(Genesis) Chapter 14

Pride: Genesis

Chapter 14

Counterstrikes

It took a little over an hour to get the troops briefed and aboard the Firecrown. Captain Syndar was on the bridge; her people were packed tightly in the cargo hold. Echo Fox Security was a company of one hundred marines, all of whom were intensely irritated at how the last week had been going for them. And now they were all stuffed together like sardines aboard a tiny Endeavor-class that couldn't possibly be less like a troop cruiser. The venomous energy was palpable.

Keith didn't envy the pirates one bit.

"Alright, everyone got the plan?"

"Yes sir," Sven answered immediately as Lance looked up from his preflight checks and gave a thumbs-up.

"Fuck yeah."

There was a short crackle of static as Hunk chimed in. "Shoot down the bad missiles, open the cargo doors once we're in their bay, laugh our butts off?"

"Yeah, something like that." Actually it pretty much was exactly like that. Shaking his head, Keith turned to Captain Syndar, who looked a little uncomfortable. He'd offered her the vacant gunnery seat, but she'd declined, saying being on the bridge was strange enough without sitting down. Fair enough. "Sounds like we're good to go, Captain. Is there anything else you'll need from us?"

She considered that for a moment. "I have to assume we're going to need everyone we've got to take this carrier. I'm not about to let any of you spacers help with the combat, but if one of you could come along as our comms liaison it would be helpful."

Oh would it? Keith couldn't help grinning at that. "I believe I've got just the person for you." He flipped the comm switch. "Doc! Where are you?"

"Staying in my quarters and not getting hurt, boss." Jace's tone dripped with irritation.

"Not this time, Gregory. Suit up, you're going with them as comms liaison. And an extra medic, if needed."

"…Wait, really?" Even as he spoke, there was a clicking in the background that Keith was pretty certain was a gun belt being strapped on.

"Do I really have to repeat myself, Doc? Move it."

"Better fucking believe I'm moving."

Lance looked up from the preflight checks, grinning. He was slightly jealous that Jace got to go snipe at pirates, but he was going to get to do more fancy flying so it balanced out. Next to him, Sven looked a bit less pleased by the situation. "Be careful, please."

"Aww, bromance."

"Can it, McClain," Keith snapped; it looked like Sven had been on the verge of saying something similar, though probably much more polite.

He hadn't preemptively told their medic to can it, which had been a significant oversight. "I'm always careful. Not like you people with your cat-pigs and thorns and freezing water puzzles."

"You were part of the thorns, dude!"

"You were the one who got stabbed by them."

"Don't forget the others and their lightning rods." Keith couldn't help a slight smirk.

Apparently that was what it took to get Flynn on the comms. "No, it's okay if we forget that."

Sven nodded emphatically. He did not want to think about the lightning gauntlet ever again, if he could help it. "Can we focus, please?"

"Yeah, how about you people just focus and don't get shot down while we're having all the fun slugging pirates?"

Syndar was looking around at all of them, all too clearly trying to decide if she even wanted to ask what was going on. Keith wasn't going to volunteer anything; they had forewarned her they were just as crazy as advertised. "All right. Let's go. Echo Fox, Firecrown is ready to depart." With a screech of protest, the dented bay doors slid open… as far as they'd go, anyway. It would do. "McClain, take us out. Fly like we're trying to escape their blockade, but don't get too far from that carrier."

Lance nodded. "Heading towards the carrier." The engines spooled up with a shriek, and the Firecrown launched from the bay.

It didn't take long for the pirates to notice.

"Fighters incoming on an intercept pattern. Routing extra power to shields." Flynn's voice went flat. "It'll slow us down, might make us easier to capture. Oh no."

"Oh noes!" Lance agreed in his most dramatic tone, angling them away from the fighters. A round of snickers went through the bridge as Keith shook his head. Now that they were moving, he was too on edge to laugh.

"I really hope this works," he said quietly, drawing a sympathetic look from Sven.

"It'll work."

Everything was going according to plan so far, at least. Two more fighters were shadowing the first two, moving to cut off their initial evasion attempt, but they hadn't fired yet. "Engineering, report."

"Detecting missile locks, but they ain't firin'."

"They seem a little reluctant to get close. Maybe flyboy should mock them about how he's about to break their blockade, again."

"Dude, now that's just spiteful."

"We've hit the intel failure trifecta, I am spiteful."

"I'm great at mocking," Lance said brightly as he pulled them around again. Making the easiest moves to avoid the fighters was aiming them straight at the carrier in the distance. "They're trying to force us in the carrier's direction. I could get us out of it, but I guess I have to be a crappy flier."

