Let's go find a place to settle in." Taking Kirill's hand in her own, she led him into the dark.

*****

Azial stalked through the rain, barely feeling the drops on his skin. Everyone else hid from the weather, and the only light in the village leaked out through doorways and windows. Pirisati slept at home, utterly spent after hours of wailing grief. At least the rain had abated long enough for Musuri's pyre to burn out.

He reached the tent and reached out to tap on the leather, but hesitated. He didn't even know what he wanted from Merodakh. The medicine man couldn't turn back time, nor bring back the dead.

"Enter. You're making my skin crawl standing out there."

He lifted the flap and ducked inside. Merodakh sat cross-legged on a woven bamboo mat by the light of a single torch, grinding leaves in a mortar in his lap. His dark eyes tracked Azial from underneath his wild eyebrows as he sat down across from the medicine man. "Your troubles are defeating you?"

Merodakh's poorly shielded amusement rankled him, and he had to look away before he answered. "I seek your guidance, Merodakh. What was clear and simple is now muddied and complicated, and all I can see is my dead son. How can I unite the tribes now?" He bit his lip to cut short the confession that he didn't even know if he even cared anymore.

"You are a great warrior and a good leader, but you are also a fool," the medicine man said. "As we all are. We speak of responsibilities, and dole them out like parts of the hunters' kill. When we fail, we are made to answer for it, as if responsibility bestows control in equal measure. If jaguars eat all the hunter's prey, has the hunter failed? If you aim your arrow at a deer, and a hornet sting sends it running just as you loose your shaft, did you make a mistake? This is where we differ from animals. We think we have control."

"But the outcome is the same," Azial said. "We set goals, and try to achieve them. If we don't, for whatever reason, we have failed."

Merodakh reached into a pouch at his belt and scattered red powder into the mush he'd made of the leaves. "When you aim to kill a deer, is your goal to kill the deer, or to feed your people? If your prey gets away, find another."

Azial sat in silence, trying to make sense of Merodakh's words. "I don't understand," he finally said. "What you say is true, but I don't see how it matters now. Balbasu has lost his mind with grief. He thinks revenge will quell his pain. He's sent messengers to the loud men, with invitations to speak. The tribes have never been at war, but that's what I see in our future." He crossed his arms.

"Balbasu will do what he will," the medicine man said. He reached behind and retrieved the furry green stalk of a plant. Grimacing with the effort, he squeezed clear liquid from the stalk into the mortar. "You don't control him. You control one thing only: the choices you make."

"Of course," Azial said, trying to keep his tone respectful. "But what choice can I make that will heal Balbasu and bring the tribes together?"

Merodakh's eyebrows shot up. "Heal Balbasu? You would do better trying to steal the moon from the sky. You tell me my words are obvious, but what's obvious to me is that you don't listen." He closed his eyes and murmured a rhythmic chant under his breath. When he stopped, he spat once in the mortar and resumed mixing the contents. "You think one thing must lead to another. Balbasu is aggrieved, therefore he will lead his tribe to war, therefore the Kith will be destroyed. You manage to forget that things are as they are because one thing did not lead to another. Your efforts should have united the tribes. You did everything you could to achieve this. Yet it didn't happen.

"I'll give you an example. When Tihamtu banished your sister, it was expected that I would choose another to succeed me when I die. I didn't. And look! We still exist! The Elders still say that I endanger the Udaki, that they will be forced to look to another tribe to provide training for a replacement. I say: I'm still alive." He lowered his pestle and looked up, piercing Azial with his dark stare. "And so is Seruya. Now, what do you think will happen? Who can say? I couldn't stop Seruya's crime. I couldn't prevent her banishment. But I had already chosen my successor." He resumed his work. "You worry far too much about others, what they will do or not do. What will you do? That's my question to you, Azial. Do away with this conceit that you have considered every outcome, and decide what you will do."

Outside, a gibbon gave a frantic hoot, swinging up into a shriek. More voices joined it, until the night echoed with hysterical howls. Azial and Merodakh shared a look and scrambled outside.

A trail of fire tore through the dark clouds, lighting them from within and leaving them roiling in its wake. As it sailed past, a thunderous crack split the air. A few curious villagers who had come out gave fearful cries and fled back inside.

He looked back at Merodakh. The medicine man stared after the trail of fire. "What was that?" Azial said.

"An omen," Merodakh said. A distant tremor shook the earth, and he licked his lips. "A deep omen. Something old. Something... something returning." He looked at Azial, eyes wide. "What will you do?"

There was no doubt in Azial's mind. "I'm going to see what that is." He headed for home to collect his weapons.

Chapter Seventeen

Khariton sat down in front of the terminal in his cramped quarters, one hand pushing his damp hair out of his face. The shower had been the best he'd ever had, hot water draining the tension from his body and leaving him comfortably drowsy. Combined with the deep satisfaction he felt at the mission he'd just returned from, he wondered if this was how it felt to take narcotics.

He slipped a hand into the control glove and prepared a message to be sent to the Supreme Command, using the code he'd been given to ensure priority transmission and the highest level of encryption. Once the message was ready, he began the recording.

"Greetings to the Supreme Commanders. This is my first periodic report. I've completed my first combat assignment without injury. Chief Raisa has taken great care to maintain my safety, and is an exemplary leader in all respects." He paused. "I made a difference. My analyst experience allowed me to identify a floater ambush, and we were able to turn it and eliminate the enemy force. Over a hundred were killed on the ground, and seven floater ships were destroyed. The 114th took eleven casualties, including four dead."

He looked away. "I know why you chose us for your tests. Lab-born have no families. No attachments. You assumed we'd be best suited to make an unbiased determination of what we can afford to offer up for peace. But you were wrong. We don't belong, but we desperately want to, more than anything else. These guards you sent me to are very impressive. They don't weigh the cost to themselves; they simply do what must be done." He hesitated, trying to segregate his emotions so he could understand them. "I want to be one of them. I want the respect they give each other, the trust they share. I'd kill floaters for the rest of my life if it meant I could have that." He looked into the display. "I don't think I can do what you asked me to."

With a flick of his finger, he ended the recording and sent it on its way. He had too many conflicting thoughts and feelings to keep in order, and he knew only one thing for sure: whatever he'd experienced with the guards down on the surface, he wanted more of it. He'd never trusted feelings before, finding them entirely useless in any analytical process except to consider how those of others might affect their choices, but this need swept all other considerations before it. He didn't think he could function anymore without finding a way to fulfill it.

The door buzzed. He stood and opened it, expecting to see Raisa. Instead, Gerasim stood in the doorway, a bottle in his hand. "I thought maybe you'd like to toast your first combat mission." He lifted the bottle with a grin. "I ain't supposed to have this, but the same goes for the still I used to make it. I won't tell if you won't."

