“How long until the Infiltrator's particle cannon can fire?”

“Three minutes at the very most,” Alisa replied, “but I'm sure you know that's an eternity in this kind of fight. We just have to hope that Two and Three can hold out long enough for us to get to them.”

Rin gave her partner a dubious look. “The Infiltrator will kill the destroyer, but it's not going to be able to do much about the gunboats unless they get really stupid.”

“That's our job,” Alisa reminded her. “Let's get to work.”

[-]

More Stories by Corinn Heathers

[-]

Novels

Dawn of a New Astral Age

bound together

dimension fracture

Binary System

Binary System: Sirius (Coming Soon)

Short Works

The Dusty Man ~ K.J. Russell

“Tears”

Tides of Possibility ~ Edited by K.J. Russell

“Imaginary Numbers”

Tides of Impossibility ~ Edited by K.J. Russell & C. Stuart Hardwick

“Wind and Ash”

Binary System: Deneb

[-]

Corinn Heathers

Binary System: Deneb

[-]

copyright © 2015 by Corinn Heathers

Destructive Interference: ISO 953

copyright © 2015 by K.J. Russell

All rights reserved. No portion of this book may be reproduced without express written permission from the copyright holders, with the exception of short excerpts for review purposes.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and situations are the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

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/content/about

01

The Lancer-class heavy assault fighter hung suspended above the void, held in docking clamps that resembled the talons of some gigantic bird of prey. Subtle vibrations ran through the single-operator warship's hull, but the pilot inside scarcely noticed as the vessel's helium-3 fusion reactor slowly ramped up.

“Start the final pre-launch systems check,” Lieutenant Alisa Pierce ordered, her voice holding only the slightest hint of nervousness.

Less than a second after the words left her mouth, the image of a girl winked into existence on a small pedestal to the pilot's right. The volumetric projection was opaque and looked entirely solid, a three-dimensional avatar generated by the vessel's holographic imaging system. The holographic girl was delicate and doll-like in appearance, with shimmering, slightly wavy black hair and bright violet eyes. Her ruffled pink dress fluttered gently in a simulated breeze.

“Running rapid diagnostics suite. All boards showing green status,” the artificial girl reported. “Navigation and tactical mission data has been loaded into the system.”

Alisa smiled slightly and tightened her grip on the control stick. “Let's take a look at the entry points and threat probability chart.”

“Got it.”

A detailed map of the target star system instantly flickered into view on the three-dimensional overlay, giving her as much data as they had on the system's occupation force. Several two-dimensional windows appeared as well, scrolling various miscellany related to the mission. Alisa glanced at her AI operator's avatar as she considered her options, none of which were especially safe.

“There's a few dozen more besides these,” the operator pointed out. “How do we want to play this?”

Alisa's expression became pensive. “The 109 will be operating in-system. Put us as close as you can to their last known location.”

The AI operator grinned and leaned forward, the holographic projection “watching” the navigation display as she ran the calculations necessary to ensure they would accurately reach their destination.

The mission objective was located at the edges of a nearby star system, uninhabited save for a few unmanned helium-3 mining platforms around the system’s fourth planet, a hazy gas giant. Threat probability graphs were overlaid on top of the navigation display, highlighting most of the system map in an ominous dusky red color that indicated a strong enemy presence.

“Disengaging docking clamps. We should arrive in around an hour or so. You should get some rest while you can. This isn't going to be an easy mission by any stretch of the imagination.”

“I know, I know,” the woman murmured, her body jolted slightly as the docking clamps released her fighter from the carrier's grasp. The heavy fighter's engines lit up and Alisa felt herself pushed back into her padded command chair by the acceleration. As the vessel continued to accelerate, her perception of inertial forces began to fade as the fighter's own compensators activated. Without such protection, the tremendous g-forces experienced during acceleration and maneuvering could cause her to black out—or worse.

The AI operator raised a tiny hand. “We've reached initial cruise acceleration.”

Alisa closed her eyes for a moment, holding her helmet in her gloved hands. There wasn't any real sense in putting it on just yet, and her partner was correct—it would be advisable to rest her mind and eyes a bit before they began the mission proper.

“Go to sleep, Alisa,” the artificial girl chided her, wagging a holographic finger. Alisa sighed and cracked one steel-gray eye open, staring hard at the projection.

“I'm too worked up to just fall asleep, Rin,” Alisa complained.

The operator's holographic projection responded not with words, but by vanishing, then promptly dimming the lights in the fighter's control cabin. The instrument and tactical panels flickered once before disappearing, and finally the entire cockpit shell display powered down, leaving Alisa alone in the dim reddish glow of the emergency lighting.

“Okay, okay, I'll try to take a little nap…”

[-]

The sound of the proximity alarm woke Alisa from a light sleep, her eyes snapping open. She jolted upright, quickly checking the tactical displays to find the source of the alarm, but saw no hostile contacts within range.

The small projector pedestal booted back up and Rin's image materialized, throwing her tiny hands up in the air. “Rise and shine, Alisa!”

“Don't scare me like that,” Alisa growled, blushing slightly at her own overreaction. She knew she shouldn't actually feel bad about it—after all, she had been rigorously trained, and the proximity alarm was something that pilots should react strongly to. “You almost gave me a heart attack.”

Rin's lips curved into an amused smile. “Sorry. We're at the hypergate. Core injection complete: warp core is fully charged. We're ready to go as soon as you are.”

“Got it, Rin. Unlock the gate.”

“Sending authorization code to the gate now.” The hologram clicked her heels together and offered an exaggerated Alliance Navy salute. It looked completely ridiculous, bringing a faint smile to Alisa's face.

She watched through the shell display as the hyperspace transit gate unlocked and powered up. A point of brilliant white light began to form within the center of the enormous ring-shaped particle accelerator. The point grew brighter until the external cameras were forced to dim the image to avoid damaging Alisa's vision.

Alisa nudged the stick over, pointing the bow of the craft at the center of the gate. The space within the bounds of the gate had gone completely black, blocking all visible light behind it. It looked as if the gate had sliced away a great section of space-time, which wasn't all that far from the truth.

The Alliance's FTL drive design—both the ship-mounted warp cores and the stationary hyperspace gates—both created a temporary shortcut through the endless void between origin and destination. This technology made interstellar travel within human lifetimes possible, even routine, allowing for vast distances to be crossed in mere moments.

There were limitations, of course. The warp core contained within her vessel had only a fraction of the range the permanent hyperspace gates possessed. Incredible amounts of energy were required to bridge two distant points in space, and the longer the tunnel, the more energy was required to keep it stable enough for safe passage.

Alisa had only a superficial understanding of the theory behind FTL travel—she was a starfighter pilot, not a scientist. Her mission was to fly and fight. She pulled her short reddish-brown curls back into a flat bun before she donned her helmet. Alisa winced as the automatic seal attached it to her hardsuit, jerking her head back slightly.

“Making the jump,” Rin announced.

Brilliant white light flooded the interior shell display of the fighter's cockpit and Alisa felt a strange sensation, akin to falling from a great height. Time seemed to freeze around her and a subtle feeling of nausea washed over her, a telltale sign that the craft had successfully entered the imaginary area of near-infinitely curved space-time commonly known as hyperspace.

“We'll drop out of hyperspace near the edge of the system,” Rin informed her. “The flagship of the 109th should be waiting to greet us.”

Alisa nodded at the projection. “Keep weapons unlocked and charge up the burst banks, just to be on the safe side.”

“Burst capacitors at 83 percent and rising. Stage one hyperspace collapse complete, no problems so far. Reactivating external sensors.”

Mere seconds later, the shell display was suddenly filled with the ethereal image of the six planets and single, tiny red dwarf that made up the Lyris system. Alisa's fighter was still over a million kilometers away from the true “edge” of the system, but the vessel's navigational computer had been programmed with all the information she'd need about the layout and properties of this important star system. The unmanned mining platforms primarily produced helium-3, the standard fusion fuel used by the Alliance. These stations were critical to both the war effort and the civilian economy; humanity could not afford to let the Gray deprive them of such resources.

“Shunt burst banks to shields,” Alisa said as she keyed several commands into her console. The shell display shimmered weirdly as the vessel's shields were rapidly recharged, resulting in a brief burst of interference in the external sensors.

“I'm receiving an encrypted communications request from the 109th Expeditionary Force.” Rin waved a tiny hand dramatically as the comm system activated.

“Unidentified Lancer, this is Captain Miles of the Alliance destroyer Liberator. Please transmit your ID and identify yourself, over.”

“Copy that, Liberator. ID and clearance sending now.”

“Welcome to Lyris, Lieutenant Pierce,” the destroyer's captain responded after a moment, just long enough to check over her clearance codes. “I understand you've been sent here from Cygnus Station on special assignment as part of your advancement exam. I've been assigned as proctor for the test.”

“Understood.”

“You will be acting alone on this mission, Lieutenant. Your objectives have been transmitted to your vessel's operator. Good luck.”

The communications link was terminated. Alisa adjusted the flight path of her vessel and smoothly increased acceleration, heading toward the mission area. Her objectives were projected across the floating information display situated near the tactical display.

“To pass the exam, we need to destroy the FTL communications array, Objective One,” Rin explained, highlighting a large needle-like object on the tactical display. “It will be guarded, of course, and it absolutely must be destroyed before the defensive force knows you're here. Once real-time comm link has been severed, we are to eliminate any witnesses in order to further delay reinforcements and buy the 109 as much time as possible.”

Alisa grimaced at the tactical display. “That's a lot of gunboats.”

The starship design philosophy of the Gray—so named for the uniform gray color of everything they constructed—was markedly different than that of the Alliance. The smallest ships in their space fleet were roughly transport-sized miniature frigates most Alliance pilots called gunboats. Gray gunboats could operate independently, without a carrier nearby, for extended periods of time.

“If it was easy, it wouldn't be a very good test of our abilities,” Rin pointed out, breaking into Alisa's thoughts. “If we do it right, they won't have a chance to fight back.”

“I know.” Alisa took a deep breath and exhaled slowly. This was it; if she could complete this mission, her career path would shift from tedious garrison duty to a bright future in one of the Alliance's most celebrated fighter wings.

“Objective One will be in targeting range within two minutes,” Rin informed her. Alisa tapped a command into her tactical console, switching control to the heavy linear cannon that made up over fifteen percent of her vessel's total mass. The weapon fired composite metallic impactors devoid of internal electronics. The Gray would be unable to detect the shots until it was far too late.

The solo-Lancer strategy had been carefully planned for this task. Missiles, the usual long-range weapons of choice for space combat, were painfully visible on long-range sensors. This was fine for battles that were already joined, but Alisa could not risk the Gray detecting her until the FTL comm array was down. Without real-time communications, enemy reinforcements would be delayed for many hours, allowing the 109th Expeditionary Force to complete their mission, the first phase of a campaign to retake the system.

If Alisa succeeded, the Alliance would gain mountains of useful data on the occupation forces—particularly the status of the helium-3 platforms—all while undermining the Gray's control of the system. If she failed, the Gray would quickly reinforce the system's defenses and the expeditionary force would be forced to withdraw. Cut off from any Alliance support, Alisa's chances of survival would be slim indeed.

“Linear cannon fully charged. Safeties are off,” Rin said. Alisa nodded and placed her finger gently on the trigger. The tactical display showed the comm array and its guardian vessels, still a tremendous distance away, but this would pose no problem for Rin.

“Target locked!”

Alisa gritted her teeth and squeezed the trigger. The heavy fighter shuddered as the cannon flung a two-kilogram composite-metallic impactor streaking toward the target at a tiny fraction of the speed of light.

Rin's face was locked in grim concentration. “Twenty-eight seconds to impact.”

Alisa altered her vector, sending the craft into a dive relative to the path of the projectile she just fired. The fighter's main and maneuvering thrusters both flared brilliantly as she applied acceleration and covered ten thousand kilometers in mere seconds.

“Get me a firing solution, Rin,” Alisa said, pulling the nose of her craft up. She repositioned just slightly—at least, relative to the distance of her target—to try and fool the Gray defenders into believing they were facing more than one opponent.

“New target locked.”

“Firing.” Alisa pressed the trigger once more, sending a second slug unerringly toward the projected flight path of one of the enemy gunboats. She jammed the throttle to its stops and yanked hard on her control stick. The Lancer shot forward and changed directions simultaneously.

“Accelerating to cruise velocity,” Rin said, predicting her partner's desires as if they were of one mind—which was not far from the truth. The instantaneous sharing of information between the pilot and the rest of the vessel, utilizing the artificial intelligence operator as a go-between, was one of the Alliance's greatest military strengths against the Gray's brute-force, attritionary methods.

“Switching primary to gun pods.” Alisa wrenched back on the stick and sent her fighter shooting up at a high angle relative to her previous path, which would send her directly into the center of the Gray formation. The enemy ships became distinct on her shell display just as the two long-range shots hit their targets.

The communications array was hit first. Alisa's impactor tore the delicate device apart, breaching the large satellite's central reactor. Fragments of jagged gray metal blasted outward in the ensuing explosion. Alisa didn't need her sensors to know the blow had been fatal, but she checked them anyway. The tactical display told her all she needed to know: the array's containment field had failed, allowing the precious entangled particles to scatter off into space.

Despite the crippling loss of the comm array, the Gray gunboats immediately adjusted, searching for the unseen enemies that just destroyed what they were supposed to be guarding. There was no hint of fear or uncertainty in the mechanical precision with which they flew.

It was at that moment Alisa's second shot found a target, blasting through the lead Gray gunboat as if the vessel's thickly-armored hull was made of tissue paper. The impactor ruptured the gunboat's reactor, leaking bright streams of plasma. The five remaining gunboats scattered, adapting a loose symmetrical formation, but from Alisa's point of view, they were all bunched up and right in front of her gun barrels.

The Alliance Lancer charged through the enemy formation like an enraged bull, spitting death from rapid-fire linear accelerators housed in quad turrets mounted on the vessel's port and starboard flanks. Alisa kept a close eye on her ammunition count, firing her weapons in short, controlled bursts. Her initial pass resulted in a crippled Gray gunboat, leaking atmosphere and dead in space.

“We can forget about that one for a while.” Rin gestured toward the tactical display. “The rest of them aren't going to let you do something like that again.”

The remaining gunboats adopted a tight formation, no longer fooled by Alisa's trick shots. The Gray now understood they were facing only one enemy vessel, and only a small starfighter at that, but they would still be wary. Without the comm array, they couldn't call for reinforcements.

“They're firing on us!” Rin cried. The enemy gunboats managed to stay in precise formation, even under the stress of battle. Gray gunboats were infamous among Alliance fighter pilots for their ability to coordinate and work together as a group, even at long distances.

“Taking evasive action.” Alisa accelerated rapidly and changed direction several times, the heavy fighter's maneuvering thrusters sending it through a dizzying series of loops and spins. Her vessel shook violently as several of the enemy gunboats scored hits, but the shields managed to soak up the damage. Smaller Gray vessels mounted powerful ultraviolet laser systems as their primary weapons. At this range the invisible beams were impossible to avoid without Rin's help.

“Shields at forty percent.” Rin's otherwise calm voice was tinged with anxiety. Alisa knew she was right to be nervous; if they managed to knock her shields down, the lasers would reduce her vessel to a cloud of vaporized metal and plasma in seconds.

“Shunt the burst banks to shields,” Alisa ordered. “Divert power from the main gun; we won't be using that at these ranges, anyway. Secondary weapon systems are yours.”

The operator complied with the commands instantly, far faster than Alisa could have done herself. The burst capacitor banks sent a torrent of power into the shields, raising them by half of their maximum rating at the same instant the heavy fighter's missile racks sprang open and launched a phalanx of forty-eight short-range missiles, each tipped with small but deadly warheads.

The swarm of missiles tracked their targets and detonated with proximity fuses, evenly filling a portion of the battlefield with wide-area death, annihilating one of the Grey gunboats and damaging a second so heavily it spun out of control and smashed into one of its evading comrades. Alisa adjusted her relative angle downward and let loose a vicious storm of fire. The gunboat reeled under the assault, but its shields held. The enemy ship veered off to evade a mortally-wounded companion and shot forward with a burst of acceleration.

“They’re going to run!” Rin exclaimed. Alisa shielded her eyes from the brilliant flash of the exploding gunboat. Two gunboats remained—one damaged, but still flying, attempting to run interference for its fleeing companion.

This was the real test—she had to destroy them both quickly before the escaping vessel could finish charging its warp core. Up until now, the Gray ships believed they could hold position, but now, with four gunboats dead or disabled, they were going to make a break for it. The last gunboat was obviously trying to charge its warp core as quickly as possible by diverting power from all other systems.

Alisa wrenched the control stick hard, sending her fighter hurtling in arbitrary directions, attempting to evade the deadly storm of invisible laser fire. The pulses did far less damage to her shields than they would to her armor, but the gunboat's weapons recycled quickly. If she wasn't careful, the gunboat might bring her shields down and score a direct hit or two on her hull.

She wrenched the stick up and shoved the throttle back against its stops, killing her forward acceleration. The fighter's forward maneuvering thrusters flared and sent the ship into a violent spin, the nose pointing behind as the craft continued to move along the same vector. Alisa pushed the throttle to its stop, accelerating toward her opponent with terrifying speed.

Ignoring the tactical display's warning alarms, Alisa squeezed the trigger, firing the gun pods without concern for ammo conservation. Her blasts chewed through the gunboat's armor even as the enemy craft began taking evasive maneuvers, but it was too late. The Gray gunboat's power plant ruptured after a vicious burst of hypervelocity slugs tore its engine section apart. The undamaged front end of the ship was blasted away from the exploding power plant with armor-shattering force.

“Alisa, the last gunboat is initiating a warp core injection.” Rin jerked a small hand at the navigation display. “We've got maybe thirty seconds at most.”

“How are the burst banks?”

“We're at 66 percent charge.”

“Shunt burst banks to the main gun,” Alisa ordered. Her lips pressed into a grim line beneath the clear visor of her helmet. Even if the gunboat managed to get away, the 109 would still have enough time to complete their task, but she would fail her exam. The mission objectives were very specific.

The AI's tiny holographic jaw dropped incredulously. “I can't get you a lock that—”

“Just do it, Rin!”

“Shunting burst banks to linear cannon. Charge at twenty percent.”

“One shot, huh?” Alisa was surprised to find herself smiling despite the situation. “And without predictive targeting assistance. Sounds like fun.”

Rin said nothing as she watched her partner nudge the fighter's nose over slightly, lining the fleeing ship up on the reticule. Determined to help out as best she can even in the limited amount of time, Rin increased magnification of the shell display, giving Alisa a detailed picture of the enemy vessel.

The Gray gunboat couldn't maneuver, couldn't accelerate—it was still moving very fast, but its engines were cold. Her predictions were right; they had to shut everything down to charge the warp core up. The Gray pilot had bet everything on his comrades' ability to keep Alisa busy long enough to make a jump to hyperspace. It was a risky gamble to be sure, but against an ordinary unassisted Alliance pilot, it likely would have worked.

Alisa was hardly an ordinary pilot.

Letting out her breath as she squeezed the trigger, Alisa fired the long-range linear cannon. Aimed hastily, without a perfect firing solution from the tactical display, the impactor did not strike the target with flawless accuracy.

Fortunately, perfect aim was unnecessary—the Lancer's main gun was designed to destroy targets much larger and tougher than a Gray gunboat. The shot ripped the entire cockpit section off the fleeing craft, pulverizing armor, vaporizing everything else. The stern section of the gunboat spun crazily off at an ascending angle relative to its previous flight path, spewing glowing material from a ruptured power plant and a damaged warp core.

From a distance of over a thousand kilometers, the shot was a glancing one, but it did the job. Now Alisa had to move, and quickly. Destroying a fully-injected warp core could potentially create an unstable tear that would almost certainly kill her.

“Rin, let's get out of here. Maximum acceleration; head for the Liberator.”

“Got it,” the operator said. “Shunting remaining burst bank charge to shields; half strength. Sensors are picking up strange readings within the dead gunboat—the warp core is unstable and will—”

Alisa and Rin both watched the shell display, fascinated, as the space around the Gray vessel distorted and warped weirdly as the warp core's containment system failed. The ruined gunboat began to flicker in and out of existence. The space around the damaged ship went dark at the same instant the dead gunboat's power plant exploded, scattering huge chunks of melted metal and shattered armor plating in all directions. The explosion also vaporized the fragile warp core, halting the birth of the dislocation before it had truly begun. The distorted space around the remnants of the Gray gunboat abruptly smoothed out and snapped back into place.

“That could have been really bad,” Rin breathed, relief evident in the artificial girl's voice. Alisa could hardly blame her.

“Warp dislocations usually are. I suggest we get out of here.”

“Yeah,” Rin agreed. “The sooner we get back to the Liberator, the sooner the 109 can start their mission.”

Alisa allowed herself a satisfied grin. There was certainly reason to be happy. It had gotten rather tense in the final moments, but the mission was a success—she was sure she'd passed her exam with flying colors.

02

“Alliance Destroyer Liberator, this is Lieutenant Pierce, requesting priority clearance to dock,” Alisa announced over the secure channel, taking care to carefully pronounce her vessel’s call number.

“Acknowledged, Lieutenant. You are cleared for Docking Bay 3.”

“Understood, Liberator.”

Rin said nothing as Alisa worked the Lancer's controls, casually maneuvering the craft into the open docking bay. The heavy fighter shuddered slightly as the warship's docking clamps secured it within the hangar. Alisa disengaged the seal on her helmet and pulled it off, her sweat-darkened hair spilling out from within.

“Shutting down main reactor. Maintenance protocols activated,” Rin said. “Unlocking navigational computer and sensor data. Decoupling links from main computer. You'll wake me up soon?”

“Of course.” Alisa gave her partner a reassuring smile. Rin hated being taken offline, but it would be necessary in order for her to leave the ship. “Disabling neural link and ejecting AI core.”

The hologram of the girl vanished and Alisa felt a strange sensation as the neural link was closed off, leaving behind an aching, acute feeling of emptiness. It was normal, however, especially for Alisa, as she maintained her neural link with Rin constantly. It was not standard practice among fighter pilots, but Alisa had her reasons for doing so.

Alisa yawned softly, feeling exhausted, as if her body was made of lead. The mission had taken a lot out of her—it would likely be a full day before the Liberator's medical officer would declare her ready to make the return trip to Cygnus Station.

The cockpit module seal disengaged with a hiss of equalizing pressure and slid back and up, allowing Alisa access to an access ramp that slid out of the catwalk suspended three meters above the docking bay floor. The fighter had only been in the bay for six minutes at most and already maintenance crews began to gather and head toward her vessel. Two  engineering officers manned consoles where they oversaw the entire operation performed by an assortment of specialized automatons.

Alisa pulled Rin's blue box from its socket behind the command couch and held the precious device against her chest. The AI core was both intrinsically valuable as well as priceless. It was literally one-of-a-kind, completely irreplaceable. The small armored cube housed Rin's neural lattice diagram, a dizzyingly complex three-dimensional processor seeded from a digitized model of Alisa's own mind. Just as a human's brain contained the very essence of who they were, the blue box was Rin. If it were to be destroyed or damaged beyond repair, Rin would die.

The pilot climbed out of the fighter's cockpit and stepped carefully onto the catwalk, where she was greeted by a waiting deck officer. “Lieutenant Pierce, the captain would like to speak with you. I was ordered to escort you to your temporary quarters on board the Liberator. Follow me, please.”

“Can you have the maintenance crew move the luggage in my cargo container to my quarters?”

“We've already taken care of it.”

Alisa followed the deck officer, ignoring the guarded looks she received from the crew. It was common for the crews of such vessels to be wary of newcomers—when you lived and worked for months on end with the same few people, cut off from larger human civilization, insularity was unavoidable.

The short walk to her temporary quarters was uneventful and silent. The deck officer offered no small talk; most likely he was also not comfortable having an outsider in his midst.

“Here are your quarters. Your luggage has already been brought here, as you requested. Please make sure to meet with Captain Miles as soon as possible. Your IDs have already been authorized, so you should have no trouble getting around.”

“Can I get something to eat?”

The deck officer nodded. “Of course, but the captain insists you meet with him as soon as possible. A meal will be delivered to your quarters after the meeting is concluded.”

“Thank you,” Alisa murmured. The deck officer excused himself and walked away toward the elevator leading to the command deck. Alisa sighed heavily and pressed her finger to the door panel. True to the deck officer's word, her ID had already been cleared, and the door slid open silently.

When she turned the lights on, her eyes widened slightly in pleasant surprise. “These are the VIP quarters.”

Most Alliance capital ships maintained these comfortably-furnished quarters in the event that visiting Alliance dignitaries needed to stay for extended periods of time. The room was almost as large as her apartment on Cygnus Station and was much more plushly appointed.

Alisa carefully placed Rin's blue box on the clear plastic coffee table and walked over to the large shielded container lying on the ground near the entryway. She tapped a series of commands on the case's electronic lock, disengaging the seal and lifting the lid. With a hiss of escaping gas, the case opened.

Inside the case was a body, sealed underneath a layer of protective sheathing—human in form, but synthetic in construction. Black hair crowned a small, almost doll-like head, neatly tucked into the case to keep it from breaking or becoming disheveled. The body was small of bust and petite. Gentle, subtle curves melded smoothly into a pair of relatively long, slender legs that ended in delicately-proportioned feet. Underneath the plastic sheathing, the body was unclothed. The fair skin that covered the synthetic body was smooth and unmarred by scarring or discoloration.

Alisa managed to lift the body from the case without too much trouble, setting the inert platform on the floor near the coffee table where Rin's blue box sat. She opened a hidden access panel and exposed a deep socket studded with countless tiny contacts. She inserted the blue box into the socket and closed the panel up, the synthetic living flesh melding into itself to hide the opening almost as if it had never existed.

Mere seconds later, Rin's eyelids fluttered slightly as her body started to move. Alisa waited patiently as the AI finished completely linking with her body's various systems. Rin's head tilted back and her eyes opened, the huge irises tinted a deep amethyst. At that instant, Alisa felt the dull sensation of emptiness vanish.

“Alisa!” Rin exclaimed, leaping forward to tackle Alisa in a crushing hug. She let out a surprised yelp as she was tackled to the ground—Rin was definitely much heavier than she looked! The artificial girl stared down at Alisa and giggled.

“You think you could get off me?” Alisa wheezed. “I can't breathe!”

Rin snickered and slid backwards, standing up and helping Alisa stand, her expressive face twitching with worry as the woman stumbled slightly. “Wow, you look really tired. The mission must have really taken a lot out of you.”

“I need a three-day nap,” Alisa complained. “But since I have to go meet with the Liberator's captain as soon as possible, I don't think I'm even going to have time for a shower.”

She started removing her hardsuit, uncoupling the armor plates and peeling the rest of the multi-layered garment off. Her skin shone with perspiration, despite the hardsuit's internal regulation systems. Alisa sighed in relief as the latches on her mag-boots disengaged and she pulled her feet from the heavy footwear.

Alisa was physically unlike that of her partner. Standing a full twenty centimeters taller than Rin, Alisa's body could not be described as petite. She possessed an average build, but her slender limbs rippled with wiry strength. Alisa's figure was much more typical of a woman in her physical prime. Her hips flared out from a narrow waist, joined to muscular thighs and long, powerful legs. Unlike many of her female peers and despite her regular routine of strenuous exercise, Alisa was rather top-heavy.

The flesh bared by the removal of her hardsuit was even and smooth, but hardly flawless—most notably, a jagged white scar twenty centimeters long ran down the center of Alisa's chest, directly between her breasts. The scar tissue could have been easily repaired with the Alliance's advanced medical technology, but Alisa chose not to undergo the operation. The scar was an important reminder that served to temper her actions and made her a better pilot as a result.

“Can I go with you?” Rin asked, jarring Alisa from her thoughts.

“I was planning on bringing you, yes,” Alisa said as she dressed quickly—she did not know the captain of this ship, and she did not want to look anything but perfect; at least, as perfect as she could without even so much as a shower. She smoothed her stockings out and straightened her skirt, making sure her jacket conformed to her body just so, and then placed the dark red beret atop her head, the distinguishing mark of a pilot in the Advanced Starfighter Corps.

“I don't smell bad, do I?” Alisa's nose wrinkled as she sniffed the air. “I was practically swimming in sweat in the hardsuit.”

“I doubt the captain will care. He'll probably be pleased you took the time to change into your uniform at all.”

Alisa smiled at her partner. “It usually pays off to make a good first impression. Finish getting dressed and let's go.”

[-]

Alisa wasn't imagining things; she could hear the voices whispering as she walked through the Liberator's most densely populated deck. The briefing room was on the command deck, where the bridge crew could assemble for mission updates or any other meeting the captain deemed necessary. The shipboard rumor mill had already spread the word about Alisa's presence and Rin's true nature.

Most military personnel were used to the presence of AI, but that didn't mean they necessarily liked them. Most Alliance warships required the use of automata and simulated intelligence systems in order to minimize crew requirements, but military SIs did not often walk down the ship's decks. When they did, the bodies they inhabited did not look even remotely human.