"Yes," Captain Syndar agreed dryly. "The plan won't work very well if you accidentally escape from them."

"Keep it steady, McClain."

"Steady," he repeated with a low growl, gritting his teeth. All his instincts were screaming at him. It would be so easy to shake these guys, but that wasn't his job right now. His job was to do the exact opposite of, well, his usual job. And it sucked.

"We don't have to make it easy on them, but let's stick to the plan…" Keith frowned slightly. "…for a change."

"We always stick to the plan, boss! The plan's just usually kinda crazy."

Sven raised a skeptical eyebrow at the comms as if Hunk could actually see him. "I disagree with that statement. When do we ever have an actual plan?"

"Depends," Flynn offered, "how far in advance do we have to come up with it before it's considered a plan?"

Syndar eyed Keith, who was shaking his head in exasperation, again. "Are they always like this?"

"Unfortunately, yes." That got Sven's skeptical look turned on him, too—as if he was really that much better.

As the others debated, Lance had been making a few half-assed evasive maneuvers that the fighters easily cut off. They were getting close now. Too close, really. He made a real evasive maneuver to get a little distance, and one of the Sparrows fired a stream of glittering tracer rounds across their bow. Blue-white light splashed over them as the warning shot was vaporized by their shields.

Static crackled through the bridge; one of the pirates was broadcasting on an open frequency. "You're already fish in a barrel, Endeavor-class. Don't be idiots. We're gonna open our bay doors, and you're gonna fly right in… or we'll scatter you over a couple square kilometers of space."

Lance growled again and tightened his grip on the controls. He wanted nothing more than to make these amateurs eat those words… soon. They'd get theirs very soon. He lined the Firecrown up with the landing lights flashing on the carrier and glanced back at Keith. "Okay, so we're flying right in. This is the best thought out plan we've ever had."

The fighters fell in to hurry them along as they approached the carrier. Too close, again. Lance gritted his teeth harder as they actually bumped the Firecrown, a constant blaze of blue light washing over them as they moved inside the shields.

"They're gonna pay for that," Keith growled.

"Fucking morons," Lance agreed, correcting their course from the jostling. Ship-to-ship contact was, aside from being a fairly bad idea on safety grounds even in zero-g, a calculated insult. "We're just waltzing in, it's making them cocky."

"Well," the bossman said with a dark smirk, "they're in for a shock, aren't they?"

Syndar was flicking her fingers against her thighs in what seemed to be a nervous gesture. Looking more carefully, Keith saw sharp black talons extending and retracting. "My people have a few hull breach charges. Once we're in, we'll blow the bay door so you can get back out. Don't wait around."

"We'll be ready." The Firecrown getting back out to deal with the fighters was an important bit of the plan in itself. The more chaos, the better. The fact that it would be very satisfying to splash some of these bastards was just an added bonus.

The carrier bay door slid open, and despite the crowding from the fighters Lance kept their course steady. At the last moment the Sparrows peeled away, and they settled into a smooth landing on the scorched steel of the bay floor.

The doors clanged shut behind them.

"Power down the engines. Have that jump start ready to go." Keith turned to Syndar. "Okay, Captain. It's all you now."

She nodded. "Good luck, Commander." With that she ran back to join her people, dark feathers streaming behind her.

Lance watched her go, then stretched and rolled his shoulders with a slight groan. "Man, flying crappy really tenses me up." Keith snickered, and Sven rolled his eyes with an affectionate grin.

"Only a couple of guards here to greet us," Flynn reported. "They're either arrogant or understaffed."

"Or both," Hunk suggested. "You groundpounders ready to party?"

There was a brief stretch of silence, then Jace responded. "So ready, giant donut dude. Spring 'em."

Grinning, Hunk hit the cargo release button. Before the Firecrown's cargo doors had even finished opening, one hundred pissed off marines were flooding the bay like a swarm of angry wasps.

…Like there were other kinds of wasps, but anyway.

The chaos was visible on their external monitors. Both pirate guards had frozen in shock as the marines offloaded. One was scrambling to open the inner hatch—having a blazer rifle pointed at his head was definitely helping his attitude. The other ran to what looked like a comms panel, probably trying to sound an alarm. Several bullets beat him there, leaving the panel a smoking wreck.

"I almost feel sorry for 'em."

"I don't."

"Almost!"

"Charges are up," Jace reported as the inner hatch cycled open. "Ten seconds once we're in. Get out there and blow some fighters, and watch your fucking backs."

"Bring the engines up," Keith ordered. "McClain, the moment those doors open, fly. Let's show these pirates how it's done."