Khariton's smile hurt his cheeks as he let the other man in.

*****

Miron awoke to a concert of sounds he'd never heard before. His confusion lasted until pierced by the overwhelming realization that he wasn't dead. He opened his eyes.

He was alone in the lifeboat. Sunlight streamed in through the open hatch, reflecting off the floating dust. Raising one arm triggered a deep ache in his shoulder, and he groaned. Every single part of him hurt, and his body felt like lead. He managed to release his harness and slowly rose, his mind abuzz with white noise, unable to form a conscious thought beyond the dazzling fact of his survival.

The sunlight blinded him as he approached the hatch. Before he could step outside, his mind recovered enough to realize he ought to arm himself first. The emergency kit provided three sonic destroyers and a MAP rifle. He took the latter and ducked through the opening, squinting against the glare.

Moist, fragrant air poured down his throat, into his lungs. The sharp smell of the plants, the bright fragrance of flowers and the deep, satisfying smell of wet earth spread through his body. He couldn't stop breathing in until his lungs were full. As he exhaled, he wiped away tears.

The lifeboat had landed in a forest, and rested in a clearing created by its descent. Several trees had been felled by the craft, and others had been robbed of half their height. Zakhar stood on a splintered tree trunk in the center of the clearing, a weapon in each hand as he surveyed the surroundings. Rurik paced the outer perimeter, peering into the forest.

"Is anyone injured?" Miron said.

Both men turned. Rurik stalked towards him. "You! I was trying to save that man's life. How could you think knocking me out in the middle of surgery is even remotely acceptable?"

"He was dead in any case," Miron said with an edge. "I knew what Borya meant to do, and I knew there was no time to evacuate anyone else."

"You had no right!" The doctor's usually resigned expression bristled with rage. "I could have saved him!"

"Oh, get over yourself, doctor!" Miron spat. "He was a dead man, and so was everyone else in that infirmary. Your equipment was about to be blown to atoms. Did you think you could have brought him with you? How were you going to save him down here? Surgery with sticks and twigs? Even if he lived somehow, he would have been a liability. You should be grateful you still have your life."

Rurik's eyes were venom. "You think you did me a favor? Those people thought I was helping them. I was supposed to do everything I could to save them!"

"You're a doctor," Miron said. "You're needed."

"For what?" Rurik gestured at the lifeboat. "What do you think you can accomplish with three people and some emergency supplies?" He stepped closer. "It's over, Commander. It ended when we lost the ship."

"Not your decision," Miron snapped. "I say we're not done, and you're still fleet crew, meaning you still follow orders."

Rurik lowered his arm and turned to Zakhar. "Do you have anything to say about all this?"

Zakhar's square-jawed face held no expression. "He's right. Commander Miron is the ranking officer. If he says the mission's still on, it's on. You and I do as we're told."

The doctor shook his head. "That's just wonderful. Stuck in a nightmare with a tyrant and a puppet for company. I dearly wish you'd let me die with the others."

Miron came up to Zakhar. "Chief, how did we survive the landing? I thought the brake chute was out."

The chief shrugged. "The angle of our descent, combined with emergency retro thrusters, the inertial negators, and the trees. We got lucky."

"What do you think of this site? Is it secure enough to spend the night?"

"We don't have a viable alternative," Zakhar said. "Scouting for another location and constructing a shelter as effective as the lifeboat would take far too long, and it's too late in the day to do much exploring. I suggest we set a watch and retire. We haven't recovered from the crash, or the journey. We can eat and rest, then explore the surrounding area starting at daybreak."

Miron nodded. "Very good. You'll take the first watch?"

"Yes, sir." Zakhar scanned the perimeter one more time before heading to the lifeboat.

Miron approached Rurik, in spite of his gut screaming at him to ignore the man. "Doctor, I understand that you're not happy with the situation and how I handled it. I'm sure you can see the importance of working together now that we're stuck here."

Rurik gave him a long look before answering. "There are certain things one simply does not do. I am a doctor. I keep people alive. I've made a sort of peace with the fact that that isn't always a good thing, but it's what I do, and I take pride in it. It's always right, in its own way. It's different from keeping a piece of machinery going in that a human life carries with it an almost infinite complexity, and a value that defies definition. Yes, I ended Ilari's life, but only because it was that undefinable value that had been lost. When you interrupted my work, you killed the man on my table, regardless of whether he was about to die with the ship. He wasn't just a tool that had lost its utility; he was a person. Compassion can matter a great deal more than a base concept like survival."

"Survival of an individual, perhaps," Miron said, already struggling to keep the frustration out of his voice. "A lot more than that is at stake here. I shouldn't have to explain the circumstances of our mission to get you to follow orders. You know that."

Rurik shook his head. "There comes a point where wrong is wrong, no matter what exigency you use to justify your actions. For instance, if all else is equal, is it acceptable to kill one man in order to save another? And more importantly, have you ever considered the question?"

"I try not to waste my time on moral hypotheticals that have no answer," Miron said. "Let's eat and get some rest, doctor. I'm sure the days ahead will be challenging." He turned and walked away.

"You're not quite correct, Commander," Rurik said in a quiet tone as he followed. "The question has no answer only until it ceases to be hypothetical."

Miron knew last-word syndrome when he saw it, and said nothing more.

They ate in silence. Once they finished, Rurik curtly stated he wouldn't be able to sleep under the circumstances and joined Zakhar on watch. Miron stripped off his vacsuit and settled in one of the lifeboat's seats, mulling over their situation until exhaustion dragged him into a heavy sleep.

He awoke to Zakhar shaking his injured shoulder, sending waves of pain down his arm. "What?" he muttered, struggling to banish the fog from his head.

"Sir, Rurik is gone," the chief said. "He was on watch and he stepped out. It's been too long."

Miron sat up. "Is the sun up yet?"

"Probably another half-hour until dawn. There's some light."

He took his rifle and followed Zakhar outside. The few stars that found holes in the cloud cover rendered the clearing in shades of dark blue. A faint purple tint close to the horizon heralded the sunrise.

"He's not in the clearing," Zakhar said. "I checked. I called his name, by voice and through the comm, but no answer."

"What do you recommend?"

"Wait for sunrise," he said immediately. "The ACS protects me from snakes and the like, but your uniform won't help you, and you won't see them in this light. I could search while you wait here, but we don't know what threats we have to contend with. I believe separating could be fatal."

Miron ground his teeth. "What if he fell and hit his head? Something could get to him while we wait."