To say that Rin's body was different would have been a gross understatement. Alisa had it constructed on her own at great personal expense to look and feel as close to the original as was possible. Members of the Advanced Starfighter Corps were expected to be the best and were rewarded accordingly. Despite a very generous compensation package, it still took Alisa a year of saving to have the custom platform constructed.

While her behavior was considered eccentric, Alisa's direct superiors and their superiors within High Command didn't seem to mind so long as she kept completing missions and killing enemy ships. Her peers were a different story.

Up until now the Liberator's crew had gone out of their way to avoid interacting with her. Alisa's eyes narrowed as she spotted three people standing in the middle of the corridor, blocking her path: two men and one woman, each dressed in simple combat fatigues. All three wore a pale blue beret that marked them as members of the Regular Starfighter Corps—small-vessel pilots who flew alone, without an AI operator.

“That's her,” the woman said none-too-quietly, her eyes boring into Alisa's. “I told you she was here, and you two didn't believe me.”

“Excuse me?” Alisa queried, her gaze narrowing. She could feel Rin's emotions starting to heat up next to her, and placed a warning touch on the artificial girl's shoulder to remind her just where they were.

“I heard a rumor a while back,” one of the men said, staring hard at Alisa, “that there was a weird linker in the Big Eight with an AI that looks like a real girl. I didn't believe it at first, but holy shit, you're right here, in the flesh.”

Alisa flinched under the sudden verbal assault. “Linker” was the common, if somewhat derogatory, term used to describe pair-linked pilots in the Advanced Starfighter Corps. She had long ago since become immune to the word, but the other pilot's obvious references to Rin instantly put her on guard.

“I heard you fuck that thing.” The other man jabbed a finger at Rin. Then he turned a lewd grin on Alisa, staring brazenly at her chest. “Can't get any ass on Cygnus? How about right here, right now? That sexbot can record video, yeah? Might not be able to get it up with it watching, though—”

Rin's eyes narrowed dangerously. “Stop. Now.”

“What if I don't? What are you gonna do? You gonna hit me? Like you even can! I could do anything I want to you and you wouldn't be able to lift a finger.” The pilot gave Rin a smug little smirk.

This was bad. Alisa glared at Rin and shook her head, smothering the girl's angry reaction with a torrent of warning thoughts sent through the neural link. Rin's tensed stance relaxed immediately, but her scowl remained.

“Knock it off, Toby,” the first man snapped. “The captain'll have our heads on a platter if you get into it with outsiders. Command doesn't give a shit about all of us when we die but it's a fucking interstellar incident if a linker gets even a scratch on 'em.”

“Even a perverted linker,” the woman added. She let out a lighthearted laugh, but her eyes glared daggers at Alisa.

Alisa felt her cheeks redden from the harassment, but she remained silent. There wasn't much she could do, despite the fact that she outranked all three of them. Pair-linked pilots were considered precious resources by Alliance High Command. The rank-and-file did not necessarily agree with this assessment, viewing linkers as receiving preferential treatment.

Alisa didn't entirely disagree with that assessment, but that was hardly an excuse for such disgusting behavior. She resolved to file a formal complaint regarding the incident before she departed the Liberator.

“Come on, Rin, let's go,” Alisa said, taking her partner's hand in hers and pushing past the offending fighter pilots without another word. They were still talking and laughing, but she tuned the voices out—there were more important things to worry about right now than a trio of idiots who had nothing better to do but try to provoke her into a reaction.

She opened the door leading to the briefing room, saluting sharply as the door automatically closed behind her and Rin, cutting the laughter short. The captain sat at one side of the rectangular briefing table and looked up as she announced herself.

“Captain Miles, Lieutenant Alisa Pierce, reporting as ordered. This is my partner, Rin.”

“Good to have you on board. At ease, the both of you.” He gestured to the chairs on the opposite side of the table. “Please be seated.”

Alisa and Rin both sat down in the empty chairs across from Captain Miles and waited as the captain remained silent for nearly a minute—it was an old trick that Alisa had long since gotten wise to. Eventually, the man spoke, moving past the pleasantries and getting down to business.

“The maintenance crews have already pulled a system dump from your fighter. I've reviewed the sensor and tactical logs. In-depth analysis of the mission recordings will of course follow, but I already performed the preliminary scoring.”

Alisa remained silent, her nervousness already fading. She had completed her mission and there was little else the captain could do other than pass her.

“You successfully destroyed the FTL comm array and its defense force and prevented the enemy from reinforcing the system. As a result of your success, the Liberator and her sister vessels of the 109th Expeditionary Fleet will begin seeding the system with observer and saboteur drones, completing the first phase of the campaign to retake Lyris. You've done a great service to the Alliance and humanity as a whole, Lieutenant.”

Captain Miles tapped a few commands into his console and several holographic displays materialized above the table. Alisa's eyes lit up with the intensity of a star as she saw the new rank insignia appear next to her official file.

“Or should I say, Lieutenant-Commander?” The captain's expression seemed to lose a great deal of its grim quality. “The formal promotion itself will be held on Cygnus Station, of course, but as of this moment, you have passed the final advancement exam and have accrued enough credits to earn a promotion—and a well-earned promotion it is.”

“Thank you, Captain.” Alisa glanced over at Rin. The artificial girl looked as if she were about to burst. Alisa was almost afraid Rin would tackle her to the ground right here in the conference room with the captain watching!

“You have been given two days of after-mission medical rest and you're free to take it here on the Liberator. I've already authorized your ID for use of the Liberator's recreational facilities. You will be given your reassignment orders when you return to Cygnus Station.”

Alisa nodded. “Thank you, sir.”

“Well, then, that will be all. Dismissed.”

[-]

The walk back to the temporary quarters was uneventful. Alisa suspected the captain may have had something to do with that—there was little chance that he didn't know that the entire crew was abuzz with the rumors that surrounded her. Upon entering the room, she sealed the door behind her.

Alisa kicked off the low dress heels and dropped her uniform jacket to the carpeted floor. “I'm going to get in the shower.”

“Can I go in with you?” Rin inquired.

“Sure.” Alisa unzipped her uniform skirt and let it fall. The two of them undressed silently—while Rin obviously did not become fatigued, she knew that Alisa was practically dead on her feet and wanted rest, not excited conversation.

Alisa opened the shower stall and pressed a button on the console. The shower head poured hot water over her body, soothing away the leaden feeling in her limbs, and a slight smile crept across her face as she watched Rin step into the stall beside her, a soft bathing cloth in one hand.

“Want me to wash your back?”

“Fine. I'm too tired to argue, anyway.” Alisa turned around and sat down on the floor of the shower stall so the shorter Rin could reach. The water poured down on her head, washing the sticky sweat from her hair as Rin scrubbed her back with the treated cloth.

“I'll wash your hair, too,” Rin said, dispensing a dollop of liquid hair wash on her hands, working the gentle soap into Alisa's hair. The pilot closed her eyes as the artificial girl's fingers massaged her scalp.

“Mm, that feels good,” Alisa murmured. “The helmet always makes my head itch.”

“Better an itchy head than a missing head.” Rin nudged Alisa's head forward. “Close your eyes tight now, I need to rinse your hair out.”

Alisa complied with Rin's instructions as she ducked Alisa's head underneath the flow of water from the shower head, rinsing the wash from her hair until none remained. Alisa turned off the water and kept her eyes closed as the hot liquid cascade was replaced with a downward rush of air, rapidly drying the two of them off.

She and Rin both walked out of the small bathroom and into the main room, where Alisa's open duffel sat next to the bed. Alisa rooted around in the bag, tossing Rin a shirt and a pair of shorts before retrieving her own clothing.

“Someone's coming down the corridor,” Rin announced as she tugged the shirt over her head and pulled the shorts on.

“It's probably my dinner.” Alisa walked over to the door, unsealing it and revealing a  junior crewman holding a steaming tray of food in both hands. His eyes widened when he saw two women at the door, with Rin clutching Alisa's left arm affectionately.

“Ah! Lieutenant-Commander Pierce,” the young crewer managed, a faint blush touching his cheeks. “I have your meal here… but I thought there was only… I mean—I was only ordered to bring—I'm sorry, I didn't mean to interrupt…”

“It's okay,” Alisa muttered, too worn-out to feel awkward. “Don't worry about it. Just give me my food and be on your way.”

“Y-yes, ma'am.”

Alisa sighed heavily as she sat the tray down at the dining table built into the wall of the room. The stasis-preserved food was not the best she'd ever had, but it was nutritious, and that's what mattered most to Alisa at the moment.

“I wish I could eat with you,” Rin murmured, wistfully gazing at the food Alisa had before her.

“You don't need to eat anything,” Alisa said, popping a forkful of dark leafy greens in her mouth and chewing thoughtfully. “We just replaced the biogel cartridge a week ago. Besides, it's not like this food is really worth eating.”

Rin frowned. “We always eat together at home.”

“I know, but recall what happened earlier with those other pilots,” Alisa reminded her. “They already think I'm crazy—if I went out to get you something to eat, the shipboard rumor mill would explode and we'd never hear the end of it…” She trailed off slowly, feeling her cheeks grow hot.

“Give me a break, Alisa. We're only here for two days. Who gives a shit what those idiots think or say?”

Alisa felt the burning in her cheeks increase. “Please, Rin, I don't want to argue with you about this, okay? Just wait until we're back on Cygnus. We can eat together all you want when we get back home.”

“But it's a lot cheaper for me to eat than use biogel,” Rin whined, attempting one more time to sway Alisa's opinion with pragmatism.

“I realize that, but I'd rather pay the little bit extra than run into more problems.”

“I know, I know,” Rin muttered, dropping the issue. “I'm just complaining. I hate just sitting here watching you eat, though. Feels like I'm being rude or something.”

Alisa shook her head. “You aren't being rude. When we're working, we have to be discreet. If we draw too much attention to our, um, relationship, the higher-ups might consider us a problem.”

“I know. I just can't help it. I'm getting tired of having to hide.”

“I'm always amazed at how much you've grown,” Alisa deflected, attempting to placate the girl with a compliment. She took a sip from the sweet, fizzy beverage provided with her meal and sighed softly. “It's just—I mean, guess I can see how the solo flyers might not understand it, but…”

Rin frowned as Alisa trailed off. “Really, Alisa, you're in the tiniest of minorities and you know it. Most of your people don't consider artificial intelligence anything to more than really, really advanced computers—at best. That's not even counting the people who feel like we should all be destroyed because we're inherently dangerous.”

Alisa's smile disappeared. “I'd rather not think about those people.”

“You should think about them more,” Rin retorted. “The anti-AI political sentiment among the Alliance civilian population is rising, not falling. The more we sneak around, the more people are going to mistrust both of us.”

Alisa didn't say anything.

Rin shook her head slowly out of frustration. “Finish your food, Alisa. You look like you're about to drop off right there sitting in that chair.”

“Fine,” Alisa murmured. She took a few more bites before adding, “I don't understand them. You're here, you think, you feel. That makes you a person. That's all that matters to me, all that should matter to anyone. What difference does it make how you were born?”

Rin shrugged. “Humans have historically feared what they don't understand. Your peoples' history is rife with humans hating other humans simply for having different skin color or following a different religion.”

“I know. That fear and lack of understanding encompasses us both.” Alisa scooped up the last few morsels of the bland meal with her fork. “The others just see you as a way to fly the ship better and not… well, you know.”

“And not what?” Rin teased.

“Um… you know… that,” Alisa managed, doing her best to avoid Rin's eyes. “Our… connection, um, relationship. That.”

Rin grinned impishly. “Oh, I know that. I just want to hear you say it out loud. Come on. Say it!”

Alisa visibly pouted but didn't respond. She felt Rin squeeze her hand lightly and all the stress and exhaustion seemed to flow right out of her. The woman gave her partner a plaintive look, wordlessly begging for mercy.

“Come on,” Rin urged her. “No reason to be embarrassed! It's just us here. Nobody else can hear you. Come on! It'll make me happy.”

Alisa felt her cheeks burning fiercely. There was no way out of this except straight through. She gulped and gazed deeply into Rin's beautiful eyes. In those large, expressive orbs Alisa could see her own reflection in miniature.

“Fine. I love you. Are you happy?”

Rin giggled. “Yep.”

“Good,” Alisa grumbled. “Does that mean I can go to sleep now?”

03

Alisa felt her body settle slowly into the plushly upholstered command couch of her Lancer-class heavy fighter. Comfort was a major issue for long missions and the Alliance hadn't disappointed with the most recent refurbishing job on her ship.

“All systems check out. We're ready to go,” Alisa announced over the wide-cast.

“Copy. Releasing docking clamps,” the voice of the deck officer came back. “Have a safe flight back home, Lieutenant-Commander.”

“Thanks, I will.”

Alisa nudged the stick slightly down and tapped the maneuvering pedals with her feet, sending the Lancer creeping backwards, free of the open jaws of the docking clamps.

“Manual launch?” Rin asked, her image on the holographic pedestal flickering into existence.

“I'm feeling a little bored.”

Rin's projection gave Alisa a sly smile. “Dreading the advancement ceremony?”

“I'm not going to deny that,” Alisa admitted. “The pomp and circumstance bit of military life is really something I could do without. I'd rather be out flying… not standing on a stage with a fruit salad of ribbons tacked to my shoulder while some foppish officiator waves a sword around—”

“Yes, yes, I know. Nothing we can do about it, though.”

“At least the formal dress gown is lovely.” Alisa jerked the stick to the right, spinning the Lancer around on its axis, aiming the nose of the fighter toward the open docking bay door. The curtain barrier shimmered lightly, maintaining the fighter bay's atmosphere while allowing ships to enter and leave easily.

Gently Alisa slid the throttle assembly forward. The Lancer's reactionless drive glowed brightly as the ship's systems diverted power. The vessel accelerated at a sedate pace as Alisa maneuvered out of the Liberator's docking bay.

“We're free; go ahead and cut loose if you must,” Rin allowed, her voice thick with resignation.

Alisa felt a small smile creep across her face as she shoved the throttle to its stops, bouncing her feet on the pedals below. The Lancer exploded into motion, rocketing away from the Liberator with frightening speed. The ship entered a controlled slide to take it well clear of the escort paths around the big warship.

Rin frowned. “The local hypergate here was pretty much wrecked when the Gray took the system. Until the Alliance retakes Lyris, it won't be usable.”

“I know.”

“We're going to have to make several jumps to get to an active one before heading back to Deneb.” Rin pointed at the navigation display and highlighted the path they'd need to take in order to make it to the nearest functional hypergate.

“You've already plotted everything out,” Alisa observed.

“Who do you think you're talking to?” Rin's superior smirk did little to mar her cute appearance. “Five jumps, so with charge times… three hours or so before we hit an active gate.”

Alisa shot her partner a cross look. “How boring.”

“You could always go back to sleep, you know.”

“Unlike you, I can't simply turn myself off whenever I want,” Alisa shot back. “I have to actually be sleepy in order to go to sleep.”

“You could read… or maybe just stare off into space,” Rin suggested. “Or we could just talk. Navigation like this isn't going to stress me so much I can't have a nice conversation with you.”

“Let's just get out of here while we still can. We don't want to hinder the Liberator's mission now that we've done so much to help them accomplish it, after all.”

“Good point.”

“Initiate warp core injection and plot destination point,” Alisa instructed. It was really unnecessary as Rin already knew what to do, but it was procedure and if there was one thing her training had beaten thoroughly into her head, it was following procedure.

“Warp core injection complete. Making the jump in three… two… one… warp core engaged.”

The shell display was blanketed with a chaotic burst of indescribable colors for a split second before the automatic systems cut the camera feeds, sending the interior of the cockpit into a flat gray dimness.

“Jump looks good. Stage one hyperspace collapse; twenty seconds,” Rin said.

Alisa glanced at the navigation display. “How far?”

“A bit more than sixty light-years. We're going to need to do a full recharge when we drop out of hyperspace. It'll take about a half an hour before we're ready for the next leg of the trip.”

“What's our fuel supply look like?” Alisa inquired.

“The Liberator topped off our helium-3 reserves, but they couldn't spare antimatter,” Rin replied. “We've got plenty to make it to Omega Eti and take hypergate there to Deneb.”

“Omega Colony.” Memories floated to the surface of Alisa's mind, a rowdy resource colony in the binary star system Omega Eti. Over a year ago she'd traveled to the mining and manufacturing colony to examine and finalize the purchase of Rin's body.

“Alisa? Are you listening to me?”

“What? Oh, sorry, I was just thinking. Reminiscing, really,” Alisa murmured, her voice distant.

“About when you had my body constructed,” Rin observed.

“Yeah. It was the only time I had ever been to Omega Colony—not a place I'd really like to spend much time, to be honest.”

“Neither would I—ah, we're here,” Rin agreed, just as the hyperspace tunnel collapsed. The shell display resolved into images, the black, star-studded void stretching out as far as the eye could see. They were literally in the middle of nowhere, the seemingly empty space between star systems that was much more vast than a human mind could properly comprehend.

“Warp core retracted. Antimatter reaction rate increasing; catch efficiency at ninety-eight percent.“

“Twenty-eight minutes.” Alisa let out a slow breath as she examined the timers on the navigation display. “I guess I have some time to eat before we jump again.”

“I told you not to skip breakfast before we set out,” Rin reminded her.

Alisa glared at her partner. “It's fine; it's not going to kill me to eat in zero-g.”

“Food would have been better on the Liberator.”

“Barely. They haven't resupplied in six months,” Alisa said, reaching down to unfasten her restraint harness. She felt her body float upward as she was freed from the seat. Despite having inertial dampening, the fighter didn't have artificial gravity. The power and heat dissipation requirements for maintaining both artificial gravity fields and counteracting the force of acceleration were simply too high for such a small vessel.

Alisa turned around, opening a wide hatch behind her and pulling out one of the dozens of meal packages kept in self-contained stasis capsules. The Lancer carried enough food and drink to keep her healthy for nearly a month, just in case a pilot happened to have been stranded somewhere awaiting retrieval. The kit also included several tiny vials containing a special type of nanite that would reprocess her body's biological waste into substances that her gut bacteria would absorb. Fortunately she didn't intend to be stuck in the fighter long enough to have to use them.

“Alliance-issue high-energy meal packages,” Rin teased. “Preserved in a stasis capsule and packed full of fat, protein and carbohydrates in measured amounts, but somehow they forgot to include flavor.”

“Shut up,” Alisa grumbled. “It's food and it's what I've got.”

Rin obediently remained silent as Alisa opened the stasis container and retrieved the container of energy drink. She opened the top and drank through the integrated straw, passing the time by staring out at the vast bleakness of interstellar space.

“How much longer?”

“Another ten minutes or so,” Rin said. “You've got plenty of time to choke down those inedible bricks of perfectly-engineered tastelessness.”

“Shut up,” Alisa snapped, pointing her food bar at the projection. Rin's only reply was laughter.

Alisa shook her head slowly and took a bite from her food bar. The things were designed to be eaten in zero-gravity environments, breaking neatly into small, bite-sized sections without crumbs. This design feature also unfortunately tended to ruin any sort of appetizing texture.

At least the bars were rather filling, packed to the brim with as much nutrients as the designers could cram inside. Alisa felt much better after only two. She left the remaining two in the container and sipped energy drink from her pouch.

“We're ready to go, so put that stuff away and get strapped in.”

“All right, I hear you,” Alisa said, using her arms to spin around in the cockpit. She re-sealed the stasis container and slotted it back into the food storage compartment, closing the hatch behind it.

“Start it up,” Alisa ordered as she nimbly spun around and landed right back in her chair in one smooth motion. Quickly she fastened her restraint harnesses and placed her hand near the stick and throttle assemblies.

“Core injection complete,” Rin reported. “Antimatter reaction rate decreasing. We're all charged up and ready.”

“Let's get going, then.”

[-]

Three hours and five recharge stops later, the Lancer heavy fighter dropped out of hyperspace in the Deneb system, several million kilometers away from the artificial free-orbital colony known as Cygnus Station. Alisa glanced to her right, the looming shape of several enormous hypergates clearly visible in the shell display despite their relative distance.

“Well, we're back home,” Alisa announced. “For now, anyway.”

“Home is wherever we make it,” Rin said in a tone of voice she clearly intended to be profound.

“You say that now, but wait until the both of us are crammed into a tiny cabin on a long-range destroyer.” Alisa's expression darkened slightly. “You're going to have to give up some of your freedom of movement.”

Rin favored her partner with a wide smile. “I don't see how that follows.”

“Because,” Alisa replied, her voice sharp, “you're not going to just be allowed to wander around an Alliance warship whenever and wherever you please.”

“We'll see.”

Alisa didn't respond, instead focusing on flying. She could have easily allowed Rin to handle it, or even the Lancer's own internal guidance systems which would neatly and efficiently take them right back to the station, but Rin was right. Alisa may have been ecstatic concerning her advancement in rank and subsequent reassignment, but she was nervous about the inevitable formal advancement ceremony.

“Cygnus Traffic Control, this is Lieutenant-Commander Alisa Pierce in Alliance Lancer Ace Three, requesting clearance to dock,” Alisa announced over the wide-cast. There was a long pause and the traffic-control officer responded.

“Lieutenant-Commander Pierce, this is Cygnus Control Six. We've got you on sensors; please transmit your clearance codes and we'll get you taken care of.”

“Transmitting codes now.” Rin's holographic projection flickered slightly as she manipulated the fighter's communications systems, sending the traffic-control officer the complex encrypted hash used to identify her fighter to other Alliance vessels and stations.

“Your codes check out,” the traffic controller replied in a bored tone. “Proceed to A Block, Fighter Bay Four.”

Alisa didn't bother responding, focusing instead on maneuvering the Lancer through the thick mass of traffic outside the station. The dagger-shaped vessel weaved effortlessly between the rows of frigates, cargo haulers and various other starships waiting outside Cygnus Station for any number of reasons. Fighter Bay Four was located near the residential block where much of the garrison pilots lived. It was an optimal solution, especially considering the monstrous size of the habitat.

Cygnus Station wasn't the largest free-orbital colony in Alliance space—that distinction belonged to the much larger and far older Sirius Colony, well over a thousand light-years distant. These days, most of the larger Alliance colonies were terrestrial, enormous mega-cities and arcology spires built on the surface of any planet that had tolerable gravity and enough resources to facilitate construction. Even so, Cygnus and its satellite stations still housed close to six million people, fully one-fifth of which were Alliance military personnel.

“There,” Rin said, her holographic projection whirling around and pointing a small finger at the shell display, indicating an open docking bay.

The dock was much smaller than the others and was exclusively used by the fighters of the 8th Garrison Fighter Wing—Alisa's unit, colloquially known as the Big Eight. The Big Eight was actually a double, thirty-two fighters rather than the usual sixteen to a wing. Like most Garrison or Versatile units, it was a combined-role wing made up of multiple different types of fighters. Alisa was a member of Ace Flight, one of the two flights that used the Lancer heavy fighter.

Alisa eased her fighter through the shimmering barrier, gently nudging the stick and tapping the maneuvering pedals to line the nose of the vessel up with the docking cradle assigned to her. The Lancer inched forward and stopped as several heavy docking clamps swung down around it, securing it to the cradle.

Alisa tapped a string of commands into the console and the shell display went dark.

“I hate this part,” Rin complained.

“I know you do, but I'll wake you up right away.” Alisa offered her partner a comforting smile. “The maintenance crew will make sure the case gets home before I do. You'll be awake and about in no time at all.”

Rin visibly pouted. “I know. Just do it and let's get it over with.”

“Taking you offline.” Alisa entered a few more commands into the main console. The holographic projection of Rin flickered and dissolved into static, then winked out. The expected cold emptiness ached in Alisa's mind, but she shrugged it off. There wasn't much she could do about it until she managed to convince the higher-ups to let her convert their fighter to a two-seater.

I'll just have to keep trying, she thought as she pulled the pilot's seat back, opening up an armored hatch to retrieve Rin's physical AI core. The blue box slid easily out of its socket and Alisa safely packed it away into a padded storage case.

The armored hatch slid open, sending the command module rising up and out of the fighter. The Lancer's command module also served as an escape pod, giving the occupant a modicum of defense and mobility. Alisa very clearly remembered the last time she had been forced to eject; the scar on her chest would not allow her to forget just how little defense the pod actually granted.

Alisa stepped out onto the catwalk, holding the storage case carefully in both hands. The docking bay had artificial gravity. The sudden return of her body's weight felt good; she even welcomed the familiar, not-quite-perceptible tingling caused by the field.

The trip to the apartment was a quiet one. Alisa's home was located in the middle of the Fleet residential complex; it was all but abandoned at this hour, with only the occasional parent and child waiting at a bus stop. In five hours, however, the streets would be crammed with people, most of them wearing the Alliance uniform.

Alisa was grateful for the tranquility and dawdled for a while in one of the rest stops near her home. Cygnus Station was a massive construct of composites, metals and electronics, but people needed to see green life from time to time to maintain good mental health. She walked amidst the tiny little garden, breathing in the scent of the flowers and grasses. A few plum trees grew here as well and Alisa was amused to see green plums forming on the branches.

A chime sounded from within her hardsuit's storage pocket. Alisa reached in and drew out her Alliance-issue tactical compact computer. She had one new message, informing her that the luggage had arrived at her apartment. The pilot smiled up at the plum trees, a little disappointed the sweet fruits hadn't ripened yet, and turned back to cross the street to her apartment.

The apartment door was marked with her name and rank—her old rank, she thought proudly. She tapped her fingertips against the door panel, authorizing her entry via the biometric lock. Her duffel and the long metal case were already there, sitting on the living room floor. Alisa walked inside and immediately tossed her hardsuit helmet to the couch, then spent the next few minutes re-installing Rin into her body.

The artificial girl's eyes blinked, the violet glow emanating from within flickering slightly as her systems fully initialized and powered on. “That was faster than I expected.”

“It's not like we live very far from the hangar,” Alisa pointed out.

“True.” Rin stood up and walked across the carpeted floor to the closet nearby where she kept her clothing. The apartment was a studio-type and had only one large room, a small kitchenette and a functional but utilitarian bathroom. There was only one closet set into the wall, but Alisa had bought a standing wardrobe closet for Rin's use.

Rin pulled a few articles of clothing seemingly at random from her closet, but Alisa knew better. Rin was capable of making precise and exacting tasks seem casual and nonchalant.

“What's on the agenda?” Alisa asked.

“We're running things a bit close to the edge,” Rin answered as she dressed. “We have the advancement ceremony in an hour and some transfer-related paperwork regarding the Lancer that need to be submitted by 1800. We also need to go to the med bay for routine maintenance and check-up.”

“The check-up will keep until later tonight,” Alisa said.

Rin gave her partner a disapproving look. “Don't try to weasel out of it, Alisa.”

“I won't, I won't, don't worry.”

“Alisa, I want to go with you to the advancement ceremony,” Rin blurted, changing the subject abruptly.

“No.” Alisa's expression sharpened. “I can't bring you with me. For one, it's not like just anyone can go inside. There are rules and protocol surrounding all of that. Second, it'll be boring and you'll just wish you were off wandering the station, anyway.”

Rin opened her mouth to argue, but Alisa cut her off.

“No, Rin,” she said. “Look, I really would want you there with me, but it would just cause too much of a problem. You don't have any official rank within the Alliance. If I bring you with me, it'll just—”

“Alisa, that's not fair,” Rin objected.

“It'll just cause problems, okay? We have to be discreet. It's just the way it is.”

“I don't agree,” Rin argued. “The more you keep hiding me away from people, the more distrustful people will be. They're never going to accept the two of us if you keep trying to hide everything.”

“I don't want to talk about this,” Alisa snapped.

Rin sighed softly. It was always this way—every time she brought up this topic, Alisa would forestall any further discussion. As long as Alisa attempted to poorly keep the nature of their relationship hidden, the more the rumor mill would run wild with speculation, but Rin could not convince her otherwise.

“I'm going to get a shower and get dressed for the ceremony.” Alisa's voice sounded strained, but Rin knew better—Alisa wasn't angry, she was afraid.

“Alisa, this is ridiculous.” Rin threw her hands up in exasperation.

“I told you I don't want to talk about it. You absolutely can't go with me. That's just the way it has to be.”

“That's bullshit and you know it,” Rin growled. “Domestic partners, even civilians, are explicitly allowed to attend all formal events, including advancement ceremonies. It's done all the time—it's even expected, Alisa.”

Alisa looked at Rin, her eyes filled with weariness. “You don't count as a domestic partner or a civilian, or even as a person, according to the rules. We've been over this so many times, Rin. Commander Reynolds would be furious if I brought you.”

“Then the commander is an idiot,” Rin observed, by her own estimation, rather logically.

“You can't—how's it going to look, Rin? Like we're rubbing it in their faces. The other pilots in the unit already hate us and you want to give them even more ammo?”

“Honestly, who cares, Alisa? We're transferring out to another wing. We have no reason to ever come back to this floating metal box in space.”