As if he really had to be told that. "Yeah, time to show these idiots what real flying looks like."

It took a remarkably short time for the marines to pour through the inner hatch, and the echoing clang as it shut coincided with the howling shriek of the engines coming back online. "Engines firing." Flynn's smirk was nearly audible. "Don't get hit."

Was that a challenge? Oh, that was totally a challenge. Smirking himself, Lance hit the throttles.

The bay door evaporated in a wave of flame, and the Firecrown shot through it into the fray.

⭑⭑⭑⭑⭑

Station security is boring, I said. What I wouldn't give for some action, I said.

Captain Syndar sprinted down the Leyte's main corridor, ducking and weaving in case anyone turned up to shoot at her. So far the pirates seemed more interested in running away. Good choice, in her opinion, though surrendering would've been even better.

It was all rushing back to her in the heat of the moment. She hadn't been in real combat for nearly two years. Several tours on the front line with the Andromeda Vanguard had won her a nice quiet waystation to babysit… and rapidly get bored of. Now if she could just not get herself killed here, maybe she'd request a transfer back to the front.

Maybe.

Maybe she'd retire.

"Delta Platoon reports starboard hangars secure. Moving to port."

That was a start. Her people had been peeling off as they moved through the ship, spreading through the carrier as rapidly as possible. She had no idea how well-equipped these pirates were, so they had to assume surprise was their only advantage. Surprise and sheer, overwhelming spite. Her own Able Platoon was heading for the bridge; she was leading the pack. With any luck, taking out the pirate leadership would end whatever resistance the rest of them felt like putting up.

Without luck… well, they'd still have the bridge.

Helpfully, the carrier's decks were clearly marked, and within five minutes of breaching the inner hull they'd reached the hatch to the bridge. About a dozen pirates were either handcuffed or dead in their wake. Not near enough. "It's been too easy. Assume they've all fallen back to here… either they'll freak when we come through or things will get ugly, and I'm betting on ugly. Dawson, come open this door."

"Roger that." The platoon's tech specialist came up and started hacking into the access panel.

While he worked Syndar looked over her people, eyes narrowed. They knew what to do; they'd drilled this enough they could all probably storm a bridge in their sleep. The only question was casualties. "Standard procedure. Gregory, hang back until you get the all clear."

"Sure." The Explorer Team medic slowly lowered his hand from his sidearm. He'd been all ready to charge with them. "Be careful in there, I only brought so many bandages." That earned him a playful elbow from the nearest trooper, which he returned with a smirk.

"Override successful. On your order, Captain."

Syndar looked over at Squad Three. They had the flashbang grenades. At their nods, she nodded as well. "Now!" The hatch slid open, half a dozen flashbangs sailed through, and her people surged through the hatch in a wave of light and thunder.

It went about as well as could be expected, really.

She'd been right; the pirates had been falling back to here. And there were a lot of them—they outnumbered her people at least two to one. To make matters worse, somewhere along the line they'd ripped many of the auxiliary consoles out of the bridge, leaving a wide open floor with no cover to speak of in sight. It wasn't great. And several of the pirates fired blindly despite being stunned, dropping a handful of her people and a couple of their own with unfocused fire.

None of that was going to make them any actual match for a full platoon of pissed off Alliance marines, but at least they could say they tried. The flashbangs alone weren't going to buy enough time to get this mess under control, though… Syndar grinned. Good thing they had one other trump card to play.

Poor bastards, they've got us right where we want them.

Pulling her helmet off—and throwing it at the nearest pirate just to add to the chaos—she let her feathers fan out winglike behind her and gave an inhuman screech. Several of the pirates outright screamed and dropped their guns, as if they'd never seen a half-breed before. Several others staggered back as the dizzying frequency hit them. Either way, her people knew damn well what to do, and were cuffing the afflicted pirates before they could recover.

Being half Ocypian wasn't the only reason for her success in the infantry, but it certainly didn't hurt.

The brief firefight, if it could be called that, was winding down now. People didn't usually become pirates because of their willingness to die in a hopeless battle. As she retrieved her helmet and watched her people mopping up, one pirate who'd ostensibly surrendered tried to make a run for it, bolting for the entry hatch.

Where did he think he was going? Hard to say. Not that it really mattered—as he disappeared through the hatch, there was a burst of swearing and a few dull thuds, then he came sailing right back onto the bridge.

Gregory appeared in the hatchway and crossed his arms. "You could've just said you were done in here, you know. Your messenger kind of sucked."

…Okay, so that was why Commander Kogane had picked him to come along. "We weren't done in here, but I suppose you can come in. Welcome to the party."