"If he were close by, I'd be able to pick up his heat signature on the infrared. He had no reason to stray any distance from the lifeboat." He looked at Miron. "I think something big is out there."

Miron scanned the trees, acutely aware of how little he knew about this world. "We go out at dawn. I'll risk a snakebite. We need to find him."

Waiting for the sun to rise above the trees left Miron far too much time to think. Borya and Rurik's words gnawed at him. He'd blindly refuted what he'd considered their fatalistic attitudes, but he realized now that he didn't have a single idea on how to find the cocoons, never mind contacting the Supreme Command to let them know they'd been found. Just staying alive seemed like it would take all their time and energy. Once the lifeboat's rations ran out, they'd be forced to forage or hunt for food without knowing anything about the flora or fauna. The emergency kit provided an analyzer tool to determine toxicity and nutritional value of potential foods, but how many tests would it take before they found something? Trapping animals whose behavior they knew nothing of would be difficult, and hunting seemed like a waste of ammunition.

The sky had brightened to a golden glow. "This will have to do," Miron said through clenched teeth. "Let's go."

They set out following an expanding spiral pattern. Zakhar went in front, sweeping through the underbrush with his armored legs. Miron divided his attention between looking for signs of the doctor and watching for critters.

The unrelenting noise from the jungle threatened to overwhelm his senses. Some of the screeching and howling sounds reminded him of bird calls, but most left him clueless as to what animal made them. A series of deep, vibrating honks stirred a primal fear in his gut, until he saw the chubby, fist-sized blue bird that made the noise.

Zakhar stopped abruptly, causing Miron to stumble into his metal-clad back. "Commander," he said. Miron stepped around him and looked up, but it took a moment before he realized what they were seeing. Horror and revulsion scoured his mind. He turned and threw up.

"He's definitely dead," Zakhar said, in the same cool, professional tone he always used. "That looks like a cocoon of sorts."

What was left of Rurik hung upside-down from a bough a dozen feet off the ground, clinging to the tree with shriveled, moss-green limbs. Ropy sinews and taut muscles stretched his mottled, leathery skin, and long, white hairs sprouted all over his body. From the gaping cavity that used to be his abdomen grew a stalk several feet long, with a grey lump hanging at the end. The lump slowly pulsed, stretching the leathery membrane that covered it. The doctor's face, drained of moisture and color, grinned down at them.

"We have to get him down," Miron croaked, and spat.

"I don't think so," Zakhar said, and for the first time, Miron detected a hint of tension in the chief's voice. "We're not alone."

Miron straightened and shouldered his rifle. "Where?"

"By the tree. It's camouflaged," he said. "It doesn't show up on the infrared spectrum."

Miron squinted. He saw nothing―

It moved, the rippling camouflage matching the surroundings perfectly. All he could see for sure were two black eyes. He sucked air into his lungs with desperate urgency, panic but a moment's weakness away.

The thing rushed forward, so smoothly it seemed like the forest floor itself flowed towards them. Zakhar fired three rounds in quick succession, striking the thing once in the head and twice in the torso. The impact checked its advance and sent it rolling away. The camouflage flickered briefly, and Miron got a glimpse of a double-jointed blood red shape, bristling with claws and fangs.

His back prickled with alarm and he turned. A pair of dull, empty, black eyes stared into his own. Even as he brought his rifle around, he knew he was too late.

The monster jerked to the side and collapsed, a five-foot long missile two fingers thick piercing its torso. It twitched twice, then lay still. Miron looked back to where the arrow had come from, and saw another creature. It issued a hoarse rattle, cut short when an arrow slammed into its body, almost lifting it off its feet. It kicked as it fell, and even managed to close its claws around the shaft before its life slipped away.

A man leaped down from the trees. He'd been only a dozen paces away, yet Miron hadn't seen him before he'd moved. A bow almost as tall as the man himself hung from his back, and he held a long knife in one hand. He ignored Miron and Zakhar and headed straight for the thing Zakhar had shot. Miron's confusion lasted until the motionless creature burst into motion, lashing out at the native. Miron couldn't tell exactly what he did as he slipped past the scything claws and the blade flickered. As he turned and straightened, the creature fell, a deep "X" carved into its body.

The man pointed at Zakhar with his knife. "Who are you?"

He stood only as tall as Miron's chin, but his attire revealed an abundance of lean muscle beneath his dark brown skin. His armor appeared to be made of wood shaped to fit his body. Bone-white fetishes stuck out from the braid in his long, black hair. He spoke with a thick accent Miron had never heard before, but the words were clear. The lack of delay between the movement of his mouth and the sound in Miron's ears meant his implant had easily translated the words, but the translation of a previously unknown language should have been impossible until the implant had a larger sample to work with. "We are travelers from far away," he said, thinking hard. They needed this native, but he seemed understandably suspicious. How could Miron put him at ease? "We came from the stars," he said. "Our ship fell from the sky."

"Are you with the loud men?" the native man demanded, now addressing Miron even as he cast uncertain glances at Zakhar in his armor. The guard chief managed to appear passive despite holding enough firepower to incinerate the immediate area.

"No," Miron said. "We don't know who they are."

The man lowered his weapon. "I am Azial, of the Udaki tribe. Why did you come here?"

Miron kept his expression carefully neutral even as he cursed inside. He'd hoped to avoid that question for now. "Long ago, my people lost something here. We are here to find it."

Azial offered no response besides a stare. A wave of heat built up underneath Miron's uniform. Finally, Azial said, "If you speak vaguely, I will not trust you."

"I don't mean to mislead you," Miron said. "I fear that you will not understand. I can try to explain, but it will take time. My name is Miron, and he is Zakhar." He hesitated. "Can you help us? We are alone, and we have already lost our companion."

Azial looked at Zakhar, then back at Miron. "I will take you to my village and feed you. Then we will speak at length."

"Thank you," Miron said, careful to keep most of the relief out of his tone. He didn't want these people to know exactly how dire their situation was. "Can we return to our ship before we leave?"

"I will follow you."

Miron turned to Zakhar, who had kept track of their search pattern. "Lead the way."

"Yes, sir."

As the armored guard passed him, Miron glanced once more at Rurik's body. "Azial, can we... honor our companion's remains?"

The small man gave him a sidelong glance, and he thought he detected compassion in it. "More Vile are coming. There is nothing you can do. He is gone. The cocoon must be pierced, or it will make a new Vile." He took his bow and notched an arrow, but kept the weapon lowered and glanced at him once more. At Miron's nod, he raised the bow and loosed the shaft. It slammed into the dangling lump, sending it swinging. The cocoon pulsed rapidly, then went still.