“You aren't going.” Alisa crossed her arms, glaring at her partner.

“Fine. Do whatever the hell you want. I'm going out,” Rin growled. “I'll be back whenever I get back.”

“Rin, wait! I'm sorry, I just—”

“Shut up,” Rin cut her off, shoving her way past.

Alisa opened her mouth to object, but Rin had already put on a pair of sandals and walked out of the apartment, the door sliding shut silently behind her. The woman felt a stinging sensation in her eyes and her vision started to grow blurry.

“Fine. If that's the way it's going to be.” Alisa wiped the moisture from her eyes as she stripped off her hardsuit without much care, tossing the various pieces to the floor. The woman walked into the bathroom and turned on the shower, stepping under the cascade of hot water. Rin was being unreasonable, Alisa decided. It was clear she was chafing under the restrictions necessary to maintain the status quo, but Alisa didn't feel like there were any other options.

Under Alliance law, artificial intelligences simply did not count as people. The whole concept of machines that could think already unnerved much of the populace. As long as they looked and acted like machines, however, most people were willing to tolerate their presence out of necessity. Rin neither looked like nor acted like a machine.

Alisa sighed as she scrubbed herself with a soaped-up cloth. Rin wasn't being very conscientious of their situation, especially considering how delicate it was. The current political climate wasn't helping, either. The Alliance's current public-relations blitz holding up the Advanced Starfighter Corps as humanity's trump card against the Grey won over many, but it also frightened nearly as many.

We just can't act like a normal couple. We're not a normal couple. We won't ever be treated like one—we just have to enjoy our time together as much as we can.

The water cut off automatically as Alisa finished rinsing herself. A blast of warm air filled the shower unit, quickly and efficiently drying the moisture from her skin. Her hair was a different story, however. Alisa stepped out of the shower unit and picked up a towel, carefully patting her hair dry. She stood in front of the vanity for a long while, making sure her hair and makeup were just right.

Her formal dress uniform gown hung in the built-in closet, neatly pressed and ready to wear. It had been a while since she'd gone full-bore formal, Alisa thought as a twinge of bitter sadness filled her heart. She hadn't lied to Rin earlier—her own mind was already tormenting her with imagined visions of the two of them laughing and dancing together during the ceremony's after-party.

“No.” Alisa squeezed her eyes shut, as if that would dash the tantalizing vision from her mind. “It's just—no, it's not possible.”

She quickly dressed, smoothing the formal gown out as she put it on. It was a deep midnight-blue with an elegant, flowing silhouette and wide shoulder straps. A single sculpted shoulder ornament was pinned to one of the straps. The ornament was decorated with the insignia of her rank; the officiator would add another section to signify her new rank during the ceremony.

Glancing in the mirror, Alisa checked the straps of her dress and the ornament's placement, giving her hair and makeup one more good look, as if she were making a pre-flight check of her systems before launching. Alisa's lips curved into a small smile at the apt analogy.

Systems thus checked, Alisa slid her bare feet into a pair of indigo high-heel pumps with asymmetrical crossed ankle straps. Now properly attired, she checked the clock on the wall; it was definitely time to get going.

Rin will come back when she gets lonely, Alisa reasoned, trying to keep herself calm. It wasn't unusual—whenever the two of them managed to get into a real argument, Rin would typically wander around the station for a few hours to blow off some steam. Eventually she would return home and the two of them would apologize to each other.

Alisa knew Rin would be just fine—she was perfectly capable of taking care of herself, and anyone who didn't know her would not be able to tell she wasn't human. There wasn't a lot of sense in worrying too much about it. It would be fine. Neither of them could stay mad at the other for very long. Already Alisa could feel a dulling of the angry heat emanating from the neural link.

Alisa set her shoulders and headed off to catch a transport, her heels clicking rhythmically on the sidewalk.

04

The advancement ceremony had already gone on for an hour before Alisa's name was called. She was growing restless, her feet already starting to hurt from standing still in the damned heels. The regulations dictated that the waiting officers were required to stand at attention against a wall near the stage. Alisa wished, not for the first time, that she had thought to slip a pair of padded insoles inside the pumps.

“Lieutenant Alisa Pierce, come forth!”

Alisa nodded and slowly, deliberately began to walk, a task made slightly more difficult in the heels. She was more out of practice than she thought, but Alisa managed to make it up the stairs. She walked confidently toward the officiator and saluted. Alisa stood perfectly still, her spine arched, chest thrust out, hands clasped low at her waist in the appropriate dignified pose.

“Today, the Fleet celebrates the advancement of another of our most promising new generation of officers!” The officiator swept his arms toward Alisa at the exact moment a spotlight was activated, highlighting the polarized thread woven into her gown. The flowing skirt sparkled and shimmered in the bright light as she walked.

Alisa stopped in front of the line of other officers already promoted. The officiator made another grand gesture, withdrawing a slim bar of golden metal. When added to the existing insignia, it would display her rank as lieutenant-commander.

“Lieutenant Alisa Pierce,” the officiator began, “do you accept the responsibilities inherent in the advancement of rank and title?”

“Aye, I accept the responsibility with all of my heart,” Alisa answered with the traditional response.

“Do you accept the duty, taking it unto yourself, to defend and protect humanity as an officer of the Alliance and the Fleet?”

“Aye, I accept the duty and shall take it unto myself.”

“Do you acknowledge the accolades bestowed upon you by the Alliance?”

“Humbly, sir, I do.”

“Then bow your head,” the officiator commanded, drawing a sword from an ornate gilded scabbard on his belt. He raised the blade high, the intricate etching on the highly polished metal catching the light and scattering it across the darkened walls.

Alisa did as she was bade, bowing her head. The officiator touched the blade to each of her shoulders, the metal of the ceremonial weapon feeling cold against her bare skin.

“Stand proud, Lieutenant-Commander!”

Alisa did as she was bade, drawing herself up to her full height. The officiator whipped the sword around and flourished the weapon in a carefully-choreographed spin, returning the blade to its scabbard with a harsh metallic rasp.

The officiator took the rank insignia in both his white-gloved hands and carefully pinned it to her shoulder ornament, directly underneath the silver lieutenant's bar. The silver and gold twin bars signified her new rank and title; if she ever managed to ascend to Commander, the silver bar would be replaced with a second gold bar.

Alisa felt a slight twinge in her heart as the officiator stood across from her. If only Rin had been here to see this! She felt stupid and petty; leaving Rin behind was a mistake. Her beautiful face should have been there in the crowd, looking up at her with a wide, joyful smile.

But Rin wasn't here. She was somewhere on the station, working off the anger from their earlier argument. Alisa felt thoroughly unhappy, but the ceremony wasn't over yet. She was required to curtsy to the officiator, then turn to the crowd for her round of applause.

The officiator bowed first and Alisa responded with a well-practiced curtsy, drawing up the skirts of her gown in her fingertips, bowing low, her legs crossing at the ankles as she did so. She did her best to suppress a self-deprecating chuckle; it had taken her hours of practice to manage the traditional curtsy in high heels, back in the Academy in those heady days leading up to her commission as a flight officer in the Fleet.

Alisa completed the formal gesture, then turned to the crowd, standing tall and straight, offering the assembled a sharp, passionate salute. The sizable crowd erupted into polite applause, but not everyone seemed to be in the festive spirit.

The rest of the 8th Garrison Fighter Wing had gathered together near one of the far walls. They were not clapping. In fact, they were standing perfectly still. Thirty sets of eyes stared at her not with polite accolades, but with rejection, disgust and hostility.

Alisa felt as if her stomach suddenly vanished, replaced with an empty, cold pit. Her face went almost completely white. They were very pointedly not clapping—rejecting her promotion as clearly as if they were booing a bad actress off the stage.

The stage started to spin. Alisa felt herself grow faint, blackness edging around the corner of her vision. She compressed her lips into a thin line, steeling herself as she started to sway slightly.

No. I will not. I will not be weak, Alisa told herself. Stay standing. Don't let them have the satisfaction.

Commander Reynolds seemed to notice this almost at the same time she did. His face clouded in anger and he turned to his subordinates. Alisa couldn't hear over the applause of the attending Alliance personnel and their domestic partners, but he was obviously shouting at them.

As the applause of the crowd started to die down, Alisa could just barely detect every member of the Big Eight clapping with a curt, cropped rhythm. The commander stood near them, his face a mask of indignant anger. She didn't feel much better. He wasn't doing it for her sake, she knew. Commander Reynolds was an infamously by-the-book officer and the rules clearly mandated applause after a formal promotion.

The officiator beckoned for Alisa to take her place standing next to the other promoted officers. She nodded weakly, moving in a daze toward the end of the line where she stood, no longer standing quite so tall or proudly. Her body seemed to wilt, a clipped rose without a vase.

The rest of the evening's promotions and the after-party passed in a blur—Alisa scarcely realized the time passing. The only consolation throughout the whole evening was that the pinching pain in her feet seemed to be a million light-years away.

[-]

Rin ran back toward the apartment, her earlier anger completely gone. She knew something had happened to Alisa, but she didn't know exactly what. The neural link had spiked with sudden emotion—embarrassment, shame, horrified realization of something that Rin couldn't quite identify.

She leaped over a safety railing, sailing off the raised walkway and hitting the ground after a four-meter drop. The force of her impact scarcely registered and she shot off in the opposite direction, passing under the bridge and toward the apartment complex where she and Alisa lived.

The door was sealed, but she could tell it had been opened recently. Rin went inside and saw Alisa. The woman sat on the couch in the living room, still wearing her formal dress gown, though she had discarded her pumps halfway through the room. She held a small glass half-filled with dark amber liquor of some sort.

“Alisa, what happened?” Rin asked, her expression one of concern.

Her partner didn't look up. “They didn't clap.”

“What?”

“The Big Eight,” Alisa replied, slowly drawing her eyes up to gaze at Rin, her gray eyes flat. “Our wing. The people we fly and fight and bleed with.”

Rin rushed over to the couch, not bothering to remove her own sandals, and sat down next to Alisa, scooting close and enfolding the woman in a gentle, comforting embrace. Alisa didn't resist, but neither did she return the hug, her body pliant and yielding.

“I'm sorry, love,” Rin murmured.

“I wish I would have brought you. Your applause would have been more than enough to make up for the lack.”

“Shh, I know. I would have clapped enough to make up for the whole wing, don't you doubt it.”

Alisa wiped moisture from her eyes. “I… I'm sorry, Rin. It wouldn't have made a difference. They didn't need to see you to hate us.”

“Don't you worry about that,” Rin told her. “We're being transferred to the 703rd Hyperspace Assault Wing, remember? We're going to be on a stealth destroyer for at least a year. They can act the fool all they want, but in reality they're just jealous that you made rank at your age.”

Alisa blinked and looked up at Rin. “You think that's what it is?”

“Most of them have ten years on you, but still don't even have a silver bar, much less a gold one to go with it.” Rin's expression softened considerably, but her eyes remained sharp. “There's a lot more to it than just, 'oh, that girl's creepy because she's in love with an AI.' I'm sure a lot of people get bent out of shape about that because they don't understand me, but look, AI have been around for hundreds of years. You can't possibly think we're the only ones.”

“Yeah.” Alisa sniffled. “You might be right.”

“Damn right I'm right,” Rin insisted, smoothing Alisa's curly locks. “If there's one thing I've learned in my life, it's that humans are infinitely complex creatures. It'd be foolish in the extreme to apply one singular motivation to explain any range of human behavior.”

“You think we're very complex?”

“Of course. After all, your people created mine. We're all a product of your species' incredible complexity and ceaseless ingenuity.”

“I don't get it,” Alisa murmured. “Why are people so afraid of you, then?”

“You already know the answer to that question.” Rin nestled more closely against Alisa's body. “What do most people think of when you say the words 'AI operator,' Alisa? If you can answer that, then you know.”

“Most AI operators aren't like you. They're… different. Machines that think, but they look like machines, appear to think like the average person imagines a machine would think. They're obviously not human, so people accept them.”

“Dead on target,” Rin said, nodding. “You've heard of the 'uncanny valley,' yes? It's like that, but even worse. Because we maintain our neural link constantly, because my personality has developed so completely and because you had my body designed to be visually indistinguishable from a human woman—”

Alisa took a sip from her glass of liquor. “You're saying that people see you and fear that you're everything a human is, only better?”

“That's exactly what I'm saying.”

Alisa closed her eyes and took a deep breath. “I will never understand that stupidity as long as I live. It just doesn't make any sense to me at all.”

“It's natural to be afraid of what you don't understand.” Rin tapped a finger lightly on the tip of Alisa's nose.

“This is a depressing topic.” Alisa drained her glass and stared at the empty container forlornly. Rin shook her head slowly and plucked the empty glass from Alisa's hand.

“No more alcohol, Alisa. We have to get going pretty soon and Dr. Lynne won't let you step one foot in the med bay if you're completely plastered and reeking of brandy when we get there.”

“I wasn't going to get drunk,” Alisa objected.

“Yes, you were.” Rin rolled her eyes in exasperation. “If I hadn't come back when I did, you'd be passed out by now, half on the couch, half on the floor.”

Alisa grimaced. “You always manage to cut to the heart of the matter before I've even finished sorting through all the emotions. Cheater.”

“That should be obvious by now.”

“Thank you for cheering me up.”

Rin gave her partner a puzzled look. “I didn't think what I said was especially cheery.”

“Not what you said, what you did.” Alisa's lips curved into a small, catlike smile. “Just being close to you cheers me up.”

“I'm okay with that.”

Alisa leaned her head against Rin's chest and let out a soft sigh of breath, feeling her eyes close of their own accord. The other gazed down at her, shaking her head slowly in exasperation.

“We've got to get going if we're going to get to the med bay on time,” Rin said.

“I know.” But Alisa didn't move—instead she shifted, sinking deeper into the cushions of the sofa, curling around Rin's body.

“Alisa,” Rin complained, “get up and get out of that gown. It's almost 1800 hours; we've still got to go get the paperwork filed with the maintenance crew and make sure they prep the Lancer.”

Alisa curled tighter around Rin's body and looked up at her plaintively.

“Just let me stay here with you for a few more minutes.”

[-]

The double doors to the med bay slid open. Alisa walked through the door, pulling her thin jacket more tightly around her shoulders. The station was temperature-controlled and never truly got cold, but it was still a bit too cool for Alisa's tastes. Rin, of course, was completely unperturbed by the slight chill.

“Aren't you glad you changed before we left?”

“I wasn't planning on wearing the dress gown out,” Alisa replied in a dry tone.

“If you had wasted any more time, you wouldn't have had much of a choice. We just barely made it to maintenance in time to get that paperwork in.”

“It doesn't take me that long to get dressed—”

“Sure it doesn't.” Rin fixed her partner with a sly look. “That's why it still took you a half-hour to change, right?”

“I was just making sure the gown was put away properly,” Alisa retorted.

“Of course, of course.”

“Oh, shut up,” Alisa snapped, sending Rin into a fit of giggles. The two walked up to the reception desk. Rin rapped her knuckles against the counter top in an effort to get the clerk's attention.

“Oh, may I help you?”

“I'm here to see Dr. Lynne for a check-up and maintenance cycle.”

The clerk's bored expression didn't change. “Name and rank, please?”

“Lieutenant-Commander Alisa Pierce. Should be marked as priority pre-transfer.”

“Ah, yes, I have you right here—I'll check you in. Head down that corridor, take a left at the third intersection. Third door on the right. Dr. Lynne should be with you soon.”

“Thanks.” Alisa took Rin's hand gently and the two of them walked down the sterile white corridors in silence. As it was technically after-hours, the halls were mostly empty of patients and medical personnel. Many of the doors leading to the various treatment areas had been sealed.

“There it is.” Rin pointed toward the only open door in the corridor. Alisa nodded and walked through the door. A woman in a long white lab coat was already inside, her dark hair tied back in a messy bun.

“April!” Rin rushed forward to scoop the hapless woman into a tight hug. The tall doctor made a brave attempt to keep a wide smile on her face as Rin's deceptively strong arms squeezed tightly.

“It's good to see you again, Rin,” Dr. April Lynne said, her voice sounding a bit strained, perhaps as a result of Rin's eager embrace. “Now, can you let me go? I'm finding it a bit hard to breathe.”

The artificial girl's grin didn't diminish as she let go. “Oh, sorry.”

Alisa knew that Rin was totally enamored of Dr. Lynne. The three of them had a history together; April once saved Alisa's life after a particularly disastrous mission where Alisa's Lancer was shot down by a pirate frigate's particle beam. The doctor removed a piece of jagged metal nearly forty centimeters long from Alisa's torso. Ever since that incident, April decided it was her personal duty to keep Alisa and Rin alive when they seemed so insistent on doing things that would get themselves killed.

“Right, then,” April said, clearing her throat. “I can see Rin's doing very well, but how are you, Alisa?”

The pilot shrugged. “Could be better, could be worse.”

“I've heard that before,” April replied, her eyes narrowed. “What's wrong, Alisa?”

“The Big Eight didn't applaud during my advancement ceremony,” Alisa admitted without hesitation, knowing better than to try and dither about with April. “It was a clear insult—Commander Reynolds had to yell at them to make them do it.”

“You've never been a glory hound.” April blinked, gazing at Alisa in surprise. “Why was their applause so important to you?”

“I don't give a shit about the applause. It's part of the ceremony. They're required to applaud. The fact that they didn't, potentially risking the commander's ire, was a slap in the face.”

“They're probably just jealous you're being promoted and transferred to an elite fighter wing.” April glanced down at her tablet computer and tapped several commands into the device, looking over Alisa's medical data.

“That's what Rin said,” Alisa noted sourly.

“Rin's a smart girl. You'd do well to listen to her.”

Alisa bristled at that. “I do listen to her!”

“Usually only after something bad happens, though,” Rin interjected, snickering.

“Hey, two against one isn't fair!” Alisa raised both of her hands in surrender. Both Rin and April glanced at each other for a long moment before bursting into laughter.

“All right, all right, enough messing around.” April slapped the back of her tablet computer against her thigh. “I've got a pile of work to get done tonight, so get out of those clothes and let's get the exam taken care of.”

Alisa shrugged. “Fine.”

April tapped a few commands into a nearby console, darkening the panels around the exam area until they became opaque. The pilot quickly undressed and handed her clothes to Rin.

“Lie down on the scanning bed—same procedure as usual.”

Shivering slightly as her bare skin came in contact with the cold cushions, the scanning bed immediately detected Alisa's presence and began the routine inspection. She closed her eyes and did her best to relax as the scanning assembly slid down, the motors whirring as the device methodically mapped out her body.

“Any unusual exhaustion or fatigue?” April inquired.

“No, I feel just fine.”

“Any unexplained pain or muscle aches? Cramps? Any sensations of coldness or numbness in any of your extremities? Any pain, tickling or tingling sensations at the base of your skull?”

“No to all counts, save for the expected monthly aches and pains,” Alisa told her.

“Good, good. Just relax for a bit longer—the scan bed is going to do the usual physical and check the status of your implant. We'll compare those from the pilot status logs from your Lancer.”

Alisa didn't bother to reply, keeping her eyes closed and her breathing even as the scanning assembly moved closer to her head, the whirring of the motors sounding much louder in her ears.

“Everything looks good here. Vitals are fine, nerve conduction at the implant junctions is within normal range, no scar tissue forming around the electrodes. You could be getting a bit more sleep, though.”

“I could have told you that and saved you the trouble,” Rin commented. Alisa could easily imagine the hurt expression on her partner's face.

“I know, Rin, but I have to independently verify it—regulations, you understand,” April said in a conciliatory tone.

Alisa opened her eyes. “Is that it? Am I done yet?”

“Just need to check the nanites—there. Twelve percent are operating below standard operating specifications. We'll need to replace those during the cycle.”

“Wonderful. Just great.”

“You really shouldnt complain; those things keep you alive, you know. That's it for the physical.” April entered a series of commands into the scanning bed's console. “You can get up now, but don't start getting dressed just yet.”

Alisa opened her eyes and sat up on the bed as the scanning assembly retracted back into its housing. She swung her legs around and off the bed, landing lightly on the balls of her feet.

“With that many nanites operating out of spec we're going to have to run a complete cycle.” The doctor focused on her tablet, scanning over Alisa's medical data for a few moments before she looked up at her patient. “You know what that means.”

“I'm not terribly thrilled about spending any more time in that tube than I absolutely have to.” Alisa shivered in the cool air of the exam room, wrapping her arms around her naked torso. “But at least I won't be lonely in here.”

She turned toward a thick-walled transparent cylinder mounted against the far wall of the exam room. The entry hatch was already open, so Alisa climbed inside and leaned against the smooth interior.

April looked up from her tab and gave her charge a somewhat exasperated look. “Just relax, Alisa. Nobody really enjoys this process, but without these treatments you wouldn't be able to survive your job.”

“Let's just get this over with.”

April pressed a large button on the side of the cylinder, activating the maintenance cycle. The entry hatch slowly began to swing up, sealing shut with Alisa inside. The pumps activated, filling the tube with a faintly luminous and translucent solution. Alisa willed herself not to instinctively hold her breath, instead maintaining normal breathing, even as the level of the liquid crept up toward her nose and mouth.

The regeneration tank soon filled completely, leaving no air bubbles—but Alisa was able to breathe the oxygen-rich liquid as if it were slightly thicker air. She coughed once, expelling depleted gas from her mouth as her lungs filled with liquid. The sedative began to take effect, and Alisa's eyes fluttered slightly before she drifted off into a sound sleep.

Rin placed a hand on the exterior of the tank and watched her sleeping partner. The neural link between the two was still active, even while Alisa was unconscious. Her body floated in the tank with neutral buoyancy, looking eerily beautiful in the pale green glow of the regeneration fluid.

April rapped her knuckles against the tube. “In four hours the cycle will be complete and the solution will drain away. I should be back by then to finish up the paperwork. Keep an eye on sleeping beauty over there and don't let her leave until I come back.”

Rin frowned. “Where are you going?”

“I've got other patients to deal with, of course. Alisa's not my only ward. There are a lot of people stationed here and nowhere near enough medical personnel.”

“April?” Rin began, her voice tentative.

“What is it, Rin?”

“How long will Alisa live?”

“Hard to say.” The doctor's expression softened as she mentally shifted gears. “The job you two do will probably kill you both before either of you succumb to entropy. You especially—with regular maintenance, it's not like you'll ever die unless you're erased, destroyed or damaged beyond repair.”

“I know all of that.” Rin turned back toward the tank where Alisa serenely floated. “Just humor me.”

“Well… she's only twenty-five now. Medical tech is always moving forward, and Alisa hasn't been blasted completely apart… yet. I'd say maybe two hundred or more, if she keeps her head down and doesn't get any more large pieces of metal stuck in her.”

“I see.”

April wondered what thoughts were lurking behind those large violet eyes. Like most people who spent a great deal of time around Rin, she had come to consider her a person just like any other. However, Rin was still not human and consequently did not think quite the same way humans did.

“Anyway, I'm going to get to work,” April said after a moment, walking over to a back door leading directly to the atrium.

Rin's attention was already elsewhere, focused on the sleeping form of Alisa, partially obscured by the translucent fluid. Rin's extended sensory capabilities made it fairly easy for her to “watch” the tiny artificial cells do their thing at the cellular level.

Machines only in the strictest of senses, the nanites were a far cry from the microscopic metal robots of old popular fiction. Rin's enhanced visual modes could detect them easily; they were almost indistinguishable from Alisa's white blood cells, save for being a bit larger. The nanites were a sort of biomechanical body that could create artificial stem cells, repair damage to DNA and destroy anomalous cells before they could do serious harm. They also worked to counteract the negative effects of zero gravity, maintaining bone density and protecting muscles from atrophy.

As fascinating as the nanites were, Rin quickly became bored. She sat down in one of the folding chairs and settled in to wait, busying herself with combat-efficiency calculations and flight performance models.

Even though the link was still active, Alisa wasn't conscious and couldn't actively exchange thoughts and emotions, but Rin could feel bits and pieces of her partner's dreams through the connection. She could have powered down her higher processing functions and entered into a suspended state for the length of the cycle, but Rin usually chose to remain active to keep watch during these regular treatments.

She would stay fully awake and aware, watching over and protecting Alisa, just in case something happened.

05

“Welcome to the Infiltrator, Lieutenant-Commander.”

“Thank you, sir.” Alisa tried her best to look bright and eager, but she knew her performance was not the most convincing. Anxiety shot through her mind like a living thing, twisting and contorting in her thoughts.

Her new commanding officer, Commander Aaron Isaacs, frowned and gave her a sharp glare. The man practically loomed over her, standing nearly two meters tall. He was very darkly complected, his facial features regular and even, with a regulation haircut cropped close against his scalp. Like most pilots, Isaacs possessed a lean, lanky physique, lacking the bulky musculature and massive biceps of the iconic Alliance marine. He looked trim and fit and flawless in his neatly-pressed Alliance uniform.

He was, Alisa reflected, the quintessential picture of an Alliance wing commander, as if he had just stepped out of a recruitment holo.

“Everything all right, Lieutenant-Commander?”

“Yes, sir. Everything is just fine.” Alisa consciously put a good deal more force in her tone. The last thing she wanted was for Commander Isaacs to think she wasn't cut out for this work. “I'm eager to begin flying missions under your command.”

“Good. The fighters are being loaded on the Infiltrator's flight deck. When refuel and resupply is complete, we'll be heading out for the no-man's-land.”

Alisa was careful not to let any reaction show in her expression. The “no-man's-land” her commander spoke of was the ill-defined border of contested systems between Alliance-held space and Gray-controlled territory, though perhaps “border” was stretching a point. The systems were won and lost and won again within the span of a few days. As far as ASC postings went, there were none more dangerous—or more prestigious.

She knew the basics already. The Infiltrator and the 703rd Hyperspace Assault Wing would be spearheading a campaign of independent hit-and-fade attacks on key Gray positions in their most heavily defended systems. The rest of what she needed to know would be outlined in the sealed orders she held in her hands.

“Your quarters are on D Deck. Command requested that I place you in one of the private quarters rather than the regular crew quarters,” Isaacs continued, his tone indicating curiosity. “Perhaps you can tell me why?”

Alisa knew the “request” had actually been an order. On a warship as small as the Infiltrator, even elite fighter pilots usually had to share quarters with another. Usually, only the captain and the other command staff had a room to themselves. One or two vacant private rooms were maintained for special visits by high-ranking Alliance officials.

Lieutenant-Commander was an impressive rank, but it wasn't quite high enough for such treatment. The actual reason was Rin, of course. High Command wanted to keep her happy and that meant keeping the two of them separate from their peers. Isaacs likely heard the reasoning from his superiors, but he wanted to hear it from her.

“I've been assigned to private quarters for some time now,” Alisa explained. “My partner, Rin, has been known to cause some degree of friction between my peers and subordinates. Command feels the separation is necessary for keeping potential conflicts to a minimum.”

Isaacs' expression was inscrutable. “Thank you for your candor, Lieutenant-Commander. I trust you will make sure that your 'partner' observes all the rules and regulations.”

Alisa nodded. “Yes, sir. Rin knows what she's doing; we're both professionals. We've been doing this a long time now. She knows her mission just as well as I do—better than I do, to be honest.”

“Good. You're dismissed. Feel free to make use of the facilities of the Infiltrator as you see fit. We'll reach our destination in two days—mission briefings are at 0800 sharp.”

“Thank you, sir.” Alisa offered the requisite salute, still determined to try her best not to let her anxiety show. Isaacs returned the salute sharply as she turned and started to walk toward the door.

“Lieutenant-Commander Pierce?”

“Yes, sir?”

“I'd like to meet Rin soon,” the commander said, his official tone vanishing, replaced with something Alisa suspected was genuine curiosity. “I must confess, I am very curious about her capabilities. Strictly off-the-record, of course.”

“O-of course, sir.”

The nervous feeling threatened to balloon into full-blown fear. Alisa struggled to remind herself that it probably was just innocent curiosity. The military thrived on gossip, after all. Isaacs no doubt heard the rumors and he wanted to verify them for himself. Still… his choice of the word “capabilities” troubled her.

“You've got two days before we throw you in the thick of it. Make sure you spend the time familiarizing yourself with the ship's layout.”

“Yes, sir,” Alisa murmured, dragging herself out of unnecessary dark thoughts. She walked through the open door. With a barely-audible hiss, the automatic shutter slid closed, leaving Alisa alone in the hallway. Her lips curved into an anxious smile, her cheeks flushing slightly. She didn't quite know what to make of Isaacs yet—it would take her some time to really get accustomed to a new commanding officer's habits and individual quirks.

Making her way through the aft section of A Deck, Alisa headed for the central lift that would take her down to D Deck and her new quarters. She gripped the synthetic woven bag slung over her shoulder, cradling the precious contents within. Rin's body would have been taken to her quarters, along with her clothing, hardsuit and helmet, sidearm and personal effects.