"Hell of a party." The medic immediately went to one of the injured marines, digging through his medkit with one hand while checking vitals with the other. "Gotta say, and I mean this purely professionally, that bird thing was pretty hot."

Several of her people snickered; the thought of threatening to purely professionally rip his balls off for that came and went. "Thank you, I think. Why don't you check in with your team before I demonstrate it on you?"

His eyes widened slightly and he became very interested in his comm set. "Bridge is secure, you people still intact out there? You better be." A brief pause. "They've splashed three fighters. Out of ammo now, but they've got shields holding and a nice little parade going."

Syndar had found her way to the main viewscreen while Gregory was making his report. Sure enough, the Firecrown was clearly visible weaving its way between fighters, practically toying with them even though it wasn't the one with the weapons. As she watched, the Endeavor broke away and sped up, the Sparrows scrambling behind it like a flock of confused ducklings.

Huh. Maybe they really are that good. And that crazy.

"Anderson, take the guns. Gregory, warn your friends that we're going to deprive them of their entourage." She considered that message for a moment. "I hope that won't disappoint them too much."

"It will."

⭑⭑⭑⭑⭑

Lance was thoroughly enjoying himself. It wasn't that he was showing off… just because he could push the clunky Endeavor-class shuttle into maneuvers a fighter pilot would envy, just because he could have these idiots who'd called them fish in a barrel dancing like puppets on a string trying to keep up… okay, maybe it was that he was showing off. Just a little.

"They're getting the guns up," Jace reported. "Try not to fly into any bullets while you're out there mocking these pricks, I will never let you live it down."

"Pfft, we've got shields."

"Flyboy, if you fly us into capital-caliber bullets because we've got shields, I will come up there and personally toss you out an airlock."

"I'm not going to! Sheesh. Tough crowd." As the fighters tried to split into a pincer formation for about the tenth time, he brought them around and flew straight at the carrier. "Just tell your new besties not to miss, Jace."

Nearly before he'd even finished the statement, the carrier's turrets blazed to life. A stream of heavy slugs hit one of the Sparrows and cut through one wing, which wouldn't have much mattered in space if it weren't for the fuel tank contained there. The fighter exploded.

"Nice carrier you've got here," came Captain Syndar's voice over an open frequency. "If anyone wants to surrender, we'll open a bay for you."

None of the fighters seemed inclined to take her up on it. But the display did seem to have convinced them they didn't want a fight… the remaining fighters broke off, their afterburners leaving white streaks of flame in the darkness.

Lance frowned, watching them vanish, tensing in case they turned around to try to catch the Firecrown by surprise. But they didn't. "I think they're retreating."

"Love to know where they think they're retreating to." Flynn's eyes were locked on his own monitors as the Sparrows disappeared from radar.

Hunk came up and looked over his shoulder. "Probably another carrier intel thinks ain't out there."

"Yeah, probably." Truthfully he had a pretty good idea what they were doing; while fighters were never truly hyperspace-capable, most could be fitted with a 'hyperskip' drive that allowed them to slip in for just a few light years. Most pirates—the ones who hadn't somehow dug up an actual carrier to stage from—used them extensively. All in all, he might not know where the Sparrows were going, but he knew they were now someone else's problem.

Maybe that was why Kogane sounded frustrated. "Yeah. There they go." There was a dull thump that might have been him punching his armrest. "Okay, how are things going on your end, Doc?"

"They're still working on securing the cargo bays. Captain says you can come pick me up if you want, their medics can handle things, they'll be doing a room-by-room sweep and that'll take awhile. I'd ask to join 'em anyway, but you people might leave me here."

"How will the marines get back to the station when they're done?"

"There are shuttles here—and that other cargo ship she told us they captured."

"Okay." Keith was in fact frustrated that they'd let the fighters escape, but still. Given the mission objectives they'd done pretty well… he managed a small smirk. "McClain, take us back in, let's make a pickup."

"Do we have to?" Lance asked, and Sven shot him a look of disapproval that could have put several Academy instructors to shame. He answered with an unapologetic grin, though it faded slightly as the comms crackled.

"Think about it, bro. If we don't pick him up we'd hafta deal with him bein' right about something."

"And he'll catch up with us and murder us."

"Both good points."

"Not to mention shots we don't need…"

"Don't give him ideas, boss."

"You assholes know you have the comms open, right?"

"Actually yes."

Their second landing on the carrier was much more agreeable, what with the lack of fighters jostling them. And not having to pretend to be bad at flying. Syndar had opened up a different bay, since blowing the door had left the last one pretty much unusable. Lance leaned back and stretched, much less tense this time. "Get a move on, Jace. Meter's running."