Miron and Zakhar led the way, with Azial following at a respectful distance. He had shown no sign of fear, even though he must have seen Zakhar shoot the creature he'd had to finish off. Either he had some familiarity with firearms, or he was not easily impressed.

"Sir, did you see his knife?" Zakhar said through the comm, keeping his voice too low to be heard by ear alone.

"It doesn't match the rest of his equipment," Miron agreed. "His language is very similar to ours. His kind must have descended from the ones who stayed behind."

"He seems genuine."

"I agree. We'll follow him to his village and see what they want to do. Direct any questions about our intentions to me. There's a chance we'll be able to recruit these people."

Once they reached the lifeboat, they collected all four emergency kits, each intended to support two people for four weeks. Azial stood at the clearing's edge, his face unreadable as they brought out their supplies. Zakhar adjusted his suit to accommodate the burden, adding to his already considerable bulk. He gave a nod to Miron, who turned to Azial. "We're ready to follow you."

As the diminutive native led the way through the jungle, Miron mustered the slightest measure of hope. He'd lost the ship and all the crew save one, but he was still alive. He had weapons, a veteran guard chief to support him, and he knew he'd landed somewhere on the continent where the cores lay hidden. He hadn't failed yet. If the natives turned out to be friendly, and Azial had given every indication that they would, he would have a base to work from. One step at a time, he told himself. One step at a time, in the right direction, and he'd fulfill his mission.

If the Commonwealth survived that long.

*****

Azial dropped down from the village wall, disappearing into the undergrowth. He'd left the two strangers in the care of the tribe, all of whom had so far been willing to accept his claim that they were honored visitors from far away.

He knew he should be meeting with Tihamtu and Merodakh, to talk about where these people had come from and what they could want, but he didn't have the courage. He didn't know what any of this meant, and he'd lost faith that Tihamtu or Merodakh would have any idea. Too many thoughts clashed in his head, and he needed to get away. Running lightly through the forest, he increased the distance between him and the source of his anxiety.

He reached the grassy clearing he'd discovered years ago, the one that seemed to eat sound and leave only thoughts. The forest canopy turned the sunlight into a soothing emerald hue, granting a green tint to the bed of white flowers on the far end. He stopped in the center of the clearing, feeling the silence like a blanket swaddling his body. Sitting down on a patch of soft grass, he closed his eyes and breathed out. Tension yielded reluctantly, his shoulders settling as his body relaxed. He just needed a little time.

He opened his eyes. With a sharp breath, he sprang to his feet, blade in hand. In the space of a heartbeat, he examined his options and knew he had none. The only choice that remained to him was how to meet his end.

More Vile than he could count occupied the trees lining the clearing. No path of escape remained. They sat motionless, staring. They knew they had him.

Azial smiled, the remaining stress slipping away. His limbs felt loose and warm. He'd come to the end of his life. Instead of fear or panic, he felt relief. He would leave it all behind. Tihamtu and Merodakh would decide what to do with the newcomers, and find a way to deal with Balbasu. Leaving behind Pirisati pained him, but he could do nothing for her, anyway. Soon, he would see Musuri again. "Don't think this will be easy," he told the monsters. "Come. Let's see how many of you will die to kill me."

"Good words, brother!"

Seruya! She couldn't die now! "Stay away," he snapped, looking around to find her. "You can't help me!"

She strode out from the trees, laughing. The Vile ignored her as she passed between them and stopped before him, wicked amusement in her eyes. "See the truth, Azial. The Vile are mine to command."

He looked around, then back at her. Fueling the rage building in his chest was the undeniable realization that Seruya wasn't the woman he remembered. Balbasu had turned on him, his son was dead at the hands of the Vile... She hadn't been there for any of it, and now she stood with the same monsters that had murdered his son. "What have you done?"

Her smile vanished as she drew back and scowled. "I seized the Vile! They will never kill the Kith ever again. Is that a problem to you, somehow?"

"Kill them!" he said, clinging to the hope that she'd come to her senses. "If you control them all, you can make them die!"

She scoffed and rolled her eyes. "At once, brother! Wait here while I destroy the ultimate defense against the loud men. Don't you understand how much power I hold? No one will ever threaten the Kith again."

"They are Vile!" Azial fought to keep from screaming. "Monsters! They take and give nothing back! They were never meant to be! You would keep them as pets?" He pointed at them. "These things killed Musuri! My son died by them!" Hot tears traced a path down his cheeks.

Seruya looked as if she'd been slapped. "He's dead?" she whispered as her eyes turned red. "What... What happened?"

Azial turned away and looked down. "He tried to steal Balbasu's daughter during the summit. She caught the seed. He left her. Balbasu demanded his life, and I had to kill Gusur in champion combat. When we came back... He'd gone to get her body. Lakhmu found him, but... too late."

"You let him die?" she said, her voice raw with disbelief.

He spun to face her, nails digging into his palms. "Be quiet! I was working to bring the tribes together. Where were you, while Musuri died? Off making friends with these things! I can't be everywhere at once. You were supposed to help me!"

"You banished me!" she shrieked. "You stood there staring at your toes while Tihamtu told me I could never return! I begged you to speak for me, and you didn't even look at me!"

The pain on her wet face burned his soul, but his own refused to be silent. "I didn't make you commit murder. You almost cost us everything!"

She shook her head slowly. "What I did what necessary. You said you remembered the oath we swore, but I don't believe you anymore. Your word means nothing to you."

His entire body quivered with liquid rage. "It's you who doesn't remember. None of the Kith could ever meet a Vile in anything but combat. Your banishment cost you your mind."

She stepped close. Her dark brown eyes drew him in, to the frozen place at her core, and for the first time in his life, he feared his sister.

She whispered, "If you were anyone else... I would kill you now."

Azial stared back at her, knowing only that he would not yield. Something that had existed between them since birth breathed its last. She spun and stalked away, the Vile moving as one to follow.

When she disappeared into the forest, he sank to the ground, alone as never before.

"Selfish... Pathetic... Impotent... Disrespectful..." Seruya's fury wouldn't be silent, even though only the Vile could hear her words as she stomped through the jungle.

How dare he? After everything she'd been through, everything she'd suffered to protect their destiny, how could he question her commitment? When she'd left him at the summit, he'd obtained agreements from all the chiefs, and the Yahua and the Udaki tribes had never been closer. Somehow, in her absence, her brother had managed to let it all fall apart.

She now knew for certain what she'd suspected since childhood: Azial lacked the conviction to make difficult decisions. It would fall to her to destroy the threat to their people, while he wallowed in his failures, like an infant in its own shit.