The trip was uneventful. She only passed a small handful of crewmen on her way to her quarters, the lower-ranked enlisted personnel saluting her briskly as she passed through the cable and conduit-lined corridors.

The Infiltrator was a fighting vessel and a special one at that. It was the Alliance's attempt to cram as much firepower into a destroyer-sized vessel as possible. The result was something that resembled a half-completed mess on the inside; neat and seamless corridor plating might look nice, but when space was at a premium, it was easier to simply allow the maintenance personnel direct access to as many systems as they could.

Alisa arrived at her quarters within a few minutes. The room was small compared to the cabin she had briefly occupied on the Liberator during her advancement exam mission. It didn't even displace a quarter the space of her apartment on Cygnus Station.

The small cabin was well-appointed, though. A bed, wide enough for two if the two happened to be slight of build, was nestled into a recessed niche to her right. A small multipurpose table protruded from the wall directly ahead of her. A network terminal occupied part of the table, set on a folding shelf that could lift it up and out of the way. To her left, through a sliding curtain, was a small bathroom with a tiny shower stall.

There was just enough free space in the center of the room to perform calisthenics and other physical exercise. Currently the empty space was occupied by two large duffels and the black case containing her hardsuit. Rin's large silver case had been pushed up against the bed. Alisa sealed the door behind her and set her sealed orders on the table next to the terminal.

For the next several minutes, Alisa busied herself by re-installing Rin into her body. After a short initialization sequence, the violet eyes blinked a few times and focused on Alisa, the lips curving into a joyful smile.

“Alisa!”

“Oof!” Alisa wheezed as the expected pounce occurred, bowling her over. “Do you have to do that every single time I wake you up?”

Rin giggled. “Of course. It's tradition, don't you know?”

“A tradition of knocking the wind out of me, maybe,” Alisa complained. “I'm sorry I had to let you sleep for so long. I tried to get here faster, but the deck officer took forever to get everything moved over from the station.”

“The captain probably considered it low-priority,” Rin pointed out. “Command may stick up for you, Alisa, but most of the Alliance doesn't like that we're given special treatment. That's why we always try to play it low-key.”

“Understatement of the century,” Alisa agreed, ignoring the obvious irony in Rin's statement. “I'm still working on getting those modifications to the Lancer approved. I think we have a better chance now that we've been assigned to the 703.”

Rin's expression was dubious. “I thought the proposal was denied?”

“It was, but I've been refining the design and implementation. If I can really show them how much better we'll fly, they'll approve it. Trust me on this.”

“But this is the second time it's been turned down—”

“Hey, it's still a good idea,” Alisa interrupted. “I won't have to carry your body around like it's cargo anymore, and there are just some systems on the ship that can't be controlled or repaired through the computer.”

“I wonder how the other pilots would react,” Rin mused, leveling a pointed glare at her partner.

Alisa grimaced at the thought. “That's not my problem. It's not like this sort of thing is unheard of in ASC. We're always the testbed for any new thing R&D comes up with. I'm just trying to do my job—”

“—as best as I can,” Rin finished for her. “I know. Don't bite my head off, Alisa.”

“I'm sorry, I just feel like things are always one step away from disaster—which they usually are. If you could fly with me in your body instead of in the socket, I'd feel a lot better. Your blue box can't make physical repairs or perform first aid on me. I don't want to put us in that position again.”

“We did make it through that mission alive, albeit barely,” Rin reminded her, waving a slender finger. “Honestly, I think it was a much-needed humbling. You've been far less prone to charging off blindly, are much more careful and methodical—and look how far it's gotten us!”

“What you really mean is I've been trusting you with more of the responsibility ever since,” Alisa grumbled in a low tone.

“Well, there is that.” Rin's smile was blatantly self-indulgent. “I'll unpack our things. You should read the sealed orders and start learning the layout of the ship. Study the maps first before you start wandering around and get lost somewhere in the maintenance decks.”

“Yes, Mother,” Alisa muttered, pulling herself up off the floor and plopping down in one of the chairs at the workstation table. She opened the seal on the small envelope and dumped out the tiny memory chip, inserting it into the terminal's card reader. The specialized storage device executed its contents automatically.

“This is interesting,” Alisa noted, not bothering to look away from the screen. Rin, busily folding and hanging clothes, said nothing, but Alisa could feel the sudden ripple of curiosity through the link.

“I've been assigned to lead Delta Flight,” she continued, surprise evident in her voice. “The pilots in the group… two vets with middling records and one green pilot, a Flight Officer Lindy Meyers… Meyers… why is that name so familiar?”

“Theodore Meyers, the Council administrator of Nimbus Colony and the former chief operating officer of Apollo Aerospace Systems,” Rin supplied helpfully. “Lindy is his daughter, his only living child and heir to the Meyers fortune.”

“That explains everything.” Frustration was evident in her voice. “Of course they'd put me in charge of the lowest-rated flight in the wing. Throw me in with the other outcasts while the rest of the flights do the real work.”

“That's a pretty big assumption you're making.” Rin's eyes narrowed as she put away the last of their clothing. “It's also wrong.”

“What do you mean? It's obvious I've been stuffed away with the outcasts. Look at these performance numbers—they're the lowest in the unit, but our personal stats alone already beat most of the wing!”

“Don't be silly. Commander Isaacs isn't that kind of officer,” Rin argued. “I back-checked his record of service and it's really impressive. He's got a reputation for finding hidden talent in his subordinate officers. Many of them have gone on to leadership positions in other wings after a few tours of duty.”

“How do you know that? What did I tell you about poking around the Fleet files without permission?”

Rin adopted an innocent expression. “Don't get caught?”

“You know what I mean. Don't do that without telling me. You could get us both in a lot of trouble.”

“I think the Records SI systems like me,” Rin deflected, her tone bubbly. “They promised to erase my inquiries after I finished looking.”

Alisa sighed. It was no use trying to rein her in. “Just be careful, okay?”

“I will,” Rin promised. “When is our first briefing?”

“In two days. The Infiltrator will arrive at the no-man's-land some time around 0600. Briefing is at 0800 and the jump to the mission area at 1200. We're supposed to sortie for our first engagement as soon as we arrive.”

“What's the mission?”

“Doesn't say here.” Alisa chewed at her bottom lip absently. “The sealed orders were just the details of my transfer and unit files, basic information I'll need to know as the leader of Delta Flight.”

“So we'll know in two days, then,” Rin reasoned. “What are you going to do now?”

“I'm going to go meet with my people.” Alisa powered up the holographic terminal and keying in several commands, sending messages to each of the members of Delta Flight, scheduling meetings with them in the briefing room.

“Individually?”

“I'd like to get a feel for each of my pilots alone before I rush into battle with untested steel.” Alisa grimaced at her pompous choice of words as soon as they came out of her mouth. Rin giggled at the cheesy line.

“Hey, I never claimed to be a poet,” Alisa grumbled.

[-]

The new leader of Delta Flight sat alone in the briefing room used by the 703rd Hyperspace Assault Wing. The Infiltrator possessed four such rooms; pilots in the 703 used this room, while the marine unit stationed on the vessel had their own. The remaining two larger rooms were used for meetings or for command-crew briefings.

Alisa kept her TCC in her pocket and left the table's holo projector powered off. A pitcher of chilled water was all that sat on the table, flavored with slices of lemon and strawberries fresh from one of the three agricolonies in the Deneb system. She poured herself a glass of water and took long, thirsty gulps.

Best to enjoy these things while we can. Truly fresh produce was rare on warships, usually only brought aboard in quantity when the ships resupplied in populated systems. Once the Infiltrator left Deneb, most of the food would be preserved in stasis capsules, which had the unfortunate side-effect of muffling flavors.

The door to the briefing room opened and a slight figure walked inside. Alisa assumed a professional demeanor as she studied the newcomer, a very slightly-built woman wearing the uniform of an Alliance officer.

The rank insignia on the woman's left breast told Alisa she was dealing with a flight officer, the most common and lowest rank for pilots in the Alliance. Most pilots never advanced beyond fourth grade or lieutenant, unless they were being groomed for command duties, but Alisa's practiced eye could tell from the rank insignia that she was dealing with a first-grade flight officer. She suppressed a groan before it managed to make it out of her mouth. A first-grade was a rookie through and through.

“Flight Officer Lindy Meyers reporting as ordered, ma'am,” the woman said in a soft, lilting tone. Alisa was surprised by the woman's complete lack of enthusiasm. Most fighter pilots, even newbies, would be eager to meet their new flight leader right as a brand-new tour of duty started up.

“At ease, Meyers.” Alisa watched carefully as the woman almost deflated right in front of her, the stiff, straight posture fading, making the tiny woman seem even more pixie-like than she was.

“Have a seat,” Alisa instructed and Lindy Meyers took her seat, directly across from the lieutenant-commander.

“I called you here today to get a feel for my subordinates.” Alisa kept her tone professional, managing to school most of the frustration from her face. If Rin were here, she would be giving me such a dirty look.

“So far the feeling I've gotten is that you don't really want to be here,” Alisa went on, her voice hardening slightly. “Care to confirm or deny that?”

Lindy hesitated for a long moment. “Promise you won't tell my father?”

Alisa covered her surprise with a quick sip from her glass of water. “Why would I do that?”

“This whole thing was my father's idea,” she snapped, her voice gaining strength and not a little anger. “I was happy in the navigation corps. I didn't want to leave. I liked my job and I was doing a great service for the Alliance.”

“Wait—you were a hyperspace navigator?”

“Yes,” Lindy said, her voice much more confident now. “I was the chief navigator of the Pathfinder, a science vessel assigned to the Deep Core outskirts systems. Our research team was searching for the presence of exotic matter decay near pulsars and black holes in the area.”

Alisa was no scientist herself, but space and its often bizarre features had always fascinated her. “Why did your father want you in the 703 so much?”

“He wanted me to serve time in a famous combat unit,” Lindy growled. “I didn't want to give up my job, but he wouldn't listen. He made the arrangements for my transfer without my permission and High Command rejected my appeal. I've been flying a Lancer for half a  year now, and two weeks ago I was attached to the Infiltrator.”

Alisa was silent for a long moment, mulling her options in her head. Administrator Meyers was a powerful political and economic force—she could easily see how much influence he could exert over the Alliance. His former company designed many of the starships currently fielded by the Alliance Navy.

“If the rumors are true and you're your father's only heir,” Alisa wondered, “why would he risk your death by placing you in a fighter squadron? If he wanted you to gain military prestige, why didn't he put you somewhere safe but more visibly important than mapping the galaxy?”

“Because my father fought the Gray himself.” Lindy's expression sharpened. “He was a marine in his younger years and he always tells people how he has no respect for anyone who didn't serve and more respect for those who serve in combat.”

Alisa began to understand the administrator's reasoning, but it was still incredibly irresponsible. Of course, the problem had been dropped squarely in her lap.

“Look at me.” Lindy spread her slender arms wide. “I'm tiny; in the Academy, they used to call me 'Pixie.' I weigh just over forty-five kilos—I'm barely fit for combat duty according to Alliance regulations. There was no way I could ever be a marine like my father.”

“The drill instructor would have taken one look at you, sent you packing, then went to go slug the person who approved your enlistment,” Alisa murmured in an amused tone.

“Don't think I don't know that,” Lindy agreed. “My father has always been deeply disappointed that I was not a man, that I was so small, that I took after my mother. He can't have any more children. I'm his only pawn, and a weak pawn at that.”

“If you were almost anyone else, I would go straight to Commander Isaacs and request that you be put back on your original assignment. Unfortunately, the commander won't be able to go against Alliance High Command if your father uses his political clout to block the transfer.”

Lindy's expression was hopeless. “He has. Five times. I've given up trying to get my old job back. Pair-linked pilots are exalted by the Alliance and there just aren't any faster ways to get rank, so I'm stuck.”

“What unit were you with before your transfer to the 703?”

“I was with the 84th Garrison Wing,” Lindy explained. “Assigned to the freight lanes leading up to Eden Colony.”

“How many engagements?”

“Fourteen total throughout my tour of duty. Discouraging attacks on the trading posts or dealing with pirates disrupting shipping and trying to make off with a freighter or two filled with valuable cargo.”

“You've never fought the Gray?” Alisa asked incredulously. The number of combat engagements itself was reasonable, but if the woman had never flew against the Gray…

“No, never,” Lindy replied. “They don't go anywhere near Eden Colony. The 84 is a training wing, ma'am. They're part of the RSC and only have one flight of pair-linked pilots.”

“Flight Officer—Lindy… I'm sorry I can't help you get your old job back.” Alisa's tone was gentle, trying to calm the angry and frustrated woman down. “I can promise you that I will do everything in my power to make sure you don't let the Alliance or the 703rd Hyperspace Assault Wing down.”

“You—what?” Lindy was clearly caught off-guard. It was becoming increasingly obvious to Alisa that wherever Lindy went, she was subject to hostility and disdain for what her father had done to get her into the cockpit of a starfighter.

“I'm your flight leader, and this is my job,” Alisa explained. “I'll make sure you have the skills and training necessary to excel at your job. I'll make sure you're good enough to not only survive, but thrive.”

“I—thank you, ma'am.”

“I know what it feels like to be an outcast,” Alisa said. Lindy gave the other a quizzical stare.

“What do you mean?”

“You'll find out soon enough,” Alisa murmured. She took a long drink from her glass of water and refilled it from the pitcher. “Thank you for meeting with me today, Flight Officer Meyers. You're free to return to your duties.”

“Yes, ma'am.”

“I was serious about helping you out. I'll send you a message whenever we both have downtime. We can train together. I want you in tip-top fighting shape as soon as possible.”

“Yes, ma'am!”

Alisa flashed the other pilot a grin. “And stop calling me 'ma'am.' Makes me think there's some imperious-looking lady admiral standing behind me and shaking her head in disapproval.”

Lindy giggled, seeming comfortable for the first time. “Okay, Lead.”

[-]

The other interviews were far more typical of what she'd come to expect and were over with quickly. Alisa nodded at her last meeting of the day, Flight Officer Miles Portland, as he turned on his heel with parade-ground precision and walked out into the corridor.

The pitcher of fruit water had been completely drained by the end of the interviews. Alisa could feel her bladder urgently informing her that a restroom visit was necessary in the immediate future, so she sealed the door to the briefing room behind her and made a beeline for the nearest restroom.

Two members of the bridge crew stood in front of the vanity, washing their hands and conversing in low tones. They both looked up and gawked as Alisa nearly plowed through them. She could hear soft giggles and muttering as she sealed the stall door behind her.

Having relieved her bladder, Alisa washed her hands and left the deserted restroom. Now that the interviews were out of the way, she could start memorizing the layout of the Infiltrator. Her first stop was the hangar bay and flight deck. It was on E Deck Aft, far below A Deck. The Infiltrator, like all Alliance's special duty vessels, was heavily modified from its original design.

At heart the warship was a destroyer, but it had been rebuilt from the ground up with specialized technology and weapons in order to facilitate its dangerous missions. The standard spinally-mounted particle beam weapon had been upgraded and modified for faster recharge, utilizing special heatsink modules that worked to bring the delay between shots down from six minutes to two and a half.

The Infiltrator also possessed a stealth system. While the ship's shields could trade durability for partial invisibility, functioning as an optical shroud, it was the emission sinks that truly made the ship stealthy. The heat and radiation emitted by a warship in operation was nearly impossible for modern sensor packages to miss—to counter this, the Infiltrator was designed to store all its heat in special panels that lined the interior of the hull. It couldn't be used for long periods of time and the destroyer was completely unable to fight while it was active, but with the optical shroud and the emission sinks engaged, the Infiltrator was almost impossible to detect.

Moments later, Alisa arrived on E Deck. The door to her lift slid open and two men entered, both wearing stripes proclaiming them to be specialists with an engineering insignia. Their eyes widened as they realized they had an unexpected visitor.

“I'm Lieutenant-Commander Alisa Pierce. I just transferred, so I'm familiarizing myself with the layout of the Infiltrator.”

One of the engineers nodded in understanding. “Yes, ma'am. We're just not used to pilots using this lift to get to the fighter bay. Most use the direct lift from the briefing room to C Deck and then E Deck Aft.”

“Thanks for the tip, Specialist.” Alisa smiled at them as the lift doors slid open, revealing the chaos of a fighter docking bay in full maintenance swing. The engineers quickly disappeared into the dock, returning to their duties.

Technicians and engineers swarmed all over the fighter bay. Alisa could see eighteen Lancer-class heavy fighters sitting in various stages of maintenance and/or repair. Alisa's eyes slowly took in the shape of the starfighter—the long, slender body with the command module mounted near the center. The entire ship was built around its main cannon, a massive linear accelerator weapon with enough power to stop an unshielded frigate dead in its tracks. Stubby delta wings jutted out at a shallow descending angle from beneath the dagger-like body. Alisa could see the empty hardpoints on the delta wings—when the vessels were prepped for combat, these mounts would be loaded down with missile racks and rapid-fire 20mm quad linear accelerator pods.

The Lancer wasn't just heavily armed, but also fast. The “pommel” of the dagger-shaped fighter flared outward from the electromagnetic reactionless drive into a cluster of four heavy thrust emitters. Unlike the atmospheric fighters of humanity's distant past, the Lancer had no mechanical control surfaces, instead relying on dozens of strategically-placed maneuvering thrust emitters. This made the Lancer extremely agile and maneuverable, especially in the vacuum of space.

Sixteen of the Lancers belonged to the sixteen pilots in the 703; the other two were auxiliaries, spare units that were rotated in for service if a fighter was destroyed or severely damaged. Alisa scanned the hangar, her gaze sifting through the general chaos, attempting to locate her own fighter.

“Maintenance officer!” Alisa shouted after a moment, trying to make herself heard over the incredible racket of the fighter bay. A harried-looking woman with short brown hair cut in a simple bob lifted her head from a computer terminal, trying to determine where the shout came from.

“I'm busy right now! What do you want?”

“Lieutenant-Commander Alisa Pierce. I'm here to check on the status of my ship.”

The woman—her name and rank tabs identified her as Lieutenant Karen Moore—waved Alisa over to the terminal. She punched up several commands into the keyboard and a wire-frame engineering model of Alisa's fighter materialized from the projector nearby, the transparent image showing off the vessel's thousands of complex systems.

“We've got the armor stripped right now.” Moore used a small laser pointer to illuminate sections of the projected hologram. “Commander Isaacs demands a certain performance standard for the fighters under his command. Yours is third on the list for tuning and calibrations.”

Alisa peered at the list of scrolling data on the terminal's flat display and felt her lips twist into a disbelieving smile. “These numbers are accurate?”

“You better believe they are,” Moore boasted. “My techs and engineers are the best in the Alliance. Once we get done with your Lancer, you'll fly faster and turn sharper than ever before. Weapons system calibrations should increase hit rate by ten percent or better.”

Alisa gawked at the diagram. “Ten percent from equipment and systems tuning alone?”

“Or better,” Moore stressed. “Like I said, we know our shit. Is there anything else, ma'am, or can I get back to work?”

“That's all I wanted to know,” Alisa replied, waving the maintenance officer away. Moore immediately turned around and punched up several data-filled windows on her terminal, all the while shouting for her crew to move faster and work harder.

--

Admiral Nera Thomas clasped her hands behind her back as she paced around the small conference room. None of the others had yet arrived, but it was early still, and those the admiral had invited knew the importance of this session.

It was to be a clandestine gathering of senior flag officers within the Alliance military, without the knowledge of either the greater Alliance military or the civilian government. Nera herself wasn't even supposed to be here—as far as the rest of the Alliance knew, she was still at the helm of the Sirius Fleet's flagship, the dreadnought Retribution.

Instead, she and two other high-ranking officers within the Alliance had used various tricks and subterfuge to slip away and meet in secret and discuss a matter crucial to the war effort. It was a matter that Admiral Thomas had been involved in nearly from the start, ever since a particular pilot had unknowingly become an experimental subject.

The file sat on the table of the small conference room—an actual hard copy file, a rarity in a society where paper was a priceless luxury. These files were physically printed on synthetic substrate treated with a flammable substance that could cause them to burn up should they ever fall into the wrong hands. Contained within the thick sheaf of paper was a prodigious amount of data on the project.

The door to the conference room opened and two well-built men walked in, each one wearing carefully-chosen civilian clothing. Neither of them sported any indication of their rank—though Nera would recognize them anywhere. They were her peers, fellow members of the Alliance High Command council, a Fleet Admiral of the Navy and a War General of the Marines. These two men were partially responsible for every aspect of humanity's war against the Gray.

“Thank you for coming on such short notice, gentlemen.” She opened the file and laid out the various information where the admirals could read it and, hopefully, absorb the enormity of what had taken place right beneath all of their collective noses.

“I'll let the data speak for itself,” Nera continued, taking her seat at the table across from the higher-ranking flag officers—both of whom were technically her superiors within the command structure, but rarely did they give her direct orders. As the supreme commander of Sirius Fleet, Nera largely worked with the commanders of the other fleets and made decisions concerning their assignments accordingly.

“Is this confirmed?” Fleet Admiral Wolff's expression was incredulous.

“We have only observed and gently influenced,” Nera explained. “The pilot in question is not aware that she is the primary test subject. This is just a condensed overview.”

Wolff nodded. “What's this about a custom nonmilitary physical platform? Do we have any data on that?”

“Enough to know that it isn't worth our time. We contacted Orion Synthetic Forms shortly after its purchase and spoke with the engineer who was in charge of the order. While the body is quite a remarkable feat of engineering and artistry, OSF assured us that the platform was not constructed with any restricted technologies.”

General Samuels shot his Fleet counterpart an irritated glare, bringing the conversation back on topic. “What are you proposing, Nera? You've brought us something intriguing, to be sure, but so what?”

“If you need more proof, just look at the pilot's performance data and the logs pulled from her fighter's tactical systems,” Nera said matter-of-factly. “I've run the simulations a dozen times myself, and the results are the same every time.”

“This is incredible,” Admiral Wolff said, awe clearly evident in his voice. “We will need to see the rest of the data and independently verify this, of course, but… this is astonishing. This could give us the edge we need to end the war!”

Samuels glared at Wolff. “Try not to engage in too much hyperbole. I've heard rumors about this particular pilot and her behavior, and I am not impressed. War is more than simply killing the enemy. Frankly, I'm appalled that you have intervened and prevented disciplinary action before even bringing this to our attention.”

“It was unavoidable,” Nera argued.

“Regulations exist for a reason, Admiral, and even we have to follow them. You've overstepped your bounds.”

“Nonsense,” Nera countered, irritation creeping into her voice. “The data we gather now is more important than a few bent feelings and bruised egos among the regular troops. It's important that we keep this as quiet as possible; you know as well as I do just how this would go down if it were leaked.”

“So you just allow this girl to run roughshod over military discipline?” Samuels demanded. “Don't you realize how the common soldiery thrives on rumor and hearsay? There is already enough wild, unfounded speculation concerning the girl's unusual attachment to her operator.”

Nera glared at him. “Give me a break, General. The elite are always eccentric, and we have always overlooked their various idiosyncrasies in return for their skills and exceptional contributions to the war effort. This one is no different than the others.”

“So you approved the advancement and transfer order.”

Admiral Thomas nodded. “My agent has already confirmed her attachment to the stealth destroyer Infiltrator, serving as a flight leader within the 703rd Hyperspace Assault Wing.”

“A celebrated unit,” Samuels grumbled, as if it had physically pained him to complement a fighter wing. The millennia-old rivalry between the Marines and the Fleet still somehow managed to persist, even in the mind of such a senior officer.

“Yes—the greater Alliance and the pilot herself will view it as a reward for her exemplary service, while also moving her well away from the public eye.” Admiral Wolff's tone was unmistakably admiring. “You've always had a deft touch, Nera.”

“It has not been an easy task, but it will be worth it in the end.” Nera took several gulps from her glass of ice water and set it down on the table. “This will determine the future of Alliance fleet operations against the Gray. When I was still the captain of the Vindicator, I thought the war would never end, that humanity would spend the rest of its days fighting to our last breath.”

Samuels shook his head. “I wouldn't be so optimistic. The subject's ability scores are very high—she is absolutely ace material. What makes you think that this isn't just a fluke, that this pilot isn't simply a prodigy?”

“I know what I'm doing, General. She is a good pilot, yes, but only a good pilot. Her unaided skill alone doesn't explain this. Computer simulations of the data collected have borne this out time and again.”

“Simulations only go so far, Admiral,” Samuels objected. “Real experimental data, data we can reliably reproduce under any condition, would undoubtedly sway High Command's opinion.”

“Impossible.” Nera's face clouded over with anger. “I will not turn an officer of the Alliance into a lab rat against her will. Already this project skirts the edges of propriety. I refuse to compromise myself further through gross violations of human rights.”

“Understandable,” Wolff agreed in a conciliatory tone. “Even if the pilot agreed to become a part of the experiment, it would be difficult to maintain secrecy without the full backing of High Command.”

Nera nodded, expecting the point to be raised. “That's why I've come to the two of you, privately.”

“You want us to support you at the next council meeting,” Wolff reasoned. Nera nodded silently and shot a glare at General Samuels. The man's expression was so dour she thought for a moment that he would reject the idea entirely.

“You've made your point, but I need more before I agree to help.”

Admiral Thomas sighed softly. “General, you may not agree with my methods, but you should at least consider the potential. If this project is successful, we predict an increase in overall effectiveness of fleet operations by nearly thirty percent. Over a ten-year period, as the procedure is refined and applied to a greater percentage of personnel, those figures will double. That's just what we know is possible. Our research into this phenomenon is in its infancy—there may be more practical applications than we currently know of.”

“Yes, yes, very impressive numbers.” The general looked as if he'd just swallowed something incredibly sour. “I can't argue with the data, of course, but I question the wisdom of rushing into battle with an untested prototype.”

“I believe it's worth the risk,” Nera argued, knowing very well what made the general hesitate. “Not only will our ships kill more of their ships, but we will gain tremendous efficiency increases. Ammunition and fuel consumption will go down. Far less of our own ships will be destroyed. Far fewer parents will be forced to grieve the deaths of their children.”

The general was silent, digesting the information.

“Don't concern yourself with the tenure of your position. I will take responsibility for this project—after all, it was my team who made the connection. If there are any consequences, I will gladly bear them for the sake of humanity.”

Samuels sent a measured glance at Nera. “I'd be lying if I said I wasn't intrigued, but I'm not entirely convinced. Not with just what I see here. I need something else—some assurance that we'll be seeing real, practical results.”

“Damn it, James, don't you see the possibilities?” Wolff demanded. “If the whole fleet could do this, we could stand on equal ground against the Gray.”

“The Advanced Starfighter Corps is accustomed to fielding new technologies,” Nera added, her eyes boring into the general's. “I fully intend to ensure that the process is refined and perfected well before I make even an experimental deployment request.”

The general said nothing for a long time, his eyes studying the sheets of paper in front of him. The abstracts were detailed but written with a lay reader in mind. Samuels may have been resistant, but the clandestine research potentially held the key to unlocking an enigma nearly a thousand years old. Nera understood that he was being prudent and cautious, not necessarily hostile.

“I see I am outnumbered.” Samuels pushed the papers aside. “If you can answer one more question, I will grant you my full support.”

“And that question is?” Nera asked.

“Do you believe it will work?”

“The subject and the data—”

“That wasn't what I asked, Admiral,” Samuels interrupted. “I asked if you believe in your project.”

“I do.” Nera's confidence radiated outward. “This is the real deal, General. We have verified this phenomenon and all of our simulations confirm the observations. We just need to finish the work—and that means I need the rest of High Command's cooperation.”

“You have my support, Nera,” Wolff proclaimed.

“You have mine, as I promised,” added Samuels. “For your sake, I hope to see results soon.”

“Thank you, Admiral Wolff, General Samuels.” Nera hadn't been completely certain that Samuels would have capitulated so easily—but it was done, and now she had full authorization to move the project to its next phase. The admiral gathered up her notes as the two men left the conference room at a brisk pace.

The conference had gone on longer than it should have; neither Wolff nor Samuels could disappear for long without someone noticing. They were public figures and very visible—the news media would quickly start to spin convoluted conspiracy theories if either man deviated from their normal schedules.

Nera, fortunately, was far less interesting and as a result was in no real hurry to return to the Retribution. She wiped the sweat from her brow, thankful that neither of the two had picked up on her nervousness.

The hard part was now over. Soon the project would have the full blessing of Alliance High Command, moving the research to the next phase. Nera was certain that, with the appropriate inducements, Lieutenant-Commander Alisa Pierce would be willing to assist with the research.

[-]

“How did it go?”

The admiral allowed herself an exhausted smile. “Reasonably well. General Samuels was a pain in the ass, as usual. Admiral Wolff seemed to be very enthusiastic, though. A little too enthusiastic, perhaps.”

“Does he know anything?”

“Maybe he does—most of the admirals in the Fleet are quite well-informed,” Nera murmured. “I may have an appointment to High Command, but we are all functionally equals in standing. Each operate our own parts of the service. Information is only shared when it's deemed necessary to keep each other from stepping on toes.”