"Oh, fuck you." The medic appeared at the inner hatch and ran for the ship; a minute later he arrived on the bridge, walking up and swatting Lance on the back of the head. He was grinning, though. "That was awesome!"

"Fuck yeah it was!" Lance laughed, then rubbed the back of his head and glared slightly. "And ow."

Flynn interrupted before they could get started. "As much fun as that was, we're down to something just shy of fumes here. We'd better get back and refuel."

Keith grimaced, then nodded. "McClain, back to the station. Let's refuel and resupply what we can."

Firing the engines back up, their pilot shook his head. "We just got here. Now I really feel like a taxi driver."

"I'm sure Doc will buy you a cabbie hat when we get back to Earth."

"…Boss, I have way better things to spend my money on."

"Like what?"

"Don't ask him that!" Lance groaned.

"You really shouldn't ask him that," Sven agreed.

Keith arched an eyebrow, looking between them. "And why shouldn't I?"

"Oh let's see." Jace glowered at nothing in particular, counting on his fingers. "Hookers, beer, food, gym time, t-shirts with rude words on them, souvenir shot glasses," Sven unbuckled and started walking over, "tiny sculptures of penguins frolicking, baseball caps that don't fit," Lance stood and turned to face him, "books about 22nd century spaghetti farming…"

At pretty much the same moment, Lance whacked him on the back of the head while Sven got in range to flick his ear. "That. That right there is why you don't ask him that."

…Good reason. "Spaghetti farming?" Keith repeated blankly, then his head snapped up. "Wait, hookers? You're a medic!"

"…And?" Jace gave the boss a look that way just daring him to answer that.

Either he didn't catch it, or he took the dare. "Diseases?"

"Boss, not that anyone's shocked you've never spent time with one, but that's a fucking archaic stereotype that—"

"—Language," Sven interrupted in an almost bored tone—

"—Viking, he insulted the honor of my hookers!"

"I did not insult their honor. Your sanity, on the other hand…"

"And so what if he did?! Don't use dishonorable words to defend their honor!"

The Firecrown had remained flying as Lance got up to give their medic his well-deserved smack, and had overshot the station by… well, quite a bit. As the engines continued burning, the fuel status light flickered on the piloting console—but nobody noticed until Flynn interrupted the argument, a shrill alarm audible in the background. "Station. Now. Don't make me come up there!"

"…Crap." Lance vaulted back into his seat and brought them around, shaking his head.

Jace was staring at Sven in disbelief. "…We'll make a human out of you yet, dude. It's gonna be a long, hard journey, but we'll do it."

"I am human. I'm just a human with manners."

Getting them back on course, Lance looked over his shoulder to join back in—and possibly to question that assertion—when a belated realization hit him. "Yeah, you even know who Iron Man is. …How do you know who Iron Man is?"

Sven blinked. "I read graphic novels as a child."

"Viking," Hunk objected, "they're called comic books."

"No, they're not. There are comic books and then there are graphic novels."

"No, there's comics and then there's bigger comics."

"No—"

The bridge lights went out.

In fact, every non-essential system on the bridge went out.

"Oh. Oh no." Flynn's voice was utterly deadpan. "We're critically low on fuel. Who could have seen that coming?"

"…Sorry, sir." Sven went back and sat at his monitor, secretly relieved to be rescued from the discussion.

"Not one bit sorry." Smirking, Jace dropped into the empty command chair.

Flynn laughed. "Yes you are, you're just not apologizing."

Eyeing Jace sitting in his chair, Keith privately agreed with Flynn's assessment. Whether this was adrenaline from dealing with the pirates, a collapse in discipline with their mission nearly over, or just his team being themselves was impossible to say. Whatever it was, he'd feel much better about it without the specter of being stuck adrift in space. "Get us to the damn station already, McClain. Before we lose something critical."

"We're almost there." The Firecrown's engines gave a howl that was more like a final whimper, and they glided their way back to the docking bay.

⭑⭑⭑⭑⭑

With the siege broken, Echo Fox Waystation was very quiet. Given its location and purpose, there was no sign of a civilian population anywhere in the vicinity. Nothing aboard but essential facilities and supplies. It was hardly a place to relax after a grueling mission; it was suitable for its task of provisioning scout ships, and not much more.

But, for the moment, it was what they had.