It didn't matter, now that she'd gained the power to do everything she'd ever wanted. She stopped and turned to look at the Vile behind her. She needed practice, to learn to control the monsters under any condition. Then she would seek out the loud men, and she would destroy them all, down to the last greedy, underhanded wretch. Perhaps then Azial would come to understand everything she'd done for him, and for the Kith.

Perhaps then she'd be able to come home again.

End of part one

Thanks for reading! I hope you liked the story. The greatest challenge for any indie author is finding readers, and we depend in large part on people like you to spread the word. If you enjoyed this book, please consider sharing it on social media, or leaving a review at your favorite retail site or reading community. Thank you!

The story continues in _Inferno's Cast_ , available here. Join my mailing list here for updates, previews, and bi-monthly short stories about the Commonwealth, the Kith, and the loud men.
Preview of _Inferno's Cast_

_Below is the first chapter of_ Inferno's Cast, _the sequel to_ In Nadir's Shadow. _Enjoy!_

Khariton had no reason to be concerned. The listening post ahead had detected no enemy activity within its fourteen light year detection radius before it went dark. _Victory's_ detection array had picked up no sign of floater ships in the area during its brief stop to drop off the _Mitrofan_. Nothing unexpected had occurred during the launch of the five landing craft, or during their approach to the unmanned listening post. The titan _Victory_ had already departed and the _Mitrofan_ had no other means of escape in case of an ambush, meaning the enemy, were they present, would have had no reason to delay their attack any further.

Khariton repeated these arguments, and others, in his mind as he stared at the deck of the landing craft, flanked by armor-clad guards. His comrades weren't expecting much excitement, and chatted with little of the usual tension and strumming energy. They'd go in, identify where the problem was, and switch out the affected module with a spare. Not much could go wrong.

Even the listening post's perch, a sprawling debris field orbiting the distant black hole known as the Maw, and potentially a place where floater ships could hide, constituted a negligible threat in light of the other factors. Khariton had no logical explanation for the worry churning in his gut, rising into his throat every time he tried to sit up and ignore the feeling. He'd considered every reasonable angle; he should feel confident. The fact that he didn't kept his gaze on the deck between Radomil's armored feet across from him, revisiting the same questions and answers he'd stewed over since the briefing.

"Hey, Animal."

He looked up too quickly, and found Radomil staring at him. Khariton said, "What?"

"Why are you so quiet?" the sniper said. "You've been staring at my boots since we launched."

The last thing Khariton wanted to do was spread his baseless concern to others. "Just not feeling well."

"Why's that?" Radomil said. "You were fine earlier."

Conversation around the compartment fell quiet, and one by one, the guards turned their attention to him. Sweat prickled under his combat armor. "It's nothing," he said, now addressing seven guards as well as Raisa, the company chief, who watched him from the other end of the compartment.

Radomil gave a slow nod. "Right."

Gerasim jabbed an elbow into Khariton's ribs. "Man, I thought I told you to use the can before we loaded."

A brisk voice spoke in their ears: "Final approach. Thirty seconds."

Thirty more seconds and it would be too late. Too late for what? There was nothing! But his expression had betrayed him, and Radomil's face now held open suspicion. Naum, two seats down from Radomil, shook his head and looked at the ceiling.

It was just a feeling.

Just a feeling.

Khariton cleared his throat. "Raisa."

All the guards looked at him.

He didn't want to say the words, but he no longer had a choice. "I recommend we reverse course for a short period. No more than a minute."

She narrowed her eyes. Seconds ticked by. "Assault Wing, this is Chief Raisa. Abort approach. Reverse course, thirty seconds. Stand by for further instructions."

"Copy."

The landing craft veered off, guards leaning into their restraints with practiced ease.

"Now that we—" Raisa began.

"Enemy ships inbound," the pilot reported, his voice unchanged from its usual crisp tone. "They're close. Brace for combat maneuvers."

"Fucking shit," Naum said. The heavy weapons expert looked at Khariton. "If we'd docked—"

"They'd have had us," Radomil finished.

Violent jolts shook the small craft in rapid succession, saving Khariton from having to reply. He felt sick.

Almost. Almost, he'd kept quiet. If he had, they all would have died.

With his Supreme Command override code, he switched to the frequency used by the Mitrofan and the landing craft. The voice of Mitrofan's comm officer filled his ears: "Assault wing, disregard safe approach speeds. Slave your controls at the two second mark, and tell your passengers to brace."

"Confirm hot approach and slave at two marks. Don't scratch the paint."

In a blink, Khariton went from sitting straight to hanging from his restraints. Blood rushed to his head, then drained again as the landing craft slammed down with none of the usual finesse. Squad leader Talent Demyan rushed past and opened the hatch. "Out! Let's go!"

Khariton stumbled out from the landing craft. As he straightened to look around, he caught a single glimpse of the other four landing craft disgorging a stream of guards before a deafening impact knocked him to the deck. Debris pelted his suit as he struggled to his feet. The far bulkhead sported a deep crater, the metal around it warped and discolored.

All around, guards found their footing and ran for the door leading into the ship. Raisa's voice spoke in his ear: "All squads, hit your muster areas and prepare to repel boarders. First Squad, with me."

Khariton found her glowing nameplate among the mass of guards and homed in. She led First Squad deeper into the ship, the other squads peeling off to take up station close to likely enemy breach points. Assuming the enemy meant to board and capture was standard doctrine, but Raisa knew just as Khariton did that the floaters rarely bothered capturing ships that weren't titans.

Raisa halted by an equipment locker just opposite the entrance to the Control compartment. "Taras, set up for triage inside. Demyan, this is our command post. Get me a perimeter."

As Taras disappeared into the locker and started tossing out equipment, Demyan said, "Let's clear some space in there." He led the way, dodging a toolkit sailing out from the doorway to crash onto the deck.

It took the eight of them less than a minute to clear the locker. They found four portable barricades, black as night and made of dense, honeycombed material designed to resist the kinetic force of floater psych charges. Under Demyan's direction, Khariton helped the guards set the barricades in place to block access to Control, and fortify them with deck repair kits from the locker. Sporadic hits shook the ship, jolting his nerves every time.

He glanced again at the door leading to Control, where Saveli and her command crew fought to save the _Mitrofan._ No word had been shared regarding the nature of the enemy forces, but special assault ships weren't meant for prolonged ship-to-ship combat, carrying limited firepower compared to the brawlers that made up most of a Commonwealth battle group.

Khariton should be in there, helping Saveli analyze the floaters' tactics and finding a way to survive until the _Victory_ returned to pick them up. Had she alerted the titan of the ambush? Most likely so, meaning _Victory_ could have received word of the attack and turned around almost as soon as the enemy had revealed themselves. The titan had left the area no more than ten minutes before the landing craft launched. Khariton checked the chronometer projected by his implant in the corner of his vision, and subtracted the elapsed time as he applied adhesive to join two sections of barricade together. Seven minutes until the earliest moment the _Victory_ could arrive to save them.