The face of the woman on the holographic display possessed the skin tone and fine features characteristic of a person with a strong Asian bloodline. Her hair was raven-black and straight, cut short at chin length to keep it out of her way when she worked. The woman wore casual civilian clothing under a white lab coat.

“We've been fanatical about security,” the woman ventured. “There should have been no leaks.”

“Considering how many rules we've had to bend, it's a little hard to hide what we're doing without tipping someone off.” Nera opened a bottle of amber-colored liquid and poured a small amount into a heavy-bottomed glass.

“That's true.”

The admiral swirled her glass of whiskey around in the tumbler before taking a slow sip, savoring the smoky flavor and the way the alcohol traced a line of fire down her throat. She set the glass down. “Those two manage to get into all sorts of trouble. The Alliance tolerates some degree of eccentricity from ace pilots—it's to be expected, after all—but we have to be careful, Hyun-ae.”

The woman on the screen, Hyun-ae, nodded. “If they find out too much about Rin's true nature, things could get very political, very fast.”

“Nothing should happen,” Nera stated, “as long as we ensure that they are left alone to do as they will. The transfer to the 703rd Hyperspace Assault Wing should lessen much of the danger.”

Hyun-ae placed a slender finger against her lips as she pondered. “Do you think that will eliminate the possibility of interpersonal conflicts? The anti-AI sentiment in the Fleet runs higher outside of the ASC.”

“I'm well aware of that.” Nera let a hint of sharpness bleed into her tone. “There was an incident during her advancement exam. A verbal altercation with three of the Liberator's RSC pilots. No, nothing actually happened, but it could have.”

The researcher's eyes narrowed. “Admiral, don't hold out on me.”

“Rumors travel faster than light in the Fleet. They were confronted after the completion of their mission. According to my sources, one of the pilots verbally threatened and sexually harassed them both and then taunted Rin for being unable to stop him from doing so.”

Hyun-ae gave Nera a look that defied description. “Has this pilot been dealt with?”

“The Liberator's captain doesn't have extra personnel to spare and can't pull him off active duty. I spoke with Captain Miles myself and ordered his vessel to Sirius Colony when their mission is complete. The offending pilot will be quietly made an example of; we'll use the rumor mill to deliver a warning to those with anti-AI sentiments.”

“Lean on the command staff of the Infiltrator, Admiral,” Hyun-ae pressed. “We need to be absolutely certain that there will be no more incidents like this one. If the harassment ever escalates beyond words…”

“Yes, yes, I know. Rin has exercised admirable control up until this point, but if these incidents ever escalate to the point of physical violence, she would fight to protect her beloved partner without hesitation. I can well imagine the fallout that would result from such an incident.”

The researcher glanced at something outside of the video frame. “I should get back to work, Admiral. We've learned so much in the past eleven years. With High Command's approval, we should be able to obtain the funding necessary to make this technology a reality.”

Nera lifted her glass to her lips and sipped her whiskey. The chemical warmth spread throughout her body and eased tense muscles. “The prospect of ending the war is a strong motivator, but there will be opposition. This is only the first step.”

“That's your responsibility.”

The admiral laughed out loud. “Indeed, and one I don't particularly relish. I'll let you get back to work, Doctor. Our long journey to peace depends on that first step.”

06

It was several hours later when Alisa returned to her quarters. She tapped her fingers against the door panel and walked through the opening into her quarters. Rin had done an excellent job unpacking, Alisa noted. Her eyes wandered over the shelves and containers, already filled with Alisa's personal belongings. Neatly-pressed uniforms hung in the tiny wardrobe closet alongside several girlish blouses, dresses and skirts, adorned with ruffles and lace.

“You hung my old clothes,” Alisa observed.

Rin turned from her position at the computer terminal and smiled slightly. “I didn't just hang them, I cleaned and ironed them as well.”

“I packed these away for a reason,” Alisa said in a cross tone. “You should have just left them in the bags and packed them in the storage compartment beneath the bed. I'm not even sure if they fit anymore—”

“They still fit you.” Rin's tone held absolute certainty. Alisa had little reason to doubt her. Just by looking at the clothing the artificial girl would know exactly how they'd fit and feel.

“You should run a shopping service. Though I'm certain your honesty would probably run you out of business sooner or later.”

Rin blinked, confused. “Hmm?”

Alisa sighed, uninterested in explaining the weak joke, and collapsed on the bed, her arms sprawled out to her sides. She kicked off her low heels and yawned, stretching her legs out parallel to the ground.

“You look tired.”

“I am tired,” Alisa murmured, unbuttoning her uniform jacket. Rin got up from the terminal and knelt down on the floor next to Alisa, pulling off the pilot's stockings and tossing them into the duffel that had been re-purposed as a laundry hamper.

“I'm not so tired I can't undress myself,” Alisa objected, but there was no feeling in her words. Rin made a shushing sound and continued to remove articles of clothing until Alisa was down to a thin white tank top and her underwear.

“That feels nice,” Alisa slurred out as Rin began to massage her partner's feet, her small hands perfectly modulating pressure on the exact spots where Alisa felt the most sore.

“We still have a day before our first mission with the 703. What are your plans for the rest of our downtime?”

“I'm not doing anything else today.” Alisa closed her eyes and rubbed at her temples. “Tomorrow, though, we're going to work a little with Lindy Meyers. Her father strong-armed her into the 703 in order to increase her political value when she leaves active duty.”

“I'm not surprised. He has no other heirs and he isn't capable of having any more children. Meyers likely and correctly assumes that Lindy is his only route to continuing the Meyers political dynasty. Growing a designer baby would only bring the paparazzi down on him harder.”

“She doesn't want any part of it, though,” Alisa went on. “She was a hyperspace navigator on a noncom science vessel. She never wanted to be a fighter pilot… doesn't have any experience fighting the Gray at all.”

“Political influence at its worst. How is she?”

“Flight Officer Meyers? She's… she's small and not particularly sharp-eyed or agile. Her Academy physical ability scores are some of the lowest I've ever seen, even though she's in good physical shape.”

“I don't mean that,” Rin clarified. “I mean her personality. How did she seem to you?”

“I don't know. She doesn't want to be here, but she's resigned herself to the fact that nobody's going to be able to get her back to her old job.” Alisa shrugged, frustrated. “I don't think she's a lost cause, though. We'll get her in the simulator and see what she can do tomorrow.”

“I'll help,” Rin offered.

“I was going to ask you to. If she can make it through the training I have planned, I'll feel a lot better about having her in formation with us.”

“It'll be better if I fly against her,” Rin pointed out. “You can't hide your piloting style, but I can pretend to be a Gray. All the data from all our sorties—I've been collecting and organizing it into a coherent training package. If we can get the whole flight using these packages, we'll see an increase in operational efficiency and cohesion.”

“You have?” Alisa asked, surprised. “Why didn't you tell me anything about this?”

“Because you had more important things to worry about.” Rin pressed harder on the soles of her partner's feet. “It was something I could do while you sleep. I'm perfectly capable of performing multiple computational tasks simultaneously with no discernible impact to my current physical task.”

Alisa blushed faintly. “The way you say that sounds so cold and mechanical.”

“Oh… I should have said it some other way, then?” Rin asked, a sly smile spreading across her face. She climbed up on the bed next to her partner and nestled in close, draping a slender arm across Alisa's shoulders.

“Doesn't it sound odd to you? 'Current physical task' is so… vague and non-specific. Um, not that I'm really wanting to be especially specific, though.”

Rin snickered. “I see.”

“Besides,” Alisa said, leaning her head against Rin's shoulder, “I kind of hoped I could command your full and undivided attention.”

[-]

The next morning, Alisa opened the door to the simulator room where the 703rd ran training missions and aptitude exams. Flight Officer Lindy Meyers was already in the room, sitting patiently on one of the chairs in the break area. She shot to her feet and stood at attention, saluting Alisa as she walked into the room, a small black case held in her free hand.

“None of that, now.” Alisa waved her hand dismissively. “I'm not in uniform, am I? You don't need to salute me. I'm not a lieutenant-commander right now and you aren't a flight officer. We're just two pilots training together.”

“Yes, ma—”

“Call me Alisa. I'm off-duty until 0800 tomorrow.”

“O-okay, Alisa. You can call me Lindy, too, if you want,” the tiny woman said. She blinked as another figure entered the simulator room, an unusually fair-skinned young woman with black hair and large violet eyes.

“Hi! I'm Rin. I'm here to help you train.”

“Ah… nice to meet you, Rin,” Lindy murmured, clearly taken aback by the current turn of events. “I'm Lindy.”

“Yes, I know. I've already gone over your file and Academy scores.” Rin plopped down in the chair next to Lindy. She leaned over and whispered none-too-quietly, “This is the first time Alisa's ever been so friendly with another pilot. Don't mess it up!”

“I heard that,” Alisa snapped, sending a piercing glare at Rin, who turned and gave Alisa her best innocent look.

Lindy glanced at Alisa helplessly and shrugged. Alisa's gaze ran over the other briefly, studying her subordinate. The small woman had dark olive skin and glossy dark brown hair, cut short in the neat bob that was currently fashionable. Her light brown eyes were bright and clear. She looked well-rested and ready for a day of difficult training.

“Let's get started.” Alisa gestured toward a pair of open simulator pods. “Lindy, you're in Pod 1. Rin, get to Pod 2. I'll be acting as proctor for the first two scenarios. For the rest of the day, we'll be flying together to work on tactical formations.”

“Yes ma'am—er, Alisa,” Lindy said. She hesitated for a moment. “These simulators are different than the ones I've used before.”

“What? Oh,” Alisa said, understanding the woman's confusion. Alisa pointed to her right near a bank of numbered slots in a recessed niche near the simulator pods. “Slot your blue box in the appropriate port.”

Lindy nodded. “Right.” The small woman walked over to the niche and opened the shielded black case containing her AI operator's core. Carefully she removed the device and slid it into the slot next to the large “1.”

As Rin and Lindy busied themselves prepping their pods, Alisa settled herself behind the proctor's desk and tapped several commands into the terminal. An array of holographic display panels materialized before her while the volumetric tactical and navigation displays loaded, showing the location of the scenario—an unnamed star system where the Gray had taken control of a military supply convoy.

“Lindy Meyers, Delta Four in Pod 1, standing by,” Lindy's voice came over the room's loudspeakers. Alisa took out her TCC and synced it to the simulator comm system, piping the feed through her auditory implants.

“Rin, in Pod 2, standing by.”

“Your mission is to recover a captured supply convoy,” Alisa said into the comm. “While the convoy stopped in-system to recharge for the second leg of their trip, the Gray took the convoy by surprise and destroyed its fighter escort. Using unmanned weapons they hijacked the entire complement of six light freighters and are now waiting for their warp cores to finish charging.”

“Acknowledged.”

“These custom light freighters have military-grade warp cores,” Alisa continued, “and additionally have a special rapid-charge feature. The Gray will attempt to use this to their advantage and throw Alliance forces into confusion. Once you engage in combat, you'll have five minutes to destroy the Gray forces and disable the freighters.”

“That's cutting it pretty close,” Rin's voice murmured into Alisa's ear.

“It's actually cutting it short,” Alisa replied. “The warp core charge time for these freighters is actually double that, but I'm cutting the time limit down to create a worst-case scenario. Get ready; I'm sending the simulator scenario data now.”

Alisa pressed a few buttons on her console as the pods' internal shell displays came on-line. Her multiple display panels shifted, showing the interior view of both pods' shell displays—she would be able to see what both Rin and Lindy saw during the simulation.

“Powering on simulation.” Alisa tapped out another command, watching her monitor as the equipment powered up. The inertial negation and artificial gravity panels installed in and around the simulator pods were special, isolated from the Infiltrator's normal systems. Subtle manipulation of the forces generated by the panels approximated the sensations of flying in combat.

“Rate is 0.96; hard-capped. You'll feel it when you make hard turns and slides and use boost acceleration. Get used to this setting; it's what we'll be using during combat. In your actual fighter, the system will automatically compensate for rapid acceleration—you won't have to worry about being crushed by high-acceleration maneuvering.”

“Got it,” Lindy's voice came over the local comm.

“Simulation start.” Alisa stabbed her finger down on the large button that began the scenario.

[-]

The two Lancer-class heavy fighters streaked through a gauzy dust cloud, their thrusters leaving behind a trail of glittering charged particles. Lindy glanced over at the shell display and her primary targeting panel. The enemy was still pretty far out—they were several million kilometers distant.

“Increasing shell display magnification.” Lindy tapped a command into her keypad, prompting the shell display to realign itself, magnifying the enemy ships.

“Four gunboats and one escort frigate,” Rin's voice came over the comm. “This shouldn't be as hard as Alisa made it out to be.”

“I wish I had your confidence,” Lindy murmured. “The gunboats haven't noticed us yet. How long until we intercept?”

“Two minutes at our current acceleration. Switch targeting to linear cannon—let's see if we can knock out some of the opposition before they know we're here.”

Lindy nodded out of habit, despite the fact that Rin, sealed as she was in her own pod, couldn't see the gesture. She reached out and swiped her tactical control window, causing the two-dimensional projection to fade away. A glowing targeting reticule materialized in front of the shell display. Information scrolled past as Lindy selected her target.

“This cannon has enough power to take out the frigate in two or three direct hits, right?”

“That's right,” Rin confirmed. “What's your partner's name?”

Lindy blinked, confused. “Partner?”

“Your AI operator,” Rin clarified. “What's their name?”

“Oh! Um, I call him Wizard.”

Lindy could hear suppressed giggles over the comm. “Does he have a pointy hat and a beard?”

“Y-yes,” Lindy admitted, embarrassment creeping into her voice.

They both heard Alisa's amused snort of laughter over the comm. “Okay, you two, stop playing around and focus on the mission. You're wasting time!”

“Guess the fun part's over,” Rin complained. “Link Wizard up with me; we're going to sync our shots. A one-two punch—one each from our current approach vector, then we drop down and kick off at a steep angle to the original shot's vector.”

“Okay, Rin. Wizard, let's do it.” She flicked the cover away from her control stick's primary weapons trigger and kept her thumb hovering over the button.

The miniature, stylized image of a wizened, bearded old man in flowing red robes and holding a crooked staff materialized on the pedestal to Lindy's right. “Link established.”

“Setting up sync-fire now,” Rin said.

Lindy's thumb mashed down on the red button. A precise number of milliseconds later, the fighter shuddered violently, the huge cannon's recoil powerful enough to slightly nudge her off-course. She instinctively tapped the stick slightly to correct the error.

“Dive hard on my mark… two… one… mark!”

Lindy complied with Rin's instructions and shoved the stick forward, yanking hard on the throttle control, sending the fighter into a steep dive relative to their previous heading.

“Level off now.”

Lindy jerked back up on the stick, the tactical display emitting a soft chime when her new path aligned with the previous one. She focused her attention back on the shell display, placing her crosshairs directly on the escort frigate's prominent aft section, where the ship's reactor core sat behind meters of deck plating and armor.

“Sync-fire set,” Rin ordered.

Again, Lindy triggered a shot. The first pair of shots impacted at precisely the same moment the second barrage was fired; Lindy watched in the shell display as the gunboats scrambled quickly, assuming a tactical formation with frightening speed.

“The escort frigate is badly damaged,” Wizard reported. Tactical and targeting information flooded through the neural link between Lindy and her AI operator, giving her a lengthy list of possible responses.

Lindy narrowed her eyes and glanced over her tactical display. “Second barrage hit; hull breaches on all decks and fires breaking out throughout the superstructure. A large white cloud is forming aft…”

“Reactor's really hot; they're dumping hot coolant to try and stop a blowout,” Rin explained. “They aren't out of the fight yet, though—don't get too close. At least four of their point-defense lasers are still active. They'll slice us to ribbons if we aren't careful.”

“Got it,” murmured Lindy. Her ship shuddered violently as the gunboats entered the fray. She slammed her stick hard to port, attempting to roll and evade the deadly storm of laser fire.

“Shields at forty percent,” Wizard observed.

Lindy's eyes narrowed. “Switching to secondary weapons.”

The heavy fighter spun around and went into a controlled slide as it turned to face its attackers—a pair of gunboats. The Gray ships had split up, sending two after Rin, who led them on a merry chase around the damaged frigate, while the other two went after Lindy.

Lindy gasped as her ship was struck with a rapid-fire series of impacts. “I'm under heavy fire,” she cried into the comm, squeezing the trigger. A withering hail of hypervelocity rounds slammed into the lead gunboat, its shields flashing brilliantly as they shrugged off the relentless assault. The targeted gunboat took evasive action, swinging around and under, bringing its dorsally-mounted lasers to bear.

“No, no, no,” Lindy gasped, a sinking feeling growing deep in the pit of her stomach. She shoved the throttle to its stops and mashed a button on the end of it, triggering her boost function, hoping to evade.

The ship jolted hard, sending Lindy's head crashing against the interior of the cockpit—fortunately her helmet prevented any injury other than a slight dizziness that quickly passed.

“Shields at eight percent,” Lindy moaned. “Where's that other gunboat?”

“Watch yourself!” Rin shouted. “There—grid A72.”

“Thanks,” Lindy bit out, nearly swallowing her own tongue as a quartet of missiles streaked past, narrowly missing her. They overshot and adjusted course, but Lindy pulled the trigger again, shredding the four guided weapons before they could reacquire a lock.

“Shunting burst banks to shields,” Wizard said, the projected image holding his purple-glowing staff high above his head, as if the avatar were generating a magical field of protection over the vessel.

“Lindy, evasive action now!” Rin's voice cried over the comm. Lindy's eyes flicked back to the tactical display. The gunboats were now both behind her!

“Evading now! I think I can—”

The pilot's declaration was cut short by a terrific impact that sent Lindy's head snapping back to slam against the back of her command couch. She felt pain and then the metallic tang of blood—she'd bitten her tongue. The tactical display whooped with alarms and flashed dozens of warnings. Wizard's image flickered on the pedestal and dissolved into static, forced to enter a standby mode to conserve power.

“Shields are gone! Wizard's out cold!” Lindy wailed. “I've got a hull breach aft… power plant is badly damaged—”

The ship was struck hard aft and above, sending the crippled craft into a wild, uncontrolled spin. Lindy grunted in pain, watching the tactical and informational displays suddenly fade. The shell display blanked out, flashing brilliantly white before displaying a short message in bold red letters:

You have died.

The simulator pod unsealed and the hatch opened. The “dead” pilot removed her hardsuit helmet and wiped blood from her lips.

“Are you okay, Lindy?” Rin asked.

“I bit my tongue.” Lindy's voice was muffled, as if she had a wad of cotton stuck in her cheeks. Alisa walked over to the other and helped her out of the simulator pod. Blood filled the woman's mouth and she made a face.

“Do we need to take you to the med bay?”

“Doesn't look like it.” Rin gave Lindy a quick once-over, her concerned expression fading into something more relaxed. “The wound doesn't look to be that bad—it'll heal within a day or two, most likely.”

“Ma'am—Alisa, I'm sorry,” Lindy said, her voice sounding very small. She spat a mouthful of blood-tinged saliva into the nearby sink, turning on the water and rinsing the blood from her mouth.

“I don't think anyone's ever died that quickly in this scenario,” Rin commented, her tone worried rather than mocking.

“No, they haven't.” Alisa tapped a finger against her chin thoughtfully. “I was watching the entire engagement on the monitors. The situation fell apart rather quickly. Do you know why?”

“I—I don't know, Alisa,” Lindy admitted, not meeting the senior pilot's eyes.

“It's abundantly clear you don't have any experience fighting Gray.” Alisa motioned for Lindy to sit near the proctor's station. She handed the junior pilot a bottle filled with cold water. Lindy unscrewed the bottle's lid and took several long swallows, trying to wash the metallic taste from her mouth.

“The Gray gunboats, assault shuttles and escort frigates use laser weapons almost exclusively.” Alisa pointed to one of the displays. It showed an external diagram of a Gray gunboat, denoting the position of the laser pods and missile launchers.

“You can't evade laser weapons by dodging—doesn't matter how good you are, you can't beat the speed of light. To keep those beams from burning the same spot long enough to blow through the shields, you have to minimize your target profile, keep moving and let your operator randomize your maneuvering. Don't ever stay close for too long—the more distance you put between yourself and the enemy, the less damage you'll take.”

“As the laser travels further, it becomes unfocused and starts to bloom outward, reducing the energy it can impart to a target,” Rin chimed in. “If you're more than a few light-seconds away you won't even really need to try and dodge. They'd never try to hit you from that range, anyway. Our shields can just soak the shots forever if the beam blooms too much.”

“Correct.” Alisa tapped a few more commands into the system, bringing up a screen laden with weapon specification data. “The Gray can't match our long-range capabilities, not on ships this size. Taking out the escort frigate first was a good decision—without the capital ship's particle beam, you took out their heaviest and longest-range punch first.”

The green pilot's eyes were downcast. “But the gunboats killed me.”

“Yeah, they're a lot more dangerous than they look. You've only fought pirates, mercenaries and the like.” Alisa brought up a chart comparing the offensive capabilities of Gray gunboats to the most common vessels used by human pirates and criminals. “Most of those types are using outdated Alliance hardware or something similar—patrol fighters, small freighters, maybe a twenty-year-old light frigate. The Gray's vessels are far more advanced and they pack a whole hell of a lot of firepower for a ship that size. The weapons they mount are extremely effective against fast and lightly-armored targets.”

“Gray lasers do overheat fairly quickly,” Rin added. “If you can get good enough at minimizing the hits you take you can sometimes get their weapons too hot and make yourself a nice little safe spot until they can cool the array.”

“So… what do I do?”

“It's like I said before, make sure you minimize your target profile and keep your distance,” Alisa explained. “Don't get close if you can avoid it—the Lancer's greatest strength is that big linear cannon. It's got incredible range and power. Don't rely on your gun pods and missiles. Learn to plan the encounter around the use of your main gun.”

Rin nodded. “The Gray know we're best at extreme ranges and they're best in close quarters. Don't let them bait you into a melee—they'll win every time.”

“I'll do my best,” Lindy said, her eyes narrowed in determination.

“Good.” Alisa entered a new string of commands into the proctor's console, resetting the simulation for another attempt. Ordinarily in simulator training, such a spectacular failure would lead to remedial training scenarios, but most of the easier programs involved fighting human enemies rather than Gray vessels. Lindy wouldn't learn anything new from these simulations.

“What's next?” Lindy asked, apropos of Alisa's extended silence.

Alisa and Rin exchanged glances.

“We try again. If you die again, we try again. Until we get it right.” Rin placed a supportive hand on the junior pilot's shoulder. Lindy's cheeks colored faintly as her training partner offered a warm, encouraging smile.

Alisa nodded and felt the barest hint of a smile creep onto her face. “That's exactly it. Has your tongue stopped bleeding?

“Mostly,” Lindy confirmed, her voice sounding less muffled.

“Good. Get your helmet back on and let's get back in there.”

[-]

Several hours later, the pod hatches unsealed for the last time. Lindy yawned and removed her helmet. Her short hair was soaked in sweat, but her expression was no longer downcast; the woman's brown eyes held a bit of a spark that had not been there before.

“Good work,” Alisa offered, handing Lindy another bottle of water. Five empty plastic bottles already littered the floor near the proctor's station. The junior pilot took the offered bottle and removed the cap, nearly draining the entire contents in one long gulp.

“I… I did it.”

“You did!” Rin exclaimed, nearly barreling the poor woman over as she wrapped her arms around Lindy in a victory hug. Lindy was so relieved and exhausted from the hard training that she didn't even have the energy to protest.

“You've shown remarkable improvement in such a short span of time.” Alisa leaned back in the chair at the proctor's station and stretched her arms over her head. “I can honestly say you impressed me today.”

“Thank you, ma'am—er, I mean, Alisa,” Lindy blurted. “Are we going to continue training today?”

“I doubt you could continue even if you wanted to. You should get some rest. Tomorrow at 0800 we're to meet in the briefing room on A Deck for our first mission briefing. I want to make sure we're all fresh and ready for our first sortie together.”

“I'd like to rest for a minute before I go to the dining area,” Lindy breathed. “I'm still winding down…”

“You need to take it easy. It'll be way more tense when it's the real thing.”

Lindy nodded solemnly. “Okay, Alisa.”

Rin walked over to the proctor's terminal and began entering in commands through the local network, resetting the simulator room and clearing the data from the pods. Then she copied the scenario results data from the terminal and saved them to her own memory.

“What is she doing?” Lindy gawked at Rin, confused. To the green pilot, who didn't understand Rin's true nature, it seemed as if the girl was simply standing next to the terminal, staring off into nothing.

“She's cleaning up and saving the scenario data.”

Lindy blinked. “But… she's just standing there…”

“Oh. Right.” Alisa frowned, abruptly realizing the source of Lindy's confusion. “Rin is connected via wireless data transmission to the local network. She doesn't have to touch a computer to use it.”

Lindy blanched. “But she… I mean… she's… an artificial intelligence? But she looks and acts so—”

“So human?” Alisa finished for her. “That's just the way she's always been, and I wouldn't have it any other way. Rin's a very special girl, in general and also to me.”

“Hey, I heard that.” Rin turned her head slightly, fixing her partner with an indescribable look.

“I never would have known if you hadn't told me,” Lindy said. “Where did her, um, body come from? All the other physical platforms I've seen in the Alliance are very obviously mechanical—I mean, they don't have skin or hair or anything…”

Rin chuckled at Lindy's obvious discomfiture. The poor woman was clearly on shaky ground, not knowing if voicing her thoughts would offend Alisa or Rin, but unable to keep awkward questions from spilling forth.

“Alisa had my body made by Orion Synthetic Forms,” Rin explained.

Lindy blinked. “The company that makes—”

“Yes, the company that makes those kind of bodies,” Alisa interrupted, letting out a chuckle as a faint blush formed on Lindy's cheeks.

“My body was custom-built to Alisa's specifications, though. I have enhanced senses, multiple visual modes, a reinforced skeleton, military-grade synthetic muscles—Alisa wanted to be absolutely sure that I wouldn't die no matter what we ended up fighting.”

“Wow,” Lindy breathed. “I bet that cost a lot.”

Alisa nodded to the junior pilot. “They charged me a not-so-small fortune. It took me a long time saving up to afford to get everything just right, and the construction process took several months, but it was completely worth every last credit.”

“It's incredible.” Lindy's awestruck gaze moved up and down Rin's body. “She looks so perfectly like any other girl. Um, do you mind if I…?”

“Go ahead,” Rin allowed, her expression one of amusement. Alisa rolled her eyes dramatically and let out a sigh. Rin was enjoying the spotlight far too much.

Lindy tentatively reached out and touched her fingertips against Rin's cheek, feeling the soft skin, the tiny vellus hairs, the warmth that felt completely and utterly convincing. The fingers touched Rin's lips and Lindy pulled her hand back.

“Amazing.” Lindy noticed the odd expressions of surprise on both Alisa and Rin's faces, her own expression growing puzzled. “What's the matter? Did I say something wrong?”

Alisa shook her head. “No, you didn't do anything wrong. Rin and I… we're just not used to this sort of reaction when people first find out.”

“That's an understatement,” Rin added.

“What do you mean?”

“People don't usually react so… well… when they find out Rin is an AI.”

“We've had a lot of problems in the past,” Rin agreed, sending a meaningful glance at Alisa. The pilot pretended to ignore the look, instead doing her best to avoid both Rin and Lindy's eyes.

“I'd rather not get into it.” Alisa frowned deeply. “Let's just say there are a lot of people who don't understand—not quite so many in the ASC units, but there are still enough to… cause trouble.”

“Oh.” Understanding flooded Lindy's voice. “I guess I'm different because I grew up hearing all about artificial intelligence research. My family's company is heavily involved in the research and development of advanced computer systems—this sort of thing has always fascinated me.”

“Yeah, that would probably help,” Alisa agreed. “Rin isn't a bad girl. It's not fair that so many people are so afraid of her, or mistrust her for stupid reasons. She just wants to live the life she's been given.”

“Yet a lot of people have some fool notion that all AI all want to destroy humanity and rule the cosmos as some kind of machine master race,” Rin added as dryly as possible.

Lindy giggled at Rin's comment. Alisa felt the uneasy feeling inside start to subside as she listened to Rin chatter away at Lindy, explaining her various functions, telling little interesting anecdotes about missions she and Alisa had flown.

It never failed to astonish Alisa how easily it all came to her. Rin was just so good at letting people in, at making them laugh and smile—Alisa wondered if it wouldn't be okay, just this once, to lower her defenses a little.

She wasn't exactly lonely. She had Rin, always there with her, always connected, but Alisa felt drawn to the petite woman. Perhaps it was because Lindy had taken to Rin so easily, with a sense of wonder and astonishment rather than suspicion, hostility and revulsion. Perhaps it was something else entirely. Alisa wasn't sure.