Flynn had arranged for refueling, then gone off to explore. He'd only been on a handful of Cache-class stations before, and he'd always been much too busy to wander about. What he really wanted to see was the generator—Caches were powered by ancient magnetic mirror reactors, gifted by the Kolaliri when Earth's fusion technology had been in its infancy—but he highly doubted he'd be given approval, and he didn't want to get in the way. He made his way to the concourse deck instead.

It was almost deserted. The exchange and the commissary were empty. A small group of Bataxi 'pilgrims' had an enclave nearby, selling small luxuries like books and spices; that wasn't unusual for deep space outposts, but nobody was taking them up on it just now. On the far end of the deck a small circle of off-duty workers were kicking a soccer ball around. He imagined there would usually have been groups of marines milling about, but they would be otherwise occupied for awhile yet.

What passed for the station's bar—maybe the most essential facility—was at the far end of the concourse, and just as quiet as everywhere else. He counted three people. Two were sitting at a table and having a hushed argument; he thought he heard the words quarterback and beat the spread. The third was an alien sitting alone at the bar, pale green fingers wrapped around a tall glass.

The bartender noticed him and motioned him in. "You're with the Explorer Team, right? Come on in, have one on the house."

Now that was a logical progression he'd never expected to hear. With a small grin he took a seat at the bar. "That happy to have some excitement around here?"

"You kidding? This place is usually allergic to excitement." She indicated the bottles behind her. "Have a preference?"

"Not at all." As soon as he said it, the thought occurred to him that Lance would be mortified. Maybe he should take the opportunity to learn something. "You have a recommendation?"

"Always go with the Dark Pegasus 7, if you ask me." At his nod, she poured a glass and pushed it over, and he tried a cautious sip.

Tastes like… beer. Sorry, flyboy.

At least that part of the matter was normal. Being here felt a bit strange, uncomfortable… it was funny how quickly things changed. Prior to being banished to the Explorer Team, he'd served on two very different mainline vessels. Downtime on stations like this was about the only commonality between pirate-hunting frigates and merchant marine cargo haulers. Now, apparently, he was back to it again. Was he feeling nostalgic?

…No. Definitely not.

He hated downtime, at least when there were more interesting things to do, and this mission had certainly not been lacking for interesting. The only thing interesting here was…

Know what? You may as well take advantage while you're here. Who knows what comes next on this crazy ride?

Finishing his beer and nodding to the bartender, he went in search of the station's reactor.

⭑⭑⭑⭑⭑

The interstellar age had resurrected a surprising number of extinct institutions, and one of the crowning examples was 'snail mail'. Subspace communications were a thing, but it turned out transmitters only had so much data capacity and averaged around the size of a house; not exactly convenient. The Alliance subspace network prioritized military and government communications, and civilian subspace facilities tended to only link a small number of planets. Physical cargo circuits, on the other hand? They were everywhere.

More often than not, it was just as efficient to write a damn letter.

That was Jace's habit, and he'd finished and sealed it up before thinking about the fact that the station's subspace transmitter probably wasn't doing a whole lot of anything just now. Oh well. Before long it would certainly be occupied with Captain Syndar giving intel a good ass-chewing, anyway. He went looking for the station's drop box.

Asking around got him pointed to one of the lower decks, a forest of steel girders that he would've pegged as incomplete construction if it weren't on a fucking space station. It better not be incomplete, anyway. It looked more like a service floor of some sort. But on the plus side, there were windows.

Looking out the nearest viewport he could see the carrier in the distance, a faint glimmer of gray against the darkness. Which just annoyed him all over again. The marines were probably almost done by now…

He could've stayed. He should've stayed. You could never have too many medics. And the marines were his people, weren't they?

…Weren't they?

Jace resented the fuck out of everything about this stupid assignment. A fucking Explorer Team. He wasn't over it, he wasn't going to be over it. He didn't belong here. He wasn't the one who'd fucked up. And finally there he'd been, sent to a nice normal line unit for a few wonderful moments, falling back into the groundpounder banter like he was back on Athales with the Regulars…

And they'd bored him.

Fuck.

He hadn't really gotten attached to this bullshit assignment, had he?

"Get it together, asshole," he muttered to his reflection in the window. "You'll never hear the end of it if you stop bitching about this job."

Frowning, he looked at the letter in his hand. It wasn't the only thing he'd been writing lately. His transfer request was almost finished—he really had no idea if it could accomplish anything or not, if there was any recovery from being banished to an Explorer Team, but it couldn't hurt to try. Unless he changed his mind.

Of course he wasn't going to change his mind.

He was definitely thinking about it.

"Porra…"

Why would this come on being stuck here in the middle of fucking nowhere? He should be infuriated to set foot on a station like this, it was the very worst of this job. He belonged on the ground, in the middle of battle, not on some spaceborne tin can.