"One hit and that seam is gone," Specialist Faddei said, suddenly next to him. The squad's second in command aimed a rigid finger at his handiwork. "We've got bigger worries than running out of adhesive. Pour it on."

Blood rushing to his cheeks, Khariton did as he was told. Ship Master Saveli knew how to handle her ship, and his revelation of the ambush, late though it had been, had given her a fighting chance. He needed to focus on his own work.

But when the barricade stood ready and the guards had run out of things to do, the seven-minute mark had long since come and gone. Naum whistled a lazy tune as he gazed down the empty corridor. Demolitions expert Nikifor re-checked her gear. Time crept by.

"You think they're still out there?" Radomil said.

"We'd be standing down if they left," Gerasim muttered. "My guess is we're hiding. And they're looking."

"What does the Animal think?" Naum said.

Khariton had drawn his conclusions about their situation some time ago, but he'd hoped to be proven wrong before the subject came up. "I think Gerry's right," he said. "We're hiding in the debris, just like the floaters did."

"Where's the _Victory_?" Nikifor said. "Do you know that?"

He considered deflecting, but they'd just press him anyway. "If we signaled them when the floaters attacked, they would have turned around, and they would have been here by now. Either they didn't receive our message, or they did, but they're unable to respond."

Taras cocked her head. "What do you mean, unable?"

"I'm speculating," Khariton said with a shrug. "So it's all hypothetical. I don't know."

"But why wouldn't they receive our message?" Gerasim said, cleaning his nails with a needle-thin extension of his Adaptive Combat Suit. "I mean, if they ran into trouble, we'd know about it. Right?"

"Maybe comms got knocked out," Radomil said. "Maybe _Victory's_ got no idea we're in the shit."

"So then... when were they scheduled to pick us up?" Naum said, looking for someone who knew the answer.

No one did, until he turned to Raisa, who gave them all an even look. "Six hours from dropoff. So just relax a little. Saveli knows what she's doing, and we can hide just as well as the floaters. _Victory_ will get here in time, or not. Nothing we can do about it."

"So, same as any other day, then," Gerasim said with a chuckle.

Raisa gave a faint smile. "Just about."

Khariton had known long days before, but nothing could have prepared him for the experience of spending hour after hour doing nothing but watch the clock, surrounded by reminders that his life was in imminent danger. The guards exchanged an occasional word, too sporadic to qualify as conversation. Gerasim and Naum slept, their snores competing in crescendo until a kick and a curse from Radomil woke them. Demyan simply stared at the bulkhead, rarely blinking, and Khariton wondered more than once what was going through the squad leader's mind.

Five hours had passed when a brief tremor broke the silence. Another followed a few minutes later, slightly stronger. Then two more in quick succession.

"What now?" Radomil said. "Are they hitting us or not?"

"They're hunting," Demyan said. "Shooting blind and hoping they hit something. Means we're still hidden."

It also meant the floaters were closing in. Khariton drew a shaky breath, checked the time again. Fifty-one minutes until _Victory's_ scheduled arrival time. He had no idea about the composition of the enemy force, but if the _Mitrofan_ were to be flushed out from its hiding place, there was little chance it would survive.

The next hit almost knocked Khariton to the ground, and even before the rapid pulse of _Mitrofan's_ railgun batteries reached his ears, he knew they'd been found. He thought he'd gotten used to the fear lurking in his stomach, but now it rose up to close around his throat. Every impact echoed through the ship, a hollow crashing sound so violent, he expected hull breach warnings after each one. The ship's guns kept giving answer, firing in concentrated volleys, their defiance the only thing Khariton could cling to. As long as _Mitrofan_ could fight, it could survive.

When the guns fell silent, Khariton's breath stilled with them. He cringed in place, one armored hand squeezing the barrier at his side, waiting for the thunderous crash that would end the ship and kill them all. The ashen faces of the guards around him were covered with a sheen of sweat, wide eyes looking at nothing.

A woman's voice spoke in his ear, calm but laced with deep fatigue: "Guards, this is Ship Master Saveli. _Victory_ has arrived, and the enemy has withdrawn. You may stand down."

Sighs, whispered curses, a laugh from Gerasim. Khariton sucked in the deepest breath he'd ever taken and let it out, lowering his head to rest on his shaking hands.

"I hope you enjoyed the break," Demyan said, his face as drained as rest of them but his voice firm. "Get these barriers broken down. Stow everything we tossed out from the locker. Taras, you go get that toolkit down there. Next time you throw one at my head, I'm tossing it back."

While the guards rose and tackled the work as if the past hours of terror hadn't happened, Khariton had to rely on the Adaptive Combat Suit's strength to stand up. Every part of his body burned with a depth of exhaustion he'd never even imagined. A mammoth surge of raw emotion stirred inside him, held back by the thinnest weave of shame and determination. He looked around for something to do.

"Khariton." Raisa waved him over. He shambled her way. She said, "Ship master would like you to see her when you feel up to it."

"Why?"

"She asked me why I broke off our approach. I told her." She gave him a searching look. "How did you know?"

"I..." How could he tell her the truth, that he'd acted on a whim? He'd made the right call, given the _Mitrofan_ a fighting chance... and he had no idea how he'd done it. "I'm not sure," he finally said.

Her eyes tightened a fraction, and she said nothing. He in turn had nothing to fill the silence with. She finally nodded. "You'd best go see the ship master."

"Yes, sir." He felt her stare on his back as he headed for Control.

The smell of stale sweat weighing down the air in the Control compartment reminded Khariton of his old work station at the special intelligence analysis unit. The lights were brighter here, and he got a good look at the men and women slumped at their terminals, spaced evenly in a circle around the Master Tactical Display. A man he assumed was the ship's second-in-command moved between stations, conversing with the command crew.

He found Ship Master Saveli in her chair, sitting in silence with her eyes closed. She opened them when he approached, and looked him over. "I hear you saved us some heartache today," she said.

"Yes, sir." He didn't know what else to say.

"I'm curious to know how you recognized the ambush. There were six floater vessels hidden in the debris, and we didn't detect any of them until they started moving. They blocked our calls to _Victory,_ too."

He cleared his throat. "I don't have a clear foundation for my recommendation. Although the outcome was favorable, I did not follow a logical chain of thought to arrive at a defensible conclusion. I considered several factors of minor concern, but none of these constituted sufficient cause to abort our approach."