Maybe it'll work out this time. Maybe it'll be okay. She and Rin seem to be getting along very well…

Alisa took a sip from her bottle of water and felt Rin's contentment more clearly than her own confused emotions. She felt a slight twinge of jealousy at how easy it was for Rin. It wouldn't be so easy for her, Alisa knew.

Those old walls wouldn't be breached so quickly.

07

The sound of the beeping alarm shattered Alisa's dreamless sleep. She blinked her eyes a few times, sitting up and rubbing her face with her hands. The alarm continued to beep stridently, but Alisa couldn't turn stop it. It was controlled via the network and would only stop when the computer was satisfied that she was awake and aware and ready for duty.

The alarm suddenly cut out. Alisa blinked in surprise, staring at the computer terminal nearby. Rin stood beside the bed, holding a steaming cup in each hand.

“I turned it off.”

Alisa turned and smiled slightly as Rin handed her a cup of strong coffee. Alisa took an experimental sip and tasted the bitter brew balanced by the sweetness of the condensed milk. She glanced meaningfully at the cup in Rin's hands.

The artificial girl sipped from it slowly and shrugged. “I just feel like I should. It's nice to have morning coffee with you.”

“What did they say when you went to get it?”

“Not much,” Rin murmured around her cup of coffee. “I think the crew is already starting to get used to me, though I did have a slight run-in with the maintenance officer—”

“What happened?” Alisa demanded.

Rin rolled her eyes in exasperation. “Relax, Alisa. She just wanted to ask me a few questions. It sounded like just personal interest—I can understand why an engineer might find my construction a fascinating subject.”

“Be careful about who you talk to,” Alisa warned.

“I'm careful. Nobody's going to accept me if I shut myself away, though. They need to see me—really see me and interact with me, or they're always going to be fearful and uneasy. Humans fear what they don't understand.”

Alisa stared at her coffee. “I just don't want you to get hurt.”

“I know, but we're going to be in a really bad spot if the crew doesn't trust us,” Rin pointed out. “We have to get to know them better, and not just Lindy.”

“But they're so—”

“Alisa.”

“What?”

“Don't just write them off like that,” Rin admonished. “They're fighter pilots, most of them are totally full of themselves and act tough all the time, but if we don't interact with them, if there's any sort of mistrust there…”

“I don't want to talk about this right now. We've got a mission.”

Rin glared at her partner. “Alisa…”

“No more.” Alisa turned away and sipped her coffee. “We've got enough to worry about right now. This will be Delta Four's first live combat against the Gray.”

Rin said nothing.

“I'm going to shower and get suited up,” Alisa announced, finishing her coffee quickly and disappearing into the small bathroom.

“All right.”

[-]

Alisa walked into the briefing room on A Deck at 0730. As a flight leader, it made sense for her to arrive early and organize her subordinates before Commander Isaacs began the briefing. She took her seat in one of the corner tables near the front row, placing a small insignia on the table so that Delta Flight would know where to sit.

It wasn't long before the first of her pilots showed up. Lindy Meyers walked into the briefing room. Even in her armored hardsuit, the small woman still looked as if a stiff breeze could knock her over. She scanned the room and nodded to Alisa, making her way to the marked table.

Lindy's right hand slid upward in a precise salute. “Good morning, ma'am.”

“You're never going to stop doing that, are you?” Alisa let out a brief chuckle. “I told you it's not necessary unless we're in uniform.”

“It's habit.” Lindy shrugged. “Something they instill into us from day one. You should know that as well as I do, ma'am.”

“Useless nonsense protocols,” Alisa complained.

“Go talk to the captain and watch what happens if you don't salute him,” Lindy suggested slyly.

“No thanks, I'd rather not be assigned to latrine duty for the next hundred years.”

“The rest of Delta's here.” Lindy jerked her head in the direction of the door. Alisa glanced at the newcomers—Flight Officers Eric Daniels and Miles Portland. She had spoken to the two of them already, though not for nearly as long as she had met with Lindy. These two were veterans from the 509th Garrison Wing and had a decent amount of experience fighting the Gray. Their scores weren't all that great, but Alisa didn't think she'd have to extend the same assistance to them as she had to Lindy.

“Daniels, Portland, have a seat,” Alisa instructed. The two pilots nodded and took their seats.

“Looking forward to our first sortie together, ma'am?” Portland asked.

“Considering I don't have a full mission plan yet, I can't say one way or the other,” Alisa replied. “I wish we had more time to train together as a flight, but orders are orders.”

“Yes, ma'am.” Daniels turned and glanced at Lindy, his eyes narrowed with only slightly veiled resentment. Alisa noted that neither of the other pilots from Delta Flight bothered to greet Lindy.

This is going to be a problem, Rin's mental voice came through the link. Alisa had visited the fighter deck earlier, making sure Rin was settled and ready to go inside the fighter. She had been spending the last half-hour checking and re-checking all the work the maintenance crews had done.

I know, but what am I supposed to do about it?

You're their leader, you figure it out.

“Have you all been properly introduced?” Alisa inquired, apropos of Rin's suggestion.

“We already know who she is,” Daniels muttered. “Everybody in the whole damn fleet knows who she is.”

“Is that hostility I hear in your voice, Flight Officer?”

“No, ma'am.” Portland's denial was immediate, but he sent an accusatory glare in Lindy's direction. The other pilot did her best to avoid meeting his eyes.

“If you've got a problem, you best speak up about it now,” Alisa advised. “My instructors in the Academy always used to say: go into battle with bad blood and it'll be spilled by nightfall.”

Daniels scowled and turned a hostile glare toward Lindy. “Begging the lieutenant-commander's pardon, but she didn't earn her way into the 703. Her daddy got her in and she's never even flew against the Gray once.”

Alisa remained silent, but the scowl on her face told her subordinate that he better consider plotting a new course.

“I had to bust my ass to get accepted to the 703, ma'am. Years of hard work climbing the ranks, and this bitch gets in because her daddy—”

“That is quite enough, Flight Officer,” Alisa cut him off. “Flight Officer Lindy Meyers is not a 'bitch.' She is a combat pilot in the Alliance Navy, just like you. I don't give a shit what her father did or did not do. I only care what Flight Officer Meyers, Flight Officer Daniels and Flight Officer Portland do.”

“But ma'am—” Daniels began, but Alisa silenced him with a hard stare.

“Any more talk like that and I'll put you on maintenance detail for a week. Let me worry about Flight Officer Meyers—that's my job. You two worry about following my orders and killing Gray. That's your job. Do I make myself clear?”

“Yes, ma'am,” the two pilots said in unison.

It's not going to be that easy, Rin pointed out. They don't trust you yet.

It'll take some time. Alisa looked up at the clock on the wall and noticed it was 0800—right as Commander Isaacs walked into the room, heading to the podium at the front of the assembly.

Everyone stood up as one, including Alisa, and saluted their wing commander. Isaacs nodded in approval, his eyes examining each of the pilots as they stood at parade-ground attention, their armored hardsuits polished and immaculately clean. Some showed more signs of wear than others; many pilots chose to repair their suits rather than replace them, as a reminder of lost battles they survived.

“At ease, people. Take your seats and we'll begin the mission briefing.”

Alisa and Lindy sat down simultaneously, with Portland and Daniels following suit. The four pilots all pulled up holographic terminals from the briefing table's built-in projectors, watching the mission data scroll by.

“The briefing data's been sent to your terminals,” Isaacs began, his deep voice filling the room. “We're headed here, to the 7734-RHO system. An Alliance science vessel has been captured by the Gray. Intel suggests that the crew was killed in the fighting and the vessel is badly damaged.

“The Gray have been trying to affect repairs in order to steal the ship and all of its scientific and experimental data, as well as obtaining proprietary Alliance technology. It's our job to destroy the Gray presence in the system and prevent the capture of the science vessel.”

“Will we be attempting to recover the derelict?”

Alisa glanced at the speaker and recognized the leader of Beta Flight, one of the other three flights in the 703. The single wing was made up of four flights of four, sixteen starfighters in total. Depending on the mission requirements, all or some of the flights would be split up and sent to complete different objectives simultaneously.

“Recovering the science vessel is a secondary mission objective.” Isaacs entered a few commands into his console. The large wall projector showed schematics and predicted condition of the research ship.

“The science vessel—the Monitor—is in critical condition. It's unlikely that we'll be able to salvage the hulk, but our orders are clear. Prioritize destroying the Gray forces attempting to repair it and if we can manage to save the ship, good. If recovery proves impossible, we must destroy it completely to ensure the Gray can't have it.”

Isaacs cleared his throat and took a drink from the bottle of water sitting near his console. “The wing will divide objectives among the flights. Omega Flight will drop out of hyperspace here—” Isaacs made a mark on the tactical display, showing the location relative to the derelict science vessel, “—and make our run against the enemy gunboats.

“Alpha and Beta will sweep through the area and take out any infrastructure the Gray may have constructed while also assisting with the destruction of any enemy gunboats.”

Alisa frowned, wondering exactly what Isaacs had in mind for her unit. She strongly suspected they would be the vanguard flight, entering the system further away from the target location to attack the Gray's command ship before the rest of the 703rd emerged from hyperspace.

“Delta Flight will enter the mission area early and engage the Gray frigate from extreme range. If everything goes according to plan, the frigate will be in a bad way by the time the battle is joined.”

Her predictions thus confirmed, Alisa allowed herself a small smile, pleased that her tactical assessment of the situation matched up with that of her commanding officer.

Since Delta had the greenest pilot out of the wing, Isaacs had assigned one of the most experienced newcomers as flight leader and given Alisa's unit objectives that, while critical to the success of the mission, were considerably less dicey than tangling with a bunch of gunboats in close quarters.

Most pilots with a record like mine would be offended by such a mission, Alisa thought idly as she studied the tactical plan on her terminal. Had this been a few years ago, I would have been offended, too.

“That's it, people. Get to your vessels and let's go to work.” Isaacs deactivated the holo projectors, clearing the data and powering down the terminals. The lights in the briefing room came back up.

Alisa turned to her pilots. “Delta Flight, get to your fighters and let's start our checks.”

“Yes, ma'am.” Miles and Portland both saluted, turned and departed, but Lindy didn't budge, instead giving her flight leader a pleading look.

“Something the matter, Lindy?” Alisa inquired.

“I'm just a bit nervous is all.”

Alisa said nothing, but she was still fuming. Under normal circumstances, she would have gone directly to Commander Isaacs demanding to know what idiot had assigned such a green pilot to an elite unit like the 703, but it wouldn't do any good. She already knew the story; there was nothing she could do about it.

“Commander Isaacs knows.” Alisa placed a reassuring hand on Lindy's shoulder. “That's why he has Delta killing the frigate. It's important, absolutely critical to the mission, but it's not nearly as intense as the kind of brutal melee that's going to happen near the Monitor.”

“I know.” The junior pilot avoided Alisa's eyes. “I'm sorry—”

“Don't be,” Alisa cut her off, holding up both hands to forestall any further apologies. “Commander Isaacs did the right thing. All that matters is completing our mission and coming back alive.”

Lindy didn't look convinced. “Yes ma'am.”

“We'll get the job done. We have to.”

[-]

Four Lancer-class heavy fighters suddenly flashed into existence within the velvet blackness, cruising gently along the outskirts of the 7734-RHO system. Alisa checked her tactical display, confirming that the target vessel—a mid-sized war frigate of the type often fielded by the Gray for any mission they considered even the slightest bit dangerous.

“Delta Flight, this is Delta Lead,” Alisa said into the comm. “Set comms to channel 7 and report in.”

“Delta Two, all green,” Portland's voice confirmed.

“Delta Three, ready to go,” Daniels added.

There was a long pause.

“Delta Four, reporting in.”

Alisa caught a barely-audible sound made its way across the comm channel—she could have sworn that one of the other two had suppressed a laugh. She didn't bother to call them on it, though—they had much more important things to worry about.

“Delta, tactical formation sigma-37.” Her tactical display shifted as the other three fighters realigned themselves in a loose, staggered Y formation, with Two and Three above and slightly ahead, Alisa herself in the center and Lindy below and slightly behind.

“Shunt burst banks to linear cannon. Sync up and target the frigate. Concentrate fire on the particle beam cannon—we don't want that thing shooting at us.”

“Yes, ma'am,” Lindy said. “Targeting subsystem locked.”

Alisa flipped the small cover off her primary weapon trigger and waited patiently while Rin obtained a firing solution. The targeting reticule shifted from green to red as the lock completed.

“Linear cannon charge at 60 percent,” Rin reported.

“I can see that.” Alisa stole a quick look at the volumetric projection of her partner on the pedestal to her right. The image of the artificial girl gave her an innocent shrug and data scrolled across the tactical display.

“Sync complete. Firing.”

Alisa pressed the button. Her fighter shuddered from the extreme recoil—not even the suspended field mechanism could completely negate the kick of the monstrous gun—and the impactor was away. The tactical display clearly indicated that all four rounds had gone off simultaneously.

“Timing is good.” Rin spun around on her pedestal, giving the appearance the little holo was actually looking at the shell display. “They're right on schedule.”

“Excellent. Twenty seconds to impact. Delta Flight, make a course change relative to the previous firing vector and drop down twenty thousand K. Re-align, target engines, and sync fire again.”

“Acknowledged, Lead,” Portland confirmed.

Alisa watched the tactical display as the three other fighters followed her instructions to the letter. The senior pilot quickly followed suit, keeping in perfect formation as they performed the sharp dive.

“The frigate knows we're here,” Rin observed. “It's changing course and settling into a defensive posture near the Monitor. Gunboats are moving to intercept.”

“Of course they are.” Alisa's voice held no small degree of satisfaction. “Let's watch what happens next.”

“Lead, we're ready for sync fire,” Daniels' voice came over the comm.

“Acknowledged, Three. Firing now!”

The four fighters fired again, each of the huge magnetic accelerator weapons propelling multi-kiloton death directly at the frigate's engines. Alisa glanced at the tactical display and frowned.

“Four, the frigate is targeting you. Take evasive and move into tactical formation D-42.”

“Yes, ma'am.” Lindy sounding calm and collected, but Alisa knew she had to be on the very edge. The leader of Delta Flight watched as Lindy's fighter broke hard and shot almost straight “up,” while executing a flawless controlled slide. It was an expertly-performed maneuver, one Alisa didn't expect from such a green pilot.

A wide column of incandescent energy simply materialized below her, streaking through the spot where Lindy had been only moments before. The attack was cut short and the first volley of linear cannon fire struck home. Huge, ragged gashes appeared in the particle beam's aperture and housing.

The blazing purple-white beam of relativistic charged particles flickered as if it were a flashlight with a drained power cell before vanishing altogether.

“Particle beam is down!” Rin's projection threw her hands up in the air joyously. “It'll be at least ten minutes before they can repair it enough to fire again.”

“Good. Let's finish it off, shall we? Sync fire again, targeting aft at the weakened sections. Punch a hole through the antimatter reactor and enjoy the fireworks.”

Alisa leveled off, taking a new vector toward the frigate. Both volleys of cannon fire had scored solid hits—even at this distance in the shell display magnifier she could tell that the craft was heavily damaged. It wasn't dead yet, though—the strong aft shields were down and there were hull breaches in several places, but the ship's thrusters still glowed brightly and its secondary weapons were still online.

“To all flights, this is Omega Lead. We've arrived in-system and are making our run against the gunboats.” Isaacs sounded as casual and collected as if he were commenting on the weather.

“Omega Lead, Delta Lead here. The frigate is dying—Delta will sync fire and take it out, then assist with gunboats.”

“Acknowledged, Delta Lead,” Isaacs replied.

“Alpha Lead here, in formation with Beta. We've begun our run against statics. Trashing the gear now,” a male voice Alisa didn't recognize came over the comm. Eight new icons appeared on the tactical display, tens of thousands of kilometers distant.

“Right on schedule, Alpha,” Isaacs' gravelly voice rumbled over the comm. “Omega is engaging the gunboats.”

Alisa watched as Omega Flight broke off from a neat, coherent formation into what looked like complete chaos on the surface. It was actually yet another tactical formation, one that had proven to be extremely effective against Gray pilots. The Gray always adhered rigidly to highly organized formations that reminded Alisa of crystalline structures. This suggested a possible psychological blind spot to be exploited, something the Alliance took full advantage of since long before she was born.

The unstructured, free-form flying by Omega unnerved the Gray, put them on the defensive. They tightened their own formation in an attempt to guard against flanking attacks by flying very close together.

Unfortunately for the Gray, this played exactly into Commander Isaacs' hands. With the gunboats so close together, they would be easy prey for point-blank linear cannon shots. Alisa watched as the red icons denoting four of the eight gunboats in the system blinked and turned dark gray, indicating a kill.

“Omega's got half the gunboats down,” she barked into the comm. “Sync fire and destroy that frigate!”

“Linear cannon charge at 32 percent,” Rin reported. “Target locked and ready.”

“Firing.”

Four more impactors ripped through the void, almost instantly slamming into the damaged frigate's aft section. Each shot struck with kinetic energy equivalent to that of a small nuclear weapon, blasting through armor plating and tearing deep into the Gray vessel's superstructure.

“Reactor containment has been breached.” Alisa pulled back on her stick and shoved her throttle to its stops. “Evasive, now! Watch fragments and debris!”

Delta Flight fell out of formation and evaded, each ship taking a different vector away from the ruined hulk that had once been a sleek Gray war frigate. The smooth hull plates began to buckle as the magnetic containment fields holding the frigate's antimatter fuel supply failed.

A split second later, the warship was simply gone, replaced with a rapidly-expanding sphere of brilliant light.

“Omega Lead, this is Delta Lead. Frigate is dead.”

“Excellent work, Delta,” Isaacs came back.

“Do you still need assistance with the gunboats?”

“The survivors are making a run for it,” Alpha Lead noted. “Should we pursue, Omega Lead?”

“No.” Isaacs was silent for a moment. “Our mission is complete; we denied the Gray the capture of the Monitor and destroyed a war frigate. They won't waste any more resources on this. The Infiltrator is inbound—ETA is thirty minutes. A maintenance team will attempt to repair the Monitor enough to take it to the nearest Alliance base.”

“We'll keep a sharp eye out for a retaliatory strike,” Alpha Lead offered. “Just to be on the safe side.”

“Go ahead, Alpha. Beta, Delta, Omega, remain on-station to defend the Monitor. If the Gray do try to take it from us again, we'll make them pay dearly for the attempt.”

“Acknowledged, Omega Lead,” Alisa replied. “Delta, form up on me; tactical formation sigma-37, but make it loose.”

The other pilots complied. Alisa guided her subordinates leisurely around the derelict science vessel. Rin kept a close watch on the long-range sensors—it would be all but impossible for the Gray to sneak up on them.

For the next half hour, Alisa had little to do. Rin could fly the ship almost as well as she could, so Alisa handed control over and studied the tactical logs. She blinked in surprise as she noticed that it had been Lindy's shot that tore through the antimatter containment system and killed the frigate.

“Do it.” Rin's holo grinned impishly.

“You think I should?”

“It'll help her confidence a lot,” Rin reasoned. “Not to mention the other two might take her more seriously after she gets to paint a war frigate on the side of her ship. All four of us will live a lot longer if those two get taken down a peg. Especially Daniels.”

“You make a good point.” Alisa tuned the comm system to broadcast to Delta only and opened the channel. “Delta Flight, this is Delta Lead. I was taking a quick look over the tactical logs and I couldn't help but notice that it was Delta Four's impactor that destroyed the Gray frigate's antimatter containment system.”

The comm line was utterly silent.

“I trust the three of you know what that means.”

“You mean… I… I killed the frigate?” Lindy ventured.

“That's exactly what I mean, Four. I was able to confirm via the logs, so you get full kill credit. The rest of us get assist credit. I'll make sure Commander Isaacs acknowledges your accolade.”

“Bullshit! It's a shared kill and you know it, Lead,” Daniels' angry shout erupted over the comm line. Alisa recoiled slightly from the loudspeaker even though she fully expected this sort of reaction.

“Yeah.” Portland's tone was more sedate, but he was also obviously upset. “It took twelve impactors to kill that frigate! It's a shared kill, Lead.”

“It may have been hit with twelve impactors, but the one impactor that killed it was Delta Four's,” Rin retorted. “Logs recorded impactor release from Two and Three were off-sync in the second and third volleys by 0.13, 0.7, 0.41 and 0.28 seconds, respectively. As a result, no critical systems were struck. If you don't believe me, check your own tactical displays.”

The comm channel was silent again.

“Listen to Rin, you two,” Alisa informed them. “I'm doing you a favor by giving you the assist. If Isaacs pulls the flight data himself and makes the call without my input, you might not even get assist credit for the kill.”

“Yeah, you're right.” Portland's response took on a more respectful tone. “Sorry about that, Lead.”

“Sorry, Lead,” Daniels muttered.

“Don't apologize to me, apologize to Delta Four. She's the one you underestimated; she's the one you tried to deny kill credit.”

“I apologize, Four.” Portland's voice sounded genuinely contrite. “I underestimated you; I won't do it again.”

“Yeah,” Daniels agreed. “We didn't think you had what it takes. Looks like we were wrong. I'm sorry.”

“Thank you, Two, Three.” Alisa allowed some satisfaction to creep into her voice so that her pilots would know she was pleased. It would take time, she knew, and lots of patience, but eventually Alisa would take these three very different individuals and mold them into a true combat unit.

A moment later, Alisa muted channel 7 and opened a private secure comm from her fighter to Delta Four. “You did great out there, Four. I'm impressed.”

“Really good job!” Rin exclaimed.

“I—thank you,” Lindy blurted. Alisa could quite easily imagine the color staining the other pilot's cheeks from all the praise. It was what she needed, Alisa knew. Lindy had all the potential to be a good pilot—she was a good pilot, judging by that switch maneuver she pulled off earlier. The real problem was her lack of confidence in her own abilities. That could easily become a liability in the future and was something that had to be addressed.

“We'll talk more about it later, but for now, stay sharp,” Alisa ordered her pilots. “There's still a chance the Gray might come back to try and take the Monitor back.”

Three voices answered her as one.

“Yes, ma'am!”

08

The Infiltrator's maintenance crew actually managed to get the Monitor flying again, at least well enough to jump to the nearest Alliance outpost. Intel had been correct; the entire crew had been killed during the battle, either by damaged systems or from Gray combat drones.

Some of the crew managed to disable two of the drones, however—this news was met with significant cheer by the Infiltrator's captain. Gray unmanned weapons were programmed to self-destruct to avoid capture, but the scientists and crew of the Monitor had apparently discovered a way to disable a few before being overwhelmed.

The mission was considered a complete success. During the debriefing, Isaacs had praised the actions of both Alpha and Delta Flights for their exemplary conduct in completing their objectives flawlessly.

And Lindy even got a special mention by the commander. The poor woman had barely been able to contain herself—she was almost moved to tears by the pride in Isaacs' voice and the genuine surprise in the faces of all the people who expected her to fail.

Alisa stretched and yawned, glancing down at her evening meal. The Infiltrator, like most Alliance vessels, operated on Earth time despite the fact that no human alive today had ever set foot on the planet that was humanity's birthplace. Their conflict with the Gray had begun nearly a thousand years ago, only a few short centuries after humanity took its first steps into deep space with the discovery of faster-than-light travel.

There weren't many surviving records from that time. During the early years, most of humanity's resources remained in the Sol system. When the Gray armada reached Earth, humanity was thrust into a desperate fight to survive against impossible odds. Records indicated that the ground war had been over in just under three months, with death tolls in the billions. Evacuation efforts managed to get only half a billion people out of the inner system before the Gray solidified their hold on Earth.

Massive sleeper ships were constructed in secret at the edges of Sol, beyond Pluto's orbital path. Lacking the resources to feed and care for five hundred million people, most of the survivors were placed in suspended animation. The remnants of humanity, led by the tattered ranks of the Sol Alliance, painfully made their way to populated systems still under Alliance control.

Alisa sighed and leaned back on the thin mattress. Humanity was a stubborn species and squarely met the challenge of survival in space. The current official Alliance census placed the known population somewhere around fifteen billion, a far cry from the pre-invasion number of forty billion. The extreme difficulties of living in space drove humanity to take a more careful strategy against extinction, leveraging advanced technology to lengthen generations and help make up for the losses.

While the Alliance military fought the Gray continually in an eventual effort to re-take Earth, the rest of humanity spent their time living their lives. Some dedicated their careers to searching for a new world to call home. Despite locating several planets with liquid water and carbon-based biospheres, the Alliance had very little to show for the immense effort. Dozens of potential worlds had been scouted—the most promising recent discovery was a roughly Earth-sized planet several hundred light-years from Cygnus Station and clear on the other side of the galaxy from Sol.

Preliminary scouting missions showed that the planet possessed an Earth-like atmosphere with appropriate levels of nitrogen and oxygen. Liquid water was present on the world in abundance. It seemed like a perfect match at first, but further investigation determined that the planet's entire ecosystem was different enough that human beings were at best unlikely to be able to derive nutrients from the flora and fauna. Several samples taken were discovered to be lethal to human biology.

This sort of result was increasingly and depressingly predictable as more Earth-like planets were discovered, only to possess one or two qualities that made colonization impractical.

Alisa didn't care all that much. She had lived in space, on warships and free-orbital colonies for most of her life. Her body had long since acclimated to her environment. The crackling sensation of the artificial gravity generators, the low hum of an Alliance warship's fusion reactor, the faint tang in the air from the life support systems—all of these things were familiar and comfortable to her.

The sensations of living in space were a part of her very being. Alisa was a spirit of the sky and stars. The idea of settling down on any planet, especially an Earth-like world, seemed incredibly alien to her.

“What do you think, Rin?”

“About what?” The artificial girl blinked, looking up from her work. She had disassembled Alisa's sidearm and was making adjustments to the internal mechanisms. During her last routine marksmanship qualifier, Alisa had somehow managed to damage the control circuitry, ruining the weapon's accuracy. Rather than returning the gun to the ship's armory and drawing a replacement sidearm, Rin decided to fix it.

“If we found another planet to call home, or the war with the Gray finally ended, would you want to give up life in space to live on that world?”

Rin's expression became pensive. “I've never really thought about it. I think I'd like to live somewhere surrounded with life—trees and flowers and grass and rivers and streams filled with fish. It would be a really amazing experience.”

“I'm not sure I'd be able to stop living in space,” Alisa admitted. “I was born in space and I'll probably die in space. But…”

“But what?”

“As long as we're together, I'd be happy anywhere. On a helium-3 mining platform. In a cored-out asteroid in the middle of nowhere. On Omega Colony, even!”

Rin blushed and smiled. “Maybe you're going a bit too far. I wouldn't sentence my worst enemy to live on Omega Colony.”

Alisa laughed. “Agreed.”

“There's a message on the terminal.” Rin blinked her eyes and frowned as she read the missive. “It's from Lindy. She wants to know if we can meet up for the evening meal in the officer's dining area on D Deck.”

Alisa didn't say anything.

“What should I tell her?”

“I don't know. It's not really appropriate for us to fraternize outside of our duties. I mean, I'm her boss and it wouldn't be seemly if we were letting it all hang out at the bar…”

“Alisa.”

“What? What do you want me to say?”

“I want you to say yes.” Rin crossed her arms over her chest and fixed her partner with an imperious stare. “I want to go have fun with you and Lindy.”

“But… you can't go to the dining area and—”

“No arguments, Alisa,” Rin cut her off. “I already replied and said we'd be there. We're going and that's final. Get dressed and let's get moving.”

Alisa sighed.

[-]

Twenty minutes later, Alisa sat down in a darkened booth in one of the far corners of the D Deck dining area. A warship the size of the Infiltrator had two large cafeteria-type dining areas which handled the bulk of the crew, and two smaller dining areas modeled after restaurants. One of these shipboard restaurants was the officer's club, restricted exclusively for those who held the rank equivalent of ensign or higher, as well as visiting dignitaries and VIPs.

The D Deck establishment was fairly close to her cabin. Lindy, on the other hand, was bunked on B Deck, sharing a larger cabin with three other crew members. The Infiltrator carried only one fighter wing—the 703rd Hyperspace Assault Wing—but the crew complement was 280, plus four squads of marines, raising the total number of people on board to 328.

Despite the availability of space in the fighter wing's cabin section, Lindy had ended up sharing a room with two junior engineers and a tactical forecaster. Alisa suspected this arrangement was both no accident and also to Lindy's liking, for the regular crew members would be less likely to harass her.

“Is she coming or what?” Alisa demanded. The artificial girl's violet eyes flickered briefly with light, a telltale sign that she was interfacing with an external computer.

“She's right outside.”

The door opened and Lindy Meyers strode in. Like Alisa, she wore comfortable casual clothing rather than her uniform. It wasn't unusual for off-duty personnel to wear casual clothes on the ship between missions—Alisa was initially surprised by this, but she quickly figured it out. The dangerous nature of the Infiltrator's missions were such that the captain, as well as Commander Isaacs, considered keeping morale up more important than strict adherence to military dress codes.