Or not…

He couldn't leave, really. What would these people do without him? Probably eat giant maple bacon donuts and ignore scratches until they turned funny colors. Okay, they did that anyway. But who would fix them up afterwards? Some other medic who'd probably earned his spot fair and square and didn't know which was the business end of a syringe? And Sven might literally die. He'd lose the immunity he was building, hear someone swearing, and spontaneously combust into a pile of spoons.

Yeah. Yeah, that was his story and he was sticking to it. Maybe he wasn't going anywhere after all.

Maybe you're not gonna run away from the only person who actually seems to like you. Again.

Scowling, he flipped the switch on his commset. "You're welcome, Viking!"

"…Pardon?"

"You heard me." Jace switched the comms off and went looking for the gym.

⭒⭒⭒⭒⭒

The tunnels were dark and damp, and just chilly enough to be uncomfortable.  They had been created as escape routes, and a possible temporary hiding place if the castle came under attack. They had never been intended for the number of people they now held: for two days the Golden Knights had been leading every survivor they could find from the nearby villages, and even some from the capital ten miles away. As large as the main tunnel was, it was crowded with people, huddled together and shivering as much from fear as cold.

King Alfor stood in the mouth of an adjoining tunnel, looking over the scene with a grim set to his jaw. Though despite it all, warmth sparked in his eyes whenever they fell on his daughter; Allura was moving amongst the people, distributing blankets and warm drinks as best she could. Their supplies weren't meant to accommodate so many, but they could last a few days.

After that? Well… something would have to change. Either the invaders would sate their bloodthirst and leave, or…

Or what?

The question went unanswered. Footsteps echoed in the tunnel behind him. "King Alfor! King Alfor… Your Highness…" A young Golden Knight skidded to a halt in front of him, bowing low, panting from exertion. He was still wearing his ceremonial armor—the delicate filigree and gleaming gems looked downright ridiculous here.

"Catch your breath, seden," he instructed after glancing at the rank stars on his shoulder. "You mustn't injure yourself. What do you have to report?"

After taking a few moments to recover, the boy straightened. "The Bright Angels launched a counterattack on the Drule fleet this morning. It…" He swallowed hard. "It went very poorly, my King."

Alfor clenched his jaw. He'd heard of the plans for the counterattack, and had known it was a long shot. That didn't make hearing it any easier. "Go on. Tell me everything."

The knight lowered his head. "The Angels attacked what was believed to be the enemy command ship. They did inflict significant damage, and succeeded in separating it from the fleet. Then…" He paused, visibly steeling himself. "The Spirit of Harmony engaged, sire."

"The Spirit of Harmony is here?" Nobody had been able to make contact with the warship since the attack. But the brief flicker of hope was tempered by the knight's warning. The counterattack had not gone well. "Was it lost?" he asked calmly, hoping to ease the boy's mind; he looked like he wanted anything but to continue the report.

It didn't help. "Y… yes, sire. But you don't understand. It engaged our fighters."

For a moment, Alfor was too stunned to respond. Only a moment. It answered so much. He slowly closed his eyes, taking a few deep breaths to steady himself. "I see." If the warship had been compromised, the invaders would have had access to the defense network. He couldn't quite believe any Arusian would willingly cooperate with the enemy, but they wouldn't have needed to. The Drules were bombarding civilian settlements, they wouldn't hesitate to draw all the blood they needed to get past the genetic safeguards. "Do you know its status now?"

"Yes, sire. The Angels prioritized denying our own weapons to the enemy. It was brought down over the mountains, but it bought the command ship time to escape danger."

Alfor nodded. It wasn't exactly a victory, but it wasn't a full defeat either. "And the Angels?"

"Routed, my King. They fought to the last."

So be it. Murmuring a prayer for the lost, the king opened his eyes again. There was only one hope left… perhaps there had always been only one hope, but their resources and time to hold out for it were slipping away. He was going to have to act himself. "Rest a bit and take that armor off before you return to the surface. You can't protect anyone if you don't see to your own welfare." He gave the knight's shoulder a reassuring squeeze. "Arus will endure. We will see to it."

The boy didn't look fully convinced, but he did look slightly encouraged. "Yes, sire."

Watching the knight go, Alfor turned and beckoned Allura to him; she'd already been on her way, having noticed the report. One look at his grim expression was enough. "More bad news?" she asked quietly.

"The Spirit of Harmony was captured. It and the Bright Angels are lost." He wouldn't—he couldn't—try to shelter her from the truth. She gasped softly, but nodded in understanding. "Still no word from the other provinces, for good or ill."