"You had a feeling." The ghost of a smile crossed Saveli's exhausted features. "You're intel analysis? They taught you to ignore those, didn't they?"

As he'd been telling himself. The outcome didn't justify his flawed process. "We're trained to only consider facts," he said with a nod, eyes down.

Saveli shifted in her seat with a painful wince. "Well, consider this. We perceive an enormous amount of detail, but our conscious mind can only process a fraction of it. Sometimes, our subconscious can detect patterns that our conscious mind can't, because it doesn't access all the available data. The subconscious recognizes a pattern and sounds the alarm, but the conscious mind doesn't accept it, because it has been trained to disregard anything but the facts it is aware of."

Khariton had never heard this theory before. "Feelings don't always mean something. Most often, they mean nothing. How is one supposed to identify which feelings are a reflection of reality?"

She shot him a piercing look. "All feelings are a reflection of reality. Your reality. As for the question you really meant to ask, the answer is experience. That's why there's no substitute for it." Saveli's eyes shifted to watch the ship's second-in-command approach and halt at a respectful distance. "You have my gratitude for your contribution today, regardless of its radical inception. Do you play Tactics?"

"Yes, sir."

Saveli gave him a sly smile. "I may consider a challenge, if I can free up the time. You are dismissed, Chief."

He saluted and left, caught off-guard by her use of the rank no one addressed him by. The guards had cleared the area and left, probably back to the barracks deck, and that's where he headed. The entire way there, he replayed the mission briefing, prep, and approach in his head, looking for the piece of information he'd failed to consciously observe which had somehow allowed the inner workings of his mind to give him a chance to save himself and his comrades.

*****

The sharks tore into the crippled whale, white foam turning pink as the dying leviathan's struggles abated. Gannets circled overhead, aiming for scraps left in the wake of the frenzy, their shrieks deafening even from a distance. One more time, the whale's fluke rose from the water and swung down on its killers, but the blow held no power. Kobus had seen it countless times before. The animal's death was certain, but it would fight until the last of its strength failed.

Kobus spat with vigor, the yellow gob disappearing into the swirling wake of the _Providence_ , and heaved himself up from the railing. A trail of sweat tickled his back beneath his leathers as he made his way forward, dodging shouting sailors and flying tackle until he reached the starboard gunwale and the lanky, leather-clad young man leaning on it. The briny shore wind blew in his face, a welcome relief under the late morning sun.

"For a guy who got his beauty sleep, you don't look any prettier," Kobus said.

"As long as I stick by you, I'll seem pretty enough."

Kobus scanned the coastline, a narrow strip of blinding coral dust quickly swallowed by the shadows of the jungle behind it. Grey mountain ridges shimmered in the distance, dominated by a single, white-capped peak. He said, "We'll dock in less than an hour. Gear ready?"

"Yep."

Kobus' jaw bunched. "I want you to keep your mouth shut when we land. Don't start anything. We're a long way from Highland. Any friends we're going to have are inside those walls."

Harm blew one of his brown hairs out of his face. "Who needs friends?"

"You don't need enemies, either," Kobus snapped. "What if they got work for you? You think they're going to contract the guy who acts like an ass right off the boat? If you want to scout for hire, you can't spit in the face of everybody you meet."

"Like you're such a joy to work with," Harm muttered.

"I don't like people any more than you do," he said with a grimace. "Difference is I don't tell them that. But since you want to act like a brat today, I'll just leave it at this: I won't hesitate to set you straight in front of them. Think about that. How you'll look."

Harm rolled his eyes and said nothing.

_Providence_ had crossed the gap in the reefs two hours after sunrise, skirting the coast ever since. Now, with the sun climbing to its highest point, Prosperity came into view. Kobus studied the walled settlement as the ship shed its speed. Two man-heights tall and reinforced with half a dozen sturdy towers, the wall had been built with wood so dark, it seemed black at first glance. At least two of the towers mounted cannons.

Several buildings within rose above the wall, including a large structure with a sloped roof. Outside the town, the jungle had been cleared and crops planted, but wild growth had crept in around the edges of the fields. Except for simple breastworks, nothing had been built beyond the wall.

_Providence's_ momentum carried her past the outer wall, granting a view of the town within as she slowly swung towards the dock. A river flowed through the center of the colony into the harbor. Its steep banks hid in the shadows of the densest construction Kobus had ever seen. In between a handful of tall buildings, small shacks and huts crowded all but the narrowest spaces. Some were built well, but most were little more than lean-to's. As they came closer, he noted someone squatting on the river bank, defecating.

Harm snorted. "It's just like home."

Two rowboats, crewed by a dozen men each, came alongside. Sailors tossed down lines, which the rowers secured before straining to guide the ship towards the dock. On the quay, drying nets glittering with fish scales claimed half the available space, and the rest slowly filled with knots of people gathering to watch the ship come in. Nearly all wore the same type of loose clothes, made of rough fabric and lacking any frill or dye.

A group of women formed the exception by not wearing much at all as they edged onto the pier. Even before the tugs released their lines and _Providence_ was secured, they called to the sailors with inviting tones, while the pimps watched from the shadows of the dockside warehouses. Kobus grimaced. Some of these girls were far too young.

Harm stirred next to him and muttered under his breath. "Hey," Kobus said with a glare. "Don't be stupid. Remember what happened last time. Don't keep running into the same wall."

Harm's gaze didn't waver, though the muttering subsided. Kobus knew the young man would ignore his words, as he always did on any subject besides tracking and hunting. "Let's go," he said, and half-turned from the gunwale. "Get the gear." Harm followed after another second, throwing a last glance over his shoulder as Kobus guided him to take the lead.

When the gangplank came down, they were the first to disembark, packs and crossbows on their shoulders. A man waited at the bottom, watching them as they approached. "Kobus of Silkford," he said. "Thank you for coming."

"Just Kobus these days," he said, and shook the man's extended hand. "Harm, my apprentice."

The man gave a nod to Harm, who barely managed to return it. "Ewoud of Concord. I'm the administrator here." He returned his attention to Kobus. "I don't mind telling you, it's a relief to see you here. I'm sure my letter struck you as hyperbolic, but I think you'll find every word was truth." A deep tension hid within Ewoud's demeanor, leaving Kobus on edge. He'd always thought the man was wound too tight, but he smelled of desperation now, and desperate men rarely made good decisions.

"I cleared a room for you," Ewoud continued. "Comforts of home are hard to come by, but there's a cot, so you won't have to sleep on the floor. You can get your water from the river; just do it upstream. Food is rationed, and meals are twice a day—I'll show you where to go."

"No need," Kobus cut in. "When do you want to talk business?"