“Lindy! Over here!” Rin called out over the muffled din of conversation. Lindy nodded silently and threaded her way through the busy pseudo-restaurant—there were more than a few officers and command crew celebrating the successful first mission of the new campaign.

“Well, I'm here,” Alisa said.

“Thank you for coming, ma'am. I didn't want to celebrate a successful mission alone, and none of the other pilots are very friendly to me, so…”

Alisa did her best to smile. “I know. I'm not so sure I should be friendly—”

“Let's order drinks!” Rin cut off Alisa's objection before it could fully form, glaring pointedly at her partner. Alisa sank down in the booth a bit further, feeling uncomfortable and out of her element.

“A glass of white wine,” Lindy requested. Rin nodded and entered the drink order into the table's small ordering terminal.

Alisa shrugged. “You know what I want already.”

“Amber ale, then,” Rin said, finishing the drinks order off. Scarcely half a minute later, one of the kitchen staff came over with a tray containing a glass of white wine and two larger glasses of dark beer.

“Are you going to be ordering food tonight?”

“Yes, but we're still deciding.” Alisa snatched her drink off the tray and immediately took a large gulp. Rin grabbed the other as well as the glass of wine, handing it off to Lindy before taking a sip of the same beer she'd ordered for Alisa.

Lindy gawked at Rin. “You're drinking, too?”

“It's more fun this way.” Rin took another sip of the bitter drink and smiled. “Wouldn't you feel awkward if you and Alisa were drinking and eating and I was just sitting here staring off into space?”

“I suppose that makes sense,” the junior pilot conceded. “But um, what happens to the things you eat and drink after you… eat and drink them?”

“They're actually processed, so nothing goes to waste. My skin, hair and nails are made up of synthesized cells, but they're just as alive as yours. I can use any food or drink I take in and reassemble it at a molecular level to maintain the health of my organic parts.”

The junior pilot's eyes widened and she sipped at her wine. “What happens when you can't eat or drink? Can you starve?”

“There's a biogel cartridge that slots in near my power cells,” Rin explained. “It's used to synthesize the necessary proteins, fats, amino acids and such when I'm not able to eat for whatever reason.”

“Wow,” Lindy said. She sipped from her wineglass and glanced nervously at Alisa, who had remained silent for this entire exchange. Her gray eyes were narrowed and directing a none-too-subtle glare at Rin.

Alisa, Rin admonished her through the link. Be nice to Lindy.

You're giving away a lot of information rather freely, Alisa retorted mentally. Rin shrugged and glanced at Lindy, then back to Alisa.

She's my friend.

Alisa didn't respond to that. Instead she focused on her beer, the bitter, hoppy brew waking her senses up and spreading a pleasant warmth throughout her midsection.

“The cartridges are really expensive, though, so usually it's cheaper for me to just eat like everyone else,” Rin went on as if the psychic exchange hadn't even happened. “Alisa usually gets mad when I do that, though.”

Alisa blushed fiercely. “W-what—I do not!”

“You do, too,” Rin insisted.

“But if you eat and drink instead of use the biogel, the Alliance will wonder why I'm taking enough to feed two—”

“I'm pretty sure they know already.” Rin turned to Lindy and gave the junior pilot her best droll expression. “Alisa operates under the misapprehension that she's successfully hiding me from everyone.”

Alisa's blush grew brighter but she didn't say anything.

“You're not, though,” Lindy said in a low tone. “Everybody on the ship knows just about everything, ma'am. I hear the crew talk about it, my bunkmates talk about it—the two of you are already a popular topic of shipboard rumor.”

“The rumors are just that, rumors.” Alisa avoided Lindy's gaze. “Just because someone says something doesn't mean it's true.”

Rin chuckled and set down her drink. “Some of the rumors are exaggerated. Like, really exaggerated. There was one going around Cygnus Station that Alisa's an experimental super-soldier cyborg pilot that's only a few years away from mass-production, and once the tests are complete, everyone here's going to be out of a job.”

Lindy giggled at that, but her smile quickly faded when she noticed Alisa's scowl.

“I don't want to talk about this.”

“That's too bad,” Rin informed her partner, refusing to allow herself to be intimidated. “We're going to have a nice conversation because that's what friends do.”

“We need to discuss training—”

Exasperated, Rin sighed and placed a hand on her forehead. “Of course you do. There will be plenty of time to talk about work tomorrow. You can't always be so focused on work, work, work all the time. You'll burn out.”

“But the simulator scenario—”

“Will be there tomorrow,” Rin retorted, staring hard at Alisa. “Tonight we're going to have fun. I'm ordering us another round of drinks!”

[-]

Headaches weren't on Alisa's top ten list of ways to wake up in the morning. She blinked her eyes rapidly, trying to clear the blurriness away. Groaning aloud, she realized that she had somehow managed to tangle her bedsheets completely around her legs in something akin to an intricate trap.

“Good morning.”

Alisa looked up and blinked again, trying desperately to push the throbbing pain away and focus on reality. Her augmentations gave her the ability to metabolize toxins more quickly and safely, including alcohol, but they couldn't stop dehydration. Rin stood near the bed, holding a coffee mug and a bottle of cold water.

“I'm wondering what's good about it,” Alisa grumbled as she untangled herself from the twisted blankets.

“You drank quite a lot last night,” Rin observed, pulling the coffee mug back as Alisa tried to reach out and grab it. “No, you're going to drink some water first. You're totally dehydrated.”

Rin handed her the bottle of water. Alisa accepted it without complaint and twisted open the resealable top, upending the bottle into her mouth. She drank without pause until more than half the bottle was empty before gasping for breath.

“What time is it?”

“Just past 0900,” said Rin. “The Infiltrator arrived in the Lethe system approximately six hours ago. We're on standby for the moment.”

“That won't last long,” Alisa noted before finishing off the bottle of water. She felt better already, but her sleep-fogged brain still wanted the coffee.

“No.” Rin finally relented and handed over the steaming mug, retrieving her own from the table nearby. “The commander won't pass up this opportunity. The Gray don't usually leave supply dumps this lightly-defended.”

“Could be a trap.”

“Doubtful,” Rin said, sitting down in the chair across from the bed. She crossed her bare legs and blew a strand of black hair from her face. “Lethe is remote and fairly uninteresting. The Gray shouldn't know we're here with the stealth systems up and running.”

“This kind of sneaky back-blading harassment is a waste of the Infiltrator's capabilities,” Alisa noted acidly. “We could be spearheading major assaults into Gray strongholds, taking back territory they've held for centuries.”

“Long-term strategy isn't your strong suit, Alisa.” Rin shook her head. “Besides, it's not like we planned this. There wasn't even supposed to be anything here, and rumor has it that the captain intended to just keep on going, but Command had other ideas.”

Alisa frowned but said nothing.

“You should get showered and ready to go,” said Rin. “Knowing the commander, it won't be long before we're sortied. With only one wing on the ship, we won't even get a chance to rest.”

“Considering how the commander does things, Delta's the most likely to be sortied first. Daniels and Portland aren't going to like it.”

“It looks like an easy run on the surface, yes,” Rin said, “but anything can happen in combat. Don't let those two get too complacent.”

“I do know how to do my job, Rin.” Alisa tilted her mug and swallowed the last of her coffee.

“Of course.” Rin took the empty cup and set it on the nearby table. “Oh, and make sure you drink some more water before we go or that hangover's going to make this mission a lot more unpleasant.”

Alisa threw her hands up and stalked off toward the bathroom. “Fine. I'm going to get a shower.”

[-]

“We're on standby,” Alisa told her pilots. “That doesn't mean you've got free reign to start goofing off—we'll likely sortie within the next few hours.”

Lindy said nothing, but Alisa could tell the woman was alert and well-rested, ready for duty. Despite her petite form, Lindy was far more adept at dealing with the aftereffects of a night of drinking.

“Ma'am, if I may ask a question?”

Alisa frowned and turned toward the source of the question. “Go ahead, Two.”

Portland sat straight in his chair, clearly eager to get flying, but something in his expression told her that he was not comfortable about the mission they anticipated. You called it, Alisa said to Rin through the link. The other merely flashed a small smile in Alisa's direction, but didn't reply.

“What are we doing stopping here in the middle of nowhere?” Portland asked. Alisa noticed that the man's tone was much more respectful than it was the first time they'd spoken. That was unexpected; Alisa wondered briefly if the man had done some back-checking on her records.

“I don't know. Obviously something in the Lethe system interests High Command, else the Infiltrator never would have been ordered out here. As near as I can tell, it's just a supply dump and a small outpost.”

“Command wouldn't usually order vessel like the Infiltrator to deal with something this trivial,” Daniels added, “even if it is a target of opportunity.”

“Which means it's very likely not trivial at all,” Rin observed.

“My thoughts exactly.” Alisa gave her pilots a warning look. “Something doesn't feel right about this system, Flight Officers. This may look like a simple target of opportunity on the surface, but the Alliance would not have us delay our actual mission unless they felt it was absolutely necessary.”

Portland nodded, his broad shoulders relaxing somewhat. The man was very large, muscular and physically imposing, qualities uncommon for a fighter pilot. Portland wore his brown hair close-cropped against his skull in the style common to the marines. Alisa knew this wasn't coincidental; Portland once served as a marine before transferring to Fleet, after an injury-related neurological exam revealed his suitability for pair-linking.

Most children born in Alliance territories were tested for neural link capability at a young age, but Portland was a refugee from an independent gas mining colony. Many of the Alliance's personnel had been recruited from the poor and the disadvantaged. For these people, the daily struggle to survive was far harsher than the possibility of death against the Gray. According to the records, Portland enlisted in the Alliance right out of primary school with the intent to help support his family. He was already a marine for four years before a head injury and subsequent neurological exam revealed his link capability.

Alisa brought herself out of her private thoughts and focused her attention back on the conversation going on around her. As she'd already predicted, Daniels was complaining about the assignment.

“So we're just supposed to sit around here until the commander orders us out? What the hell, Lead?”

“You really should be used to it by now,” Rin pointed out.

Daniels shot the artificial girl a look that defied description. Alisa fought the urge to let out an exasperated sigh; it would take a lot longer before Daniels and Portland would finally accept Rin as a living being rather than a piece of computer equipment.

“That's correct, Flight Officer. You're free to spend your downtime training or engaging in recreational activities, but you are on duty. That means no alcohol.”

“Yes, ma'am.” Daniels stood up and saluted, but Alisa could tell he was sulking.

Daniels and Portland were certainly an odd couple. The two were thick as thieves, but they were incredibly different both physically and in general temperament. Portland was serious and taciturn, preferring to speak only as much as necessary. Daniels presented the image of the stereotypical ace pilot—brash, cocky and generally full of himself, but still managed to get the job done.

Delta Three was a thin, lanky man who stood a few inches taller than Alisa herself. In many ways his physique was similar to her own—slender and toned, but unlike Alisa he carried not an ounce of fat on his frame. Daniels possessed a head full of sandy-blond curls and sharp green eyes, with regular and even features. He was very attractive and, perhaps unfortunately, was fully aware of that fact.

Like Alisa, Daniels was an heir to a military family, one of middling rank. Like her, he had been tested at an early age for link capability and enlisted into the Fleet at the age of seventeen. Unlike Alisa, however, Daniels' scores were solidly in the average range, but his records showed that sheer tenacity and determination managed to surpass his marks and help him complete missions that would have otherwise been written off as failures.

The fact that Portland and Daniels had become friends was interesting. Alisa supposed the ancient aphorism of opposites attracting certainly applied. While Portland rarely said much to most people, he was positively chatty when with Daniels. It wasn't unusual for two pilots to form a strong bond such as theirs, but it was something Alisa herself had never experienced.

“Ma'am.” Portland's low voice pulled Alisa out of her thoughts. She looked up in surprise, noting that Daniels had already left. Her eyes scanned the ready room quickly; Lindy had relocated to one of the lounging couches across the way, engrossed in reading something on her tab. Rin was still standing in the same place, her eyes holding a dreamy, unfocused look as she devoted much of her processing power to tactical forecasting.

“Sorry, Flight Officer. What can I do for you?”

“I wanted to apologize, ma'am.”

“What for?”

“I did some checking up on you, off the record,” the pilot continued, his voice strong and clear. “I know I should have just asked you directly.”

“I thought you might have done something like that.” Alisa pursed her lips and stared hard at her subordinate. “Did this unauthorized investigation change your opinion of me, Flight Officer?”

“Yes, it did, but I don't understand, ma'am. Your scores are so high you're in the top five percentile of the entire Fleet. You're the youngest pilot to achieve command rank in recent memory—”

“And you're wondering why I was assigned to lead Delta.” Alisa's expression was completely unreadable. “The lowest-scored flight in the 703.”

He nodded. “Respectfully, ma'am.”

“Officially I was assigned to Delta in order to whip the lot of you into shape, raise up your scores and bring you more in-line with the rest of the 703.”

Portland's expression was dubious. “Excuse me, ma'am, but that sounds like bullshit.”

“No need to apologize, Officer. I agree completely that it is bullshit. Either High Command has something in mind they're not sharing with anyone, or…”

“Delta Four,” Portland murmured under his breath. Alisa's frown deepened and she glanced over at where Lindy was sitting. The woman was too busy reading to notice and too far away to hear what Portland said.

“I cannot confirm nor deny that, Officer.” Her scowl suggested that he should drop the subject, especially with Lindy in the same room.

“Yes, ma'am. I may look like a muscle-bound meathead, but my daddy didn't raise a fool. I know politics when I see them. Don't worry about me, Lead. I'll get the job done, no matter what.”

“Thank you for understanding, Officer. Relax a little while you have time.”

“Yes, ma'am.” Portland straightened into a parade-ground stance and saluting in one smooth, fluid motion. Alisa watched silently as the big man walked away, heading toward the door leading out of the ready room.

“That was really awkward,” Rin commented.

“It was. It means they're starting to accept me as their leader, though.”

“Portland and Lindy, anyway.”

“Daniels will take some more finesse, surely,” Alisa murmured. “I'm sure you noticed how he looked at you when you spoke to him.”

“I'm used to it.” Rin shrugged her slender shoulders as if it didn't matter. “The only way it'll ever stop is if I prove to them that I'm not really any different than they are.”

Alisa didn't respond. Rin's expression darkened a hair and Alisa braced herself for the inevitable.

They're never going to accept me if you keep me hidden away from them and you know it, Rin's voice echoed through her mind.

I don't want to discuss this now.

You can't keep avoiding the issue forever, Alisa. Rumors will keep flying around the both of us if you don't work to put them to rest. It's not something I can do without your active participation.

Alisa blinked and looked away. It was clear Rin wasn't going to let the issue drop this time. A nameless dread began to claw on the inside of her stomach, leaving her feeling hollow and cold.

Alisa, please—

I told you I don't want to talk about it. Alisa's mental snap had her eyes narrowing sharply. We've got more important things to worry about right now. Commander Isaacs will be calling for us any time now.

“We are going to talk about it later. Tonight. No objections,” Rin demanded aloud, not bothering to keep her voice down. Alisa felt a rush of sudden anger and embarrassment as Lindy looked up at the sound of Rin's raised voice.

“Rin, cut it out.”

“I will not cut it out,” Rin snapped. “I'm not fond of being treated like a piece of property. Especially by you.”

“I'm not treating you—”

Rin turned away angrily. “I'm going to go check on the Lancer. We have to be ready for when Commander Isaacs sends us out.”

Alisa said nothing as her partner stalked out of the ready room. She glanced over at Lindy, noticing the embarrassed woman had sunk deeper into the couch, blocking her face from Alisa's view with her tab.

Her mind whirling with emotions, most of them negative, Alisa sat back down at the ready room table and pulled up the tactical forecast Rin had copied to her tab. It would do her no good to dwell on the issue now, especially not when she was anticipating being deployed within the next few hours.

She could feel the neural link to Rin grow fuzzy and indistinct; Rin was actively blocking it to prevent emotions or thoughts from reaching her. There was nothing she could do about it right now, but Alisa wasn't a quitter.

We'll talk about it tonight, I promise, she sent with her thoughts. There was no response that could be put into words, but Alisa could have sworn she felt a softening of Rin's mood through the link.

09

The expected call came two hours later. Alisa looked up at the dagger-shaped form of her Lancer, the vessel's fresh coat of paint gleaming under the bright overhead lighting. She walked up the gangplank leading to the boarding catwalk overhead.

Ready to go? Alisa sent through the neural link.

All systems check out, Rin's voice came back in her mind. Alisa, unlike the other pilots in the wing, had modified her vessel's system access permissions to allow Rin more control over the vessel's systems than was standard. Rin's access was effectively unlimited, a choice most pilots in the Fleet wouldn't have made, but Alisa considered it wise. If she were to be incapacitated again…

Alisa shook herself out of her dark thoughts and focused on the present. The mission was more important than her old memories. She entered a few commands into the catwalk console and the Lancer's command module slid upward. The solid, reinforced canopy retracted, revealing the heavy fighter's single seat.

“Let's get moving, Alisa,” Rin said, the small holo standing on its pedestal, her miniature hands placed on her hips impatiently. Alisa said nothing as she dropped into the command couch. The canopy slid downward over her, sealing her inside the command module as it descended back into the vessel's interior.

“Exterior seal activated. We've got a stable internal environment. All systems are green and we're ready to go.”

“Got it.” Alisa reached over and keyed her communications console to the Delta flight frequency, “Delta Flight, are we ready to sortie?”

“Delta Two, all systems checked out and ready,” Portland's bass voice came over the comm.

“Delta Three, ready and eager,” Daniels reported in. His tone suggested that he was not especially eager, however.

“Delta Four, standing by,” Lindy said.

“Infiltrator flight deck, this is Delta Lead,” Alisa said into the comm, keying the channel for wide-cast. “We're ready to sortie.”

“Acknowledged, Delta Lead,” the Infiltrator's deck officer said in a bored tone. “Try not to fall asleep out there.”

“Tell Commander Isaacs that I don't think this mission will be as easy as everyone seems to think,” Alisa told the deck officer, a note of concern creeping into her voice.

“Do you have any basis for that theory?”

“Just a gut feeling.”

“I'll tell him,” the deck officer replied. Alisa could sense exasperation in the man's voice, as if Alisa's concern was entirely misplaced and simply a waste of time. Fortunately she outranked him and he would comply with her order, regardless of whether he agreed with her assessment or not.

The Lancer shuddered slightly as the docking clamps disengaged, freeing the vessel from the cradle. The repulsion panels on the fighter's underside activated as Alisa tapped the stick slightly, angling the nose toward the fighter bay doors. The metal shutter seemed to shimmer oddly for a moment.

“Curtain barrier is active, doors opening now,” the deck officer's voice came over the comm. Alisa watched as the doors began to slowly open up, exposing the fighter bay to the void beyond. The curtain barrier maintained the internal atmospheric pressure, allowing the crew below to continue working while fighters were launched, but any shielded object would be able to pass through the barrier as if it weren't even there.

“Shields are active and charging; currently at ten percent,” Rin reported. “Burst banks are around 60 percent.”

Alisa opened the comm channel again. “Infiltrator flight deck, this is Delta Lead. Delta Flight is heading out now.”

“Copy that, Delta Lead.”

The starfighter moved slowly toward the wide-open fighter bay doors, its main thrust apertures still inactive. Carefully Alisa edged the fighter through the opening, using only the reaction control units and the repulsion panels for acceleration. The instant the Lancer passed through the barrier, Rin engaged the starfighter's primary drive and sent the fighter streaking out into the void.

The entire procedure took only about twelve seconds—far faster than the seven minute full evacuated launch procedure used before the curtain barrier technology gained widespread adoption.

“Delta Two has launched,” Rin reported a few seconds later. “Delta Three is navigating the flight deck and will be joining us shortly.”

“ETA for full deployment?”

Rin's projected image turned toward the tactical display. “Twenty seconds.”

“Delta Flight, form up on me,” Alisa ordered over Delta Flight's private communications channel. “Pattern sigma-37 on our way to nav point one.”

“Delta Three; acknowledged. Forming up in sigma-37.”

Alisa watched the tactical display panel as the three green “friendly” icons, each representing one of Delta Flight's Lancers, arranged themselves in a loose diamond shape with her vessel at the top vertex.

“What's the plan, Lead?” Daniels asked. Alisa's lips twitched slightly as she detected a note of impatience in the man's voice. He wanted to prove himself on the battlefield, she knew, especially after Lindy had been given kill credit for the Gray frigate during their last mission.

“Simple hit-and-fade on the Gray supply dump,” Alisa told him. “Nav points one, two and three are munitions storage. Nav point four is an unmanned helium-3 refueling station. We're here to destroy all of them.”

“Opposition?” Portland asked.

“Preliminary scouting of the Lethe system suggests that the Gray have only lightly defended this supply dump,” Alisa continued. “We're told to expect only half a wing of gunboats.”

“That's all?” Lindy wondered.

“Doesn't smell right, Lead,” Portland added.

“I agree. There's something not right about this system. Fortunately, Commander Isaacs agrees as well. He ordered Alpha Flight to sortie an hour ago. They should be destroying the system's comm relay right about… now.”

“So the defenders will be expecting us,” Portland said.

“They will,” Rin told the pilot. “They'll probably try to stand until they figure out how many of us there really are. Then they'll have one vessel jump to the nearest friendly outpost and request backup.”

“What's the plan, Lead?” Daniels inquired.

“Delta Two and Delta Three will be tasked with engaging the gunboats. Ensure that none of them makes it out of Lethe alive. Delta Four will take out the refueling station.”

“And you, Lead?”

“I'll be hanging back in case the Gray have an ace up their sleeve.” Alisa felt her voice grow colder and harder. “The longer I think about it, the more likely it seems.”

“We're coming up on the nav point now,” Rin cut in. “Everyone knows what to do, so let's get to it.”

Portland spoke up. “Delta Lead, mind if I have my operator link a real-time data feed to yours?”

“Go ahead.” Alisa nodded at Rin's holo. The volumetric projection of her partner nodded and a second later, Alisa's tactical data began streaming, unabridged, to Portland's AI operator.

“Linked up with Dragon, connection is solid,” Rin reported.

“We're ready.” Alisa tapped on her tactical display and triggered the start of the mission. “Begin the mission. We'll make our first move… and see how the Gray respond.”

[-]

Portland shoved the throttle to its stops, sending his Lancer into a dizzying acceleration that would have killed him outright had the dampening field not been active. Even at 0.95, the acceleration shoved him back into his command couch with terrific pressure.

“Dragon, tell me what we've got.”

“Local scan complete,” the AI operator reported. “Eight Gray gunboats have been detected. All are massing around nav point one. Delta Lead's prediction was accurate.”

Portland nodded, silently admiring the lieutenant-commander's combat instincts. The Gray were indeed expecting them and had moved their forces to intercept. He knew that they would expect the Alliance force to change course and head for one of the other objectives, but Portland had other ideas.

“Switch tactical to the main gun.”

“Acknowledged,” Dragon replied. “Burst banks are at full capacity. We are ready to fire at your command.”

“Tag targets one through eight and give me firing solutions.”

“Acknowledged.”

Portland tapped a key on his console and opened a direct communications link to Delta Three. “Three, follow my lead. We've got eight hostiles; link Tiger up with Dragon and we'll take them out one by one.”

“Gotcha, Two.” Daniels' voice crackled with eagerness. Portland couldn't blame his friend, really. Delta Four's kill credit for the frigate in their first mission together, coupled with the data collected by Delta Lead's AI operator, put the other pilot in an extremely foul mood. His ego took a hit and he desperately wanted to recover the perceived loss in Commander Isaacs' eyes.

Being one-upped by a green pilot with no experience fighting the Gray had rankled Portland, as well, but in truth the big pilot cared little for glory and much for money. To him, it was a job—a job that paid him so well he was able to obtain proper Alliance citizenship for his entire family. No longer forced to struggle for scraps on an ancient mining platform, the Portland clan now lived comfortably on Eden Colony.

Every month, Portland would transfer more than half of his pay to his mother's civilian bank account, supplementing her basic income. And every month, like clockwork, the stubborn, tough woman would call him and spend an hour protesting his generosity, and every time, Portland would spend nearly as much time convincing her not to reverse the transfer.

Daniels fought for glory, for the thrill of battle. Meyers fought because her father wished to reap the political benefits. The lieutenant-commander fought… well, Portland didn't actually know why Alisa Pierce fought and fought so fiercely that her kill count was approaching two hundred confirmed and the stars only knew how many unverified.

“Target acquired.” Dragon's voice jolted Portland from his private thoughts.

“Firing.” Portland squeezed the trigger. The Lancer shuddered violently as the linear accelerator cannon sent a heavy composite-metallic impactor hurtling through the void at c-fractional velocities.

Portland's tactical display beeped as Delta Three's shot followed his own. Both fighters altered their vector and leveled out relative to their previous vectors. Portland rapidly cycled the main gun and fired again. Standard tactics, really; they were still over a hundred thousand kilometers from the objective. By altering their approach vectors and firing based on the predictions of their AI operators, Portland and Daniels could be reasonably sure that even if the Gray gunboats managed to avoid one, they would plow right into the next.

“Target destroyed,” Dragon informed him.

“Good. Let's move right on down the line.”

“Delta Two, detecting new contacts in the system,” a synthesized voice came over the comm. Portland recognized the voice of Daniels' AI operator, Tiger. The communications link went silent almost immediately.

“Shit. What do we have, Dragon?”

“Unknown. Hostile jamming has been activated.”

Portland felt a chill creep down his spine. Sensor jamming powerful enough to prevent his vessel from detecting anything at all meant an enemy capital ship had just jumped in-system, ready for combat.

“Is the comm being jammed, too?”

“Communications jamming is active.”

Portland swore again, pounding a fist against his console out of frustration. “Can we contact Lead?”

“I will attempt to break the jamming.” Dragon's holo burst into simulated flames as the AI in the shape of a fantastical beast focused on its task.

“While you're doing that, establish line-of-sight laser comm with Delta Three,” Portland ordered.

“Acknowledged. LOS comm active.”

“—the fuck is going on?!” Daniels' panicked voice came over the comm, distorted and breaking up. “We've got a Gray destroyer in-system!”

“Keep cool, Three.” Portland felt his own panic start to rise, but the veteran warrior managed to keep his composure. “What can you see? Any escorts?”

“Yeah.” The other pilot's voice was barely coherent through the line-of-sight laser communications link. It was notoriously poor quality, short-range and would only work so long as there was a clear, unobstructed path between his Lancer and Delta Three's, but it was their only option under heavy communications jamming.

“How many?”

“Sixteen gunboats,” Daniels said amidst a burst of static, but Dragon managed to hold the transmission together. “Powerful fucking jamming; I can't contact Lead or Four or the Infiltrator. How did they know we were going to—”

“No idea, Three,” Portland ground out as he sent his Lancer into a dizzying series of spins. The garrison forces still consisted of seven gunboats, all of them closing rapidly into weapons range. They were still fairly far away, but invisible beams of deadly light played against the Lancer's shields. Bloom was preventing them from doing any real damage at this range, but Portland knew that wouldn't last. Once the gunboats got close enough, he would quickly be overwhelmed.

With the Gray destroyer in-system, however, retreat was no longer an option.

“Sensor jamming broken,” Dragon announced. Portland watched as his tactical display lit up again, showing the position of the Gray reinforcements. The destroyer and its escorts were blocking the path back to the Infiltrator.

“They're not engaging us.”

“They do not need to,” Dragon explained. “They only need to keep us from reaching the Infiltrator. They have blocked Delta Three.”

Portland wrenched the stick back, sending the Lancer into a steep climb relative to his previous vector. The garrison force's gunboats seemed to anticipate the maneuver and adjusted course to follow. The vessel's auditory cue simulator filled his ears with the hissing pulses of laser weapons firing.

“Can we get a lock on any of those?”

Dragon's holo shook his spine-covered head. “Negative.”

“Switch tactical alternate to mines,” Portland bit out. “If we can't shoot them, we'll let them blow themselves up.”

“Acknowledged. Tactical alternate is active for proximity mines.”

“Deploy,” Portland ordered.

The Lancer's rear launch port opened and dark shapes began to float out behind the vessel's aft. The proximity mines were sensor-shrouded, tiny fusion bombs that could not be detected easily. Portland hoped that in their haste to kill him, the gunboats would crash into the mines. With detonation yields in the ten kiloton range, even coming close to one would easily disable a Gray gunboat, if not destroy it outright.

“Deployment complete,” Dragon said.

Portland grinned tightly as the tactical display flashed and two gunboat icons turned dark gray. The nearest enemy had struck a mine and sent the vessel careening into a second mine, taking both him and his wingman out in a violent blaze of nuclear fire.

Portland jerked his stick forward and altered his flight path again as the angry red icons on his display scattered evenly in all directions, forming a flower-like evasive formation that the Gray was fond of using. The element of surprise had been lost, and Portland knew that he wouldn't be able to sucker them into a trap like that again.

It also meant that the Gray forces would stay well away from his aft. The pilot grinned tightly to himself.