"It hasn't been that long."

"True enough." It seemed unlikely things were any better elsewhere, but at least some of the provincial military forces might be intact. The Drules couldn't have hit everywhere at once. "We could hear from someone else any moment."

Allura nodded, looking up at him. "What do we do now?"

"I must leave the tunnels in your care." He brushed her hair from her eyes and smiled gently. "Keep our people safe, and be strong, Allura. I know you will."

Her eyes widened. "What? Where are you going?"

"I can't answer that." He didn't fully know where his tasks now would take him. "But I have to oversee what's left of the defenses, and with any luck…" His hand went to his pendant for a moment, an unconscious gesture. "…I may be able to find us more answers."

"Answers to what?"

Alfor shook his head. He couldn't make any promises here. And if she got any time to think in the midst of all this chaos, she would figure it out easily enough.

The lions couldn't sleep forever… could they?

⭒⭒⭒⭒⭒

What had once been deep within the Forest of Altair had abruptly become the edge of the woods. Only a few smoldering tree trunks remained to hint that the border had once been nearly a mile away. The flame that had been raining down seemed to have finally ended, the huge shadows that had blotted out the stars moving elsewhere. Now there was only eerie silence, and no movement to be seen.

No, perhaps a bit of movement…

A dark banewolf pushed her nose deep into the debris at the forest's outskirts, shoving dirt and broken branches aside, growling in concentration. Her snow-white mate paced around her, watching the sky, occasionally offering a low bark or yip of encouragement. What had happened was far beyond their ability to grasp, and whether the fires might come again they surely couldn't know. But they knew one thing, the most important thing.

They had a duty to the forest, and the forest would suffer no more death this day.

Finally the dark banewolf yipped in triumph, burrowing deep into the hole she'd made and dragging out a red-haired girl by her collar. She was breathing raggedly, but alive; the pale banewolf whimpered and licked her exposed skin, searching for blood, snuffling in satisfaction when he found none.

Larmina woke to a wet nose in her face.

"Okay okay, I'm up! What—" Her indignation was cut off as she realized exactly what she was looking at. Two deep golden eyes in a furry face, and sharp fangs glinting in the moonlight. "…What in the five hells?" She scrambled back and ran into something very hot, burning into her back and causing her to gasp in pain.

The huge white wolf in front of her yipped, and she felt another wet, cold snout behind her, pushing her forward and calming the burns. If anything it only threw her that much more off balance—and how could it not? She had no idea where she was or how she'd gotten here. The last thing she remembered was being in the forest. She'd been there for days, listening to the roars from above, not daring to risk leaving cover.

Now…?

The wolf retreated, sitting back on its haunches and yipping almost reproachfully at her. Something dark moved at her side; a second wolf, this one darker than the night around them. Larmina drew a long, steadying breath, studying them and trying to stay calm. Only one thing was coming to mind. She'd seen regular forest wolves before. These were certainly not that. Which meant…

"Are… are you banewolves?"

As soon as she asked, she felt silly. What was she expecting them to do, answer?

The black one yipped.

That was an answer.

For a moment all she could do was stare at them, stunned. They were every bit as majestic as the legends had said… but she didn't remember any legends about them understanding Arusian or rescuing lost royalty. Usually very much the opposite. Whatever she'd run into before was blocking her retreat, so finally she lowered her head slightly. "It, um… it's an honor," she whispered, swallowing hard and hoping the gesture wouldn't backfire.

It's an honor. Nanny would love seeing you treat banewolves with more respect than people.

If Nanny's alive.

She nearly choked on that thought.

Lifting her head, she saw the banewolves looking at her quizzically… then both dipped their heads in return. Well. They were supposed to be intelligent, possibly even divine beings. May as well run with it and hope a wrong move wouldn't get her eaten.

"So um, where am I? How did I get out of the forest? Do you know?" All that got her was a confused snuffle. "Okay sure, that's fair. Do you mind if I stand up?"

More snuffles. Okay. Slowly, trying to look as non-threatening as possible, she rose to her feet… and collapsed with a yelp as her shaky legs betrayed her. Well, you've got the non-threatening part down. Sighing, she tried again, even more slowly. It didn't feel like anything was broken, just bruised—she just had to be careful.

Making it to her feet, she slowly turned and looked around. The hot thing behind her was a charred, unrecognizable hulk. Beyond that she could see a stretch of blackened earth, and the forest… the forest was all wrong. This wasn't what the border looked like.

"Five hells…"

It hit her like a whole new wave of bombardment. She hadn't left the forest. The forest just wasn't there.