Ewoud hesitated. "Tomorrow morning. I have another meeting tonight. My office is inside the large hall off the market square. Some time after breakfast." He tracked Harm approaching the gaggle of whores. The young man invited one of the youngest to follow with a toss of his chin, barely slowing down as he passed. The brown-haired girl, wearing a mended grey tunic that barely covered her, gave a glance to her compatriots. They'd already turned their attention back to the sailors flirting with them from the rigging, and she hurried to catch up to Harm.

Heat rushed up through Kobus's chest, making his head feel too big. "It's okay," he told Ewoud. "It's not what you think. He's not going to hurt her."

Ewoud shrugged. "Not my business. Some time after breakfast tomorrow, then. I'll have someone show you where you'll sleep."

"Directions will do."

The administrator seemed ready to argue the point before relenting. "Follow the river past the market square, then the third alley on the right. Fourth house down, with the woven mat over the entrance."

"There's one other thing." Kobus reached inside his jacket and handed over the letter he'd agreed to deliver to settle an old debt with the army.

Ewoud's face hardened as he looked over the envelope and its military seal. He looked at Kobus. "Did they say anything to you?"

"No. But the Blackjack regiment was in town. They were packing up when we sailed."

Ewoud took a long, deep breath, as if seeking a strength that wouldn't come. "Until tonight, then." He walked away with determined strides, letter clutched in one hand.

Kobus adjusted his pack and set off down the pier. He wouldn't see Harm again for a while, so he might as well explore the town.

Following the dirt street along the river and past the dockside warehouses led him to the market square. People cluttered the open space. Most hurried on their way, and the desperate cries of a lone hawker with a pushcart of boots, hats, and other work gear drew no attention. Around the edges of the square, small groups squatted in the shade, many with children. Armed men wandered through the press, always in twos or threes. Some carried pistols, and all carried blades of some kind. Kobus didn't care for the way they surveyed the town and its denizens, and took care to avoid them as he skirted the edge of the square.

On the other side, he slipped into an alley and found a building under construction. His mood darkened further when he saw the workers were all indigenes, working mostly naked under the frequent abuse of the overseers' cudgels.

Kobus came to a small workshop next to one of the older, sturdier buildings. He heard the muted roar of a fire even from a distance, but the quality of the forge he found inside surprised him.

"You looking to have work done?"

"Maybe," Kobus replied, facing the old man coming around from the back. "What kind of work do you do?"

"Not much, these days, but I do tools of all kinds. Solid blades that hold an edge without shattering. I could grind out some bolts for that monstrosity you're carrying," he said, with a nod at Kobus's crossbow.

"What do you take for payment?"

The old man's eyes narrowed. "Only a man just off the boat would ask that question. There's only one thing that goes for payment here. Gemstones."

Kobus scowled. "What gemstones?"

"You're a lucky man, to find Old Man Bartel in a charitable mood," the old man growled. "Aqualites. Ghost eyes, the nobles call them. In the jungle, in the rivers and the creeks, you can find them. One was brought back—big as your fist, it was. They're worth a fortune to the courts in Providus. To folks here, they're the only way to get home."

Kobus straightened. "There's no other way?"

Bartel shrugged. "Sometimes, a loving relative at home prepays for passage back. Sometimes, they even get what they pay for. A nice collection of tribal goods can get you home, but only if you get the good stuff, and nowadays, you're just as likely to be murdered in the attempt. Otherwise, if you want to leave, you better do what you came here for." He gave an ugly grin. "Make your fortune. Then hand it over."

"Bartel!" Five men in worn, faded work gear advanced on the blacksmith, who faced them with dirty arms crossed.

"What do you want, Teun?" Bartel said.

Teun cast an uncertain glance at Kobus before he spoke: "We're going out today. Us five. Maybe one more. We're heading down the southern fork in the river. Where they found the first load."

Bartel shook his head even before Teun finished. "That was before those things started showing up," he said. "It's too far by half. Nobody's made it since, and you won't, either."

"With proper weapons, we'll make it." Teun stepped closer, nostrils flaring. "I'll pay you double. Triple, I don't care."

"Right. I just have to wait for you to make it back. Except you won't, and I'll waste my hard work, and my iron, and my coke. I won't be able to make a damn thing, or sell any, and I'll be stuck here that much longer." He spat to the side, then thrust his head forward. "You want weapons, Teun, I'll make you weapons. You just have to pay me _before_ you get to use 'em."

Teun's upper lip twitched. "Greedy bastard," he growled. "If you let us all die, who'll get the stones to trade you, eh?"

"Somebody will get lucky. And I'll be ready to supply them, won't I? Because my work won't be rotting in the jungle next to your corpse."

Teun glared for another moment before stalking away, followers in tow. One of his compatriots called over his shoulder, "You're killing us, Bartel. Sleep well tonight."

Bartel gave a rough sigh and turned back to Kobus. "I used to do that, you know. Give credit. I'd make some fine crossbows, real good ones, not like the junk we trade to the indigenes, and heavy spears for the beasties. And I'd sit, and wait. And they wouldn't come back." He fell silent, staring at nothing for a long moment. "Except one. One did. He'd had a good run with his mates. Brought back a rare haul." Bartel shook his head and gave a soft laugh. "Just enough to get them and all their families home. Not a stone left for old man Bartel."

"Why'd you come out here, old timer? Why did anybody?"

"People signed the contract for all kinds of reasons. The same reasons they didn't read it too closely. Fortune seekers, poor folk looking for a place to start over. Fugitives. I had my reasons, but I'm done. Tired. If I don't leave this place, it'll be the end of me." He shivered. "I feel it in my bones."

"I don't have any stones," Kobus said. "But if it's all you take, I'll see about getting some." He took a quarrel from his belt and held it out. "Take a look. Can you make more?"

Bartel took the projectile and turned it over. "Heavy," he muttered. "Looks like..." The point split with a snap, turning into a star. The old smith smiled. "Oh, that's a thing of beauty. Spring-loaded. I can make this."

"Keep that one. I'll be back in a day or two with funds. We can talk price."

Bartel looked him over and gave a slow nod. "I'll be waiting, then."

He left, heading for the alley Ewoud had indicated, even more eager than usual to leave town for the wilderness.

End of preview

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About the author

E.J. Heijnis wanted to be a writer ever since he read his first book and discovered one could make those for a living. He moved from his home in the Netherlands to the United States to be with the woman he loves, and pursued a rewarding career in retail management before deciding to live his lifelong dream of writing and publishing fiction. He lives in California with his wife and two disreputable cats. _In Nadir's Shadow_ is his first published novel.

Website: ejheijnis.com

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