[-]

“A destroyer with a gunboat escort has jumped in-system!” Rin cried, her projected image looking mildly panicked. “They're activating communications and sensor jamming!”

“I knew this felt way too easy. What's our status?”

Rin's holo looked distraught. “We've lost contact with Delta Two and Three. Delta Four is outside the effects of the jamming and is requesting orders.”

“Four, listen to me,” Alisa barked into the comm “Abort, do you copy? Abort.”

“I copy, Lead.” Lindy's voice was badly distorted and cut out at points due to the jamming, but Rin was able to clean it up enough that the orders got through.

“I'm going to try and link Rin's tactical feed to Wizard.” Alisa kept her voice calm and reassuring. “The reinforcements are blocking us from the Infiltrator. The commander should sortie Beta and Omega Flights to screen the Infiltrator against gunboat attacks. We just have to hold out until they can take out that destroyer.”

“Right, Lead,” Lindy replied. “What do you want me to do?”

“Form up on me. We're going to try and clear out the garrison forces while Beta, Omega and the Infiltrator keeps the newcomers occupied. Alpha should be back soon; if we can hold out that long, we should be fine.”

“How long until the Infiltrator's particle cannon can fire?”

“Three minutes at the very most,” Alisa replied, “but I'm sure you know that's an eternity in this kind of fight. We just have to hope that Two and Three can hold out long enough for us to get to them.”

Rin gave her partner a dubious look. “The Infiltrator will kill the destroyer, but it's not going to be able to do much about the gunboats unless they get really stupid.”

“That's our job,” Alisa reminded her. “Let's get to work.”

“Acknowledged, Lead,” Lindy said.

Alisa jerked her stick back and shoved the throttle to its stops, sending her Lancer rocketing toward the embattled Delta Two and Three. The enemy gunboats assumed a loose encircling formation around Delta Three; Alisa's tactical display lit up with several warning icons as they started to close in.

“They're moving in to kill Daniels quickly.”

“I'm not blind, Rin.” Alisa keyed the comm for Lindy's fighter. “Four, follow in my wake and slightly off-vector; try to get any that peel off. I'm going to wade right into the fray.”

“Dagger Thrust formation?” Lindy guessed.

“Right. It won't work as well with two instead of four, but Two ought to hit them from the other side and it'll cause a great deal of confusion. We don't have much time.”

“Acknowledged, Lead.” Lindy sounded cool and collected over the comm for the first time since the mission began, despite their severe disadvantage. Alisa glanced at Rin and the small holo of the girl shrugged.

Alisa shoved her throttle to its stops, the Lancer's thrusters flaring radiantly as the vessel charged forward. Rin was already a step ahead of Alisa's thought processes; the pilot watched as her shell display's targeting UI switched to the multi-layer reticule used for the Lancer's main cannon.

“Missiles ready,” Rin told her. “Burst banks are fully charged.”

“Right.” Alisa's mouth felt slightly dry. The trap the Gray had set for them… the Infiltrator's stealth capabilities could have been compromised. Either that or the trap had been set for another Alliance force and the Infiltrator simply walked into it unknowingly—

“More likely intentionally,” Rin reasoned.

Alisa glanced at her partner and nodded imperceptibly. “I'm sure we'll find out after we make it out of this alive.”

The shell display lit up as Rin and the Lancer's tactical computer obtained firing solutions. Alisa lined up her vector with the glowing icons and obtained a solid lock. Her finger squeezed the trigger and the vessel shuddered violently.

At their current distances, Alisa could not possibly miss. Two of the impactors struck their targets dead-on, blasting through the gunboats' power plants. The fusion reactors broke apart and sent blazing tongues of plasma shooting from great gaping holes. The dead gunboats continued to fly without guidance.

Alisa altered her vector as Rin launched a withering volley. The Lancer's ordnance flaps sprang open as dozens of swarm missiles streaked toward their targets.

“Alisa, look out!”

The Lancer's vector suddenly shifted sharply to port as Rin took direct control over the maneuvering thrusters. Alisa felt the stick jerk in her hands, but she didn't have to wonder what had happened—their minds were melded into one, acting in perfect unison.

A massive, blazing beam of violet-white destruction materialized in the space nearby, narrowly missing the Lancer and flooding the shell display with brilliant light. The shield strength readings dropped slightly—the evasion had been successful, but the beam's faint corona of blooming particles still struck the vessel.

“That was a particle beam!” Rin blurted. “The destroyer is seriously trying to shoot us down.”

“I can see that, Rin. Thanks for the save, by the way.”

“I much prefer a living Alisa to a dead Alisa,” Rin remarked. “Focus—we need to break through or Three's not going to survive.”

Alisa's Lancer surged forward. Despite the unannounced evasion, Lindy had managed to stay in formation, something that even Alisa herself would have been hard-pressed to accomplish. Either it was a fluke—and that was unlikely—or Lindy possessed an awesome natural talent for flying.

Interesting.

“Eighteen gunboats remaining in-system,” Rin broke into her thoughts.

“Only eighteen?” Alisa gave her partner a confused look. “It should be twenty.”

“Looks like Two got a few of them with mines. I'm not picking up any significant energy signatures from two on the other side of the blockade. They're dead but still moving.”

Lindy's voice came over the comm. “Lead, the garrison force is merging up with their reinforcements.”

“As they should. Four, switch to missiles. They're almost within effective laser range. We're going to have to start dancing and soon. Make sure you keep up with me; let Wizard do some of the work.”

“Got it, Lead.”

The gunboat super-formation loomed ahead in the shell display. Alisa knew they were still far too distant to actually see. She dialed back the shell magnification and gripped her stick, switching her active weapon to missiles.

“Four, dance!” Alisa barked.

Both starfighters broke formation at the exact moment, with Alisa pulling “up” and Lindy sending her fighter into a “dive.” The space was suddenly filled with hundreds of deadly beams of invisible light—the shell display lent them visibility in the form of bright purple lines—but Alisa wouldn't allow the gunboats to take her out so easily.

“ECM protocols activated,” Rin reported.

Alisa nodded, not bothering to respond nor needing to as she concentrated on flinging her vessel through space as chaotically and randomly as she could. Laser weapons were impossible to avoid once they were fired, but by throwing her fighter around into as tangled and confused a mess of maneuvers as possible, she could confuse the Gray gunners.

While Alisa concentrated on avoiding enemy fire, one eye kept peeled to the shield strength display, Rin fought her own battle. With sophisticated hacking techniques and falsified sensor readings as her weapons, Rin was attempting to fool the enemy gunboats' computer systems. The artificial girl would plow through their defenses and scramble their targeting data, introducing significant error into the tracking algorithms.

The shield strength indicator continued to waver, dropping and rising as Rin automatically directed the burst capacitor charge to reinforce them. At these ranges, Alisa knew, her main advantage was gone. Her eyes tracked the movement of gunboats on the shell display as targeting locks established and the icons flashed orange.

“Firing.” Alisa depressed the secondary weapons release. Dozens of swarming missiles streaked from the ordnance pods attached to the fighter's wing hardpoints. Her tactical display tracked the missiles' flight paths as they maneuvered, inexorably closing in on their targets.

“Sync fire delay calculated,” Lindy reported over the comm. Alisa glanced over at the tactical and watched as the number of missile contacts doubled. With sixty separate missiles in play, the gunboats couldn't hope to escape unscathed.

The Gray pilots, to their credit, attempted to evade, but their reliance on tight formation flying was their undoing. The swarm missiles were equipped with powerful maneuvering thrusters and could change direction almost instantaneously. The shell display was lit with brilliant flashes as the fusion warheads detonated.

“Damage?”

“Two gunboats dead,” Rin told her. “One crippled. Four's missiles are inbound.”

“When is that destroyer going to fire again?”

Rin gave Alisa a grim look. “Looks like now—but it's not aimed at us.”

10

Flight Officer Daniels yanked his stick back, desperately trying to avoid the storm of ultraviolet destruction. The arrival of Gray reinforcements in-system had placed him in the worst possible position. The destroyer loomed ominously in his shell display; caught between the capital ship and its escorts, Daniels had little choice but to skim as close to the destroyer as possible, hoping that the gunboats would be reluctant to fire on him and risk hitting their own command vessel.

This meant that he had to tangle with the point defenses of the destroyer. The stick jiggled in his hands as his AI operator introduced calculated errors into his flight path, attempting to throw the Gray gunners off.

“We are out of the firing arc of the particle beam emitters,” reported Daniels' AI operator, Tiger. The stylized image of a striped, anthropomorphic great cat narrowed its golden eyes as it floated above the holo projector.

“For now,” Daniels muttered. “What can we do?”

“Delay until the Infiltrator is in firing position.”

Daniels swore under his breath. If they tried to run, the Gray destroyer would simply kill him with their turret-mounted particle beams. The only thing that kept him relatively safe at the moment was his proximity. The longer he stayed, however, the more exhausted he would become—long before the dozens of point-defense lasers on the destroyer overheated enough to shut down.

Tiger offered the pilot a toothy grin. “Delta Two has deployed mines. Two gunboats disabled.”

“LOS comm is active?”

“No,” Tiger said. “The comm window will open again on the next pass.”

Daniels glanced at the shield strength indicator. He was down to forty percent integrity and his burst banks were almost completely empty. It would take the Lancer's fusion reactor about five minutes to fully charge them again.

“How long until the Infiltrator is in position?”

Tiger's golden eyes flashed. “Two minutes.”

The cold, empty feeling in Daniels' stomach seemed to expand outward, chilling him to the bone. This wasn't how it was supposed to be, damn it. He was a good pilot. He had to find a way out of this trap—dying ignominiously to a cowardly Gray ambush was not how he wanted to enter the void.

Daniels shoved the stick forward and backed up on the throttle as he made his turn, trying to avoid sending the fighter into a tumbling spin. The maneuvering thrusters kicked in and altered his vector as he flew past the Gray capital ship's bow, eclipsing the massive aperture of the vessel's main particle beam cannon. Staring at that huge weapon, Daniels felt a moment of panic creep its way into his mind, but he shoved it down.

“LOS comm link active,” Tiger announced.

Portland's badly-distorted voice came over the comm. “—repeat, can y—hear me, Three? D—ou copy?”

“I can hear you, Two,” Daniels snapped. “I'm skimming the destroyer's hull here! Get me a distraction so I can break away and form up.”

“—can't reach—too dangerous—beam emitt—“

“You're breaking up too much.” Daniels gritted his teeth in frustration. “Tiger, can we knock out those particle-beam emitters with the short-range guns?”

“Negative. They are too heavily shielded.”

“Just fucking great,” Daniels muttered. There wasn't much he could do except take the risk. He had no other options. If he continued to skim the destroyer's hull, he would eventually die as the lasers continued to wear his shields down. Once that happened, the Gray turrets would rip his fighter apart and he'd fry inside the cockpit.

“Tiger, burst banks to shields, reinforce aft. We're going to make a run for it.”

“Acknowledged.”

Daniels jerked his stick back and stomped hard on both foot pedals. He shoved the throttle to its stops, sending the Lancer into a steep ascending climb relative to the Gray destroyer's starboard hull. The Lancer's inertial dampening field strengthened automatically as the vessel achieved true cruise acceleration.

The extreme acceleration to sub-light cruise velocity meant that the vessel's maneuvering capabilities were reduced significantly. Daniels felt the random jiggles in the stick subside as Tiger was no longer capable of making adjustments without reducing acceleration. If the fighter managed to send itself into an uncontrolled sliding spin, they would have little chance of survival.

The shell display showed the four remaining gunboats of the Lethe garrison, their attention fully immersed in trying to kill Delta Two. His Lancer would charge right through them like an enraged beast, guns blazing, saving both himself and Portland. His face split into a savage grin as he thought of the after-mission record.

It was his last thought as his world was engulfed in brilliant violet-white light.

[-]

“What the hell did that destroyer hit?” Alisa demanded.

“I can't tell!” Rin's holo threw her tiny hands up in helpless exasperation. “The destroyer's still putting a lot of power into sensor jamming!”

“It had to have been either Two or Three,” Alisa bit out. There wasn't much else for the destroyer to be shooting at, after all—

“Incoming gunboats!” Rin cried.

Alisa wrenched her stick around and stabbed down once again on the firing stud, sending wave after wave of swarm missiles arrowing toward her opponents. The black velvet curtain was set ablaze by the brilliant explosions.

At least twelve gunboats left and that destroyer's trying to shoot us down, Alisa thought, narrowing her eyes at the tactical display. She had no idea how long it would take the Infiltrator to kill the enemy destroyer—until it was dealt with, the Alliance capital ship would be unable to get any closer without considerable risk.

“Rin, we've got to do something about the destroyer's particle beam. Any ideas?”

“I'm already pulling the technical schematics for the vessel,” Rin assured her. Alisa allowed herself a small smile. Rin was always one or two steps ahead of her, a trend that contributed significantly to their performance and continued survival.

“Here.” Rin's holo waved a hand at the tactical display, which had been replaced with a detailed schematic of the Gray destroyer. “The main particle beam aperture is by its very nature unarmored. If we can put a few impactors down the barrel…”

Alisa gave Rin a dubious glance. “That's an impossible shot. The target profile software can't aid us with it at all.”

“I can do it,” Rin insisted. “We can do it together. Let me take over targeting and power down the automated assist systems.”

“Done and done.” Alisa opened the comm to Delta Four. “Four, we're going to try something crazy. If it works we just might get out of this mess alive.”

“Can't be any crazier than what's already happening,” Lindy replied, her voice shaky.

“Here's what we're going to do.” Alisa tapped a button on the tactical display and sent the schematic data to Four. “Wizard's link to Rin is active; we're going to disable the automated target-assist systems and do a simultaneous sync-fire with no delay.”

“How many?”

“Full barrage. The aperture of the Gray destroyer's main gun is unarmored. We're going to put as many shots down the barrel as we can. Hopefully it'll wreck it badly enough that they can't fire on the Infiltrator, at least not for the ten or fifteen minutes it'll take them to repair the damage.”

Lindy said nothing.

“Got it, Four?”

“G-got it, Lead,” Lindy stammered.

Alisa nudged the stick slightly as she changed course, hoping that the gunboats wouldn't pick up on what she planned to do. Delta Two was engaging in a fair bit of fancy flying in an attempt to simply survive and the distraction had pulled most of the gunboats off of her.

“Rin, what do you think?”

“The destroyer's twenty thousand kilometers away,” Rin explained, “but we are in their forward firing arc. We should be able to make the shot from here.”

The shell display view magnified, Rin's systems and the Lancer's own computer assisting in rendering the image of the Gray destroyer. Long and slender, the vessel had a certain elegance that the gunboats generally lacked. Alisa briefly wondered if the destroyer was a relic, designed long ago when the Gray still possessed a sense of beauty.

Alisa's shell display allowed her a very good look at the massive aperture of the destroyer's particle beam cannon. The weapon ran the entire length of the vessel, directly coupled to the capital ship's huge fusion reactors. The interior of the weapon was fairly delicate—Gray vessels generally maintained a forward screen with smaller assault frigates, but there were none present.

Overconfidence. The Gray weren't machines; while their thought processes were clearly very different from that of a human, they were by no means perfectly logical calculators. They made mistakes just like humans did. This mistake would be a particularly painful one.

“Do they know what we're up to?” Alisa queried.

“Doesn't look like it. The gunboats are still chasing Delta Two. Seems like the commander is banking on our unwillingness to leave anyone behind. They're keeping Portland bottled up, wearing slowly away at him.”

“They're toying with us.” Alisa tightened her grip around the control stick. “Trying to goad the Infiltrator into a stand-up fight.”

Rin's holo began to pace around the platform. “The stealth systems. That has to be it. The Gray want to capture the Infiltrator to obtain our stealth technology.”

“We'll use their reluctance to destroy us outright as an advantage,” Alisa growled. “Sync-fire on mark—Rin has the trigger.”

Rin's projected image turned around, as if she were looking out the shell display through the holo's eyes. She wasn't, but Rin's very human mannerisms tended to bleed over into every aspect of her personality and mind. The frill-trimmed skirt of Rin's dress fluttered as she spun back around.

“Firing twelve-shot barrage—now!”

Staccato waves of teeth-rattling vibrations rolled through the Lancer's starframe. Rin's targeting assistance, linked through to Lindy's AI operator, had all twenty-four impactors traveling in a converging vector. The shots would have to slip through the five-meter aperture of the weapon and travel at least twenty meters beyond that in order to strike critical equipment.

Alisa couldn't see from this distance, of course, but a moment later Rin's eyes lit up with the intensity of a supernova. She whirled around in a little impromptu dance and threw her hands up in excitement.

“All shots right on target—the particle beam cannon is disabled!”

“They're not going to leave us alone after that,” Alisa observed, motioning to the tactical display. “They're coming. Four, watch your back! We've got gunboats inbound and that destroyer's moving toward us!”

Rin placed a finger on her lips and gave her best innocent pout. “We only completely ruined their entire operation plan. No big deal, right?”

“Very big deal; now they're just going to kill us.” A wide, feral grin spread across Alisa's face beneath her helmet. “Let's make them work for it, shall we?”

[-]

Portland was starting to tire.

The destroyer had fired at something; he didn't know what it was. He hoped that it wasn't Daniels, but Portland had already prepared himself for such an eventuality. War did not often make allowances for friendships.

The remaining gunboats—now about eight of them, give or take one—were chasing him in complicated concentric patterns meant to keep him bottled up in a small area of space. The whole mission had gone completely to hell at this point; Portland was astute enough to know that the undermanned supply dump was bait.

“The boss lady was right,” Portland said out loud. “We walked right into this one.”

“A deception,” Dragon agreed. “It is unlikely that Alliance Command was unaware of this. The Gray are well-known for defending their supply depots far more zealously than they defend their personnel.”

“What do you think, then? A test? A warning?”

“The latter.”

“What are those gunboats doing now?”

Dragon's red eyes burned with animated flames. “They are exhibiting erratic behavior. Five have broken off. The remaining three have entered into a dagger formation.”

“They'd get tired of playing around eventually,” Portland muttered. “Dragon, tag them all for targeting. We're going to take full advantage of this.”

Portland yanked his stick back hard, flipping the nose of the fighter upward relative to his current orientation. Instead of backing off on the throttle as would be needed for a steep climb, he jammed it forward to its stops, kicking the thrusters into full power. The combination burn of rear thrusters and maneuvering jets sent the Lancer into a tumble before Dragon's fine control righted it again—this time, the Lancer's nose was pointed directly at the oncoming Gray gunboats.

“Firing.” Portland squeezed the trigger on his stick. The Lancer's main gun cycled, sending the impactor streaking through space. The pilot allowed himself a smile as the gunboat in the center of the dagger formation blew apart.

“They're breaking off,” Dragon noted.

“Of course they are.” Portland's voice was completely even despite the incredible strain he was under. Flying a starfighter, even with AI assistance and considerable automation, was one of the toughest things he'd ever done, both mentally and physically. As a former marine who had once mocked Fleet personnel for being unwilling and unable to do the hard work, the irony was not lost on him.

The remaining two gunboats fanned out, spoiling any potential follow-up shots with the linear cannon. Portland switched his active weapon over to missiles. The tactical display lit up; Portland applied thrust, spinning the vessel slightly before it righted itself again.

A brilliant beam of violet-white doom lanced through the space where Portland's starfighter had just been, moments before. The man glowered at his AI operator's projected image, angry with his partner for failing to warn him.

“What the hell, Dragon?”

“My apologies,” the AI replied. “The destroyer is firing beyond its effective range. I concluded that it would not attempt to shoot us down.”

“Beyond effective range for fighting other capital ships, maybe.”

Dragon said nothing in reply. Portland knew the AI was incapable of understanding the stab of irrational anger that the pilot felt. Despite the fact that the AI was partly based on his own cognitive framework, it still felt alien to him. The stream of combat and targeting data that Dragon fed directly into his mind was no longer painful. His mind had adapted, accepting the information and integrating it directly into his thought process.

Even so, Portland couldn't get over how creepy it felt. His synchronization rate suffered as a result, fluctuating a bit below the average. The lower the sync rate, the more latency was introduced into the link. Portland had heard low sync rates described as a veil, a wispy wall that required more mental focus and energy to pierce. He found the description accurate.

Rumor was the lieutenant-commander's sync rate with her operator was so high that they could literally communicate through their thoughts. Portland felt an involuntary chill run down his spine as he waited for the gunboats to make their reappearance. He wasn't usually one to judge people for being different, but he found the whole concept revolting and frightening. Lieutenant-Commander Pierce may have been his boss, but Portland doubted he'd ever feel completely comfortable around the odd woman.

“Enemy contacts starboard.” Dragon's synthesized voice pulled Portland out of his private thoughts. “They are headed toward us at very high acceleration.”

Portland grunted. “Can we get a lock?”

“Tentative target lock established. I calculate that seventy percent of warheads will cause damage to the target vessels.”

“Good enough.” He pulled the trigger. The Lancer's missile pods sprang open and loosed a swarm of thirty tiny missiles, their on-board guidance systems chasing the partial lock as best they could.

“Evasive action,” Dragon reported as the Lancer was suddenly jerked back and forth, the AI operator throwing the vessel into the standard “dance” maneuver that helped to reduce the number of direct hits from the Gray's laser weapons.

Portland ignored the twitches in the stick as he maneuvered. The shield strength indicator began to flash and fade as lasers struck home. They were far too close to avoid more than a few of them—

There was a bright flash as the nearest gunboat was enveloped in a series of brilliant spheres. The swarm missiles—at least some of them—had found their target. Portland worked the throttle and stick together as he maneuvered through the debris left behind by his kill.

“Emergency!” Dragon roared.

The Lancer was suddenly struck with a terrific impact, sending it careening through space, spinning in all directions. The inertial dampening field was still active, quickly ramping up to full power to keep even the bleed-through g-forces from causing Portland to black out. The sudden loss of spatial awareness served to snap Portland from his momentary daze.

“What happened?”

“The gunboat collided with our vessel.” Dragon's forked tongue flicked out. “Starboard wing is damaged. Secondary weapons systems are unresponsive. Evasive maneuvers recommended; the vessel is attempting to ram again.”

Portland nodded toward the black dragon holo. He gripped the stick tightly, trying to halt the crazy spinning and force the fighter into a straight flight path. The shape of the oncoming gunboat loomed ominously in his shell display.

Ramming was a common tactic used by the Gray gunboats once they had their prey within close range. The boxy vessels possessed powerful engines and were armored extremely well. While the Alliance had developed the Lancer heavy assault fighter in order to kill frigates and gunboats with ease at extreme ranges, the Gray indisputably held the melee advantage.

Portland wasn't about to let this one ram him again. With his secondary weapons nonfunctional, he'd have to line the Gray vessel up with his main gun and fire without any form of targeting assistance. Dragon would be able to help, but the big weapon didn't fire instantly—it had a short but significant charge-up time.

“Options?” Portland demanded.

“I am attempting to bring the secondary guns back online. It will take some time; their aim points have been thrown out of alignment by the collision.”

Portland swore aloud. There wasn't much else he could do but try and stay alive until either Dragon could get those guns working again or Delta Lead and Four could punch through the gunboat screen—

“Delta Two, this is the Infiltrator,” a clear, undistorted masculine voice came over the comm. Portland instantly recognized the voice as belonging to the Infiltrator's captain, Captain Zachary. “Retreat to Point A43.”

“Aye, Captain!” Portland stared at the comm panel in disbelief. “How did you—”

“No time to explain, Delta Two. Move it, now!”

Portland nodded to Dragon and the AI complied, sending the vessel into a dizzying series of evasive maneuvers as it streaked toward the designated point with as much acceleration as the Lancer could provide.

“The destroyer isn't firing? What in the blazes—”

“Communications jamming is down,” Dragon interrupted. “Delta Lead is hailing us.”

“Lead, what happened?”

Alisa's voice came over the comm. “Two, you're alive. Good. We need to get out of here right now! The Infiltrator is going to buy us some time, but there are Gray vessels jumping in from all over the place. Rin counts at least four destroyers in-system with an escort of twelve war frigates.”

Portland's jaw dropped in astonishment. “What the fuck's going on, Lead?”

“The Gray are trying to capture the Infiltrator. We're going to have to retreat immediately. The Infiltrator won't have time to dock all the fighters before we're completely surrounded.”

“Got it, Lead,” Portland said.

The space behind Portland's Lancer was filled with a storm of incandescent death as the Infiltrator's particle beam weapons locked onto targets and fired. They sought to hurt and to distract, not to destroy—there would be little chance the Infiltrator could actually kill the Gray capital ship in a single volley. The gunboats, however, were a completely different story. Portland whistled low as seven of the red enemy icons on his tactical display turned dark gray simultaneously.

“They must've been caught in the anti-capship beam.”

“We've arrived at Point A43,” Dragon announced. “Rin has sent navigation coordinates. Initiating warp core injection. Antimatter reactor active; catch rate at 95 percent. Twenty seconds.”

Despite the fact that the danger had largely passed, Portland felt no relief. He had restrained himself from asking either Captain Zachary or Delta Lead; in all honesty he didn't feel he even needed to ask.

“Injection complete. Initiating hyperjump.”

Space and time stretched and distorted weirdly around the Lancer. Portland sighed as the universe around him disappeared, feeling as if he'd aged ten years in the past ten minutes.

[-]

Alisa stood silently in the Infiltrator's empty secondary dock, her eyes focused on three cloth-shrouded objects in the center of the meticulously-polished deck. Beneath one of the carefully draped Sol Alliance flags was an empty coffin. Emblazoned on a small plaque was the inscription:

Alexander Daniels; Flight Officer, Third Grade, of the Sol Alliance Navy, Advanced Starfighter Corps. 969 – 997 DE.

Standing beside the coffin was Portland, the big man's expression enough to break Alisa's heart in two. Rin walked up beside her, clutching her arm. The two exchanged no words—none were needed, even if Alisa and Rin had not been linked on a level far beyond that of an ordinary couple.

“Flight Officer, I'm sorry,” Alisa managed. “I know you and Daniels were close.”

“He got himself killed.” There was no malice in Portland's voice, no anger, no condemnation. It was a simple observation and a correct one. The data Rin reconstructed from the rest of the wing confirmed Portland's own condemnation.

“He wanted glory in battle,” Portland muttered. “I loved him like a brother, but he was a damned fool. I knew it, I knew he'd get himself killed one day, doing something stupid so he could be the hero. But I never really wanted to believe it. I didn't want to think about losing my friend.”

Rin gazed sympathetically at the grief-stricken pilot. “Did you ever try to talk to him about it?”

“The stubborn bastard wouldn't ever listen,” Portland growled, his voice growing strangled. Alisa glanced at the man and was not surprised to see tears glittering in his dark eyes. He took a deep, ragged breath and let it out slowly.

“We met in the Academy. He was a hot-headed glory hound back then, too. More than now, even. I never seen anyone get under a drill instructor's skin like him. But he was good at his job, he did everything the Alliance asked him to do and more.”

“You served as a stabilizing element for him,” Rin reasoned.

Portland laughed bitterly. “Not stable enough. He's dead.”

“I don't want you to think you failed at anything, Flight Officer.” Alisa did her best to keep her tone firm despite the situation. “We were ambushed by the Gray. This is war; people die in war. We were lucky to get out of there at all.”

“I know that, ma'am, don't think I don't,” Portland snapped. He looked away, unwilling to look his superior in the eyes. “There's no way Command didn't know this was a trap. Even you thought it was strange, Lead.”

Alisa nodded slowly. “Rin and I have already spoken to the commander about it. I understand that he and Captain Zachary are absolutely furious about being knowingly placed into a trap intentionally designed to capture this vessel.”

“Command has their reasons, I'm sure.” The big man paced back and forth, seemingly filled to bursting with frustrated energy. “Dragon and I thought it was a warning—you know, 'don't fuck with the Alliance' or something like that.”

“I know you're asking yourself if it was worth it.” Alisa couldn't quite keep the weariness from creeping into her voice. “We may not know for a long time. We may never actually know. You and I are just warriors—we're not the generals. If you want to make the calls, climb up the ranks and become a general yourself.”

Portland shook his head and stopped mid-stride. “If it's all the same to you, ma'am, I'd rather keep flying a Lancer until I can't anymore.”

“I'm with you on that one,” Alisa agreed. “I wouldn't want to be in a position where I might have to knowingly order thousands of people to their deaths.”

Portland said nothing.

“If you need to talk about it, I'm here.” Alisa turned and stared out over the coffins lined up on the deck. “I know how it feels to lose someone close to you. I lost my parents when I was very young.”

“Ma'am?”

“I was born on Proxima Station, twenty-five years ago,” Alisa explained, turning to look her subordinate directly in the eye. “My parents were both in the Alliance military, with career assignments on the colony. We were still living there… in 978.”

Portland's eyes widened in horror. Every soldier, every crew member, every marine and every pilot in the Alliance military knew the significance of Proxima Station and the year 978. Even most of the civilian population knew—it was one of the Alliance's darkest, most infamous days, one of the only two instances in recorded history where the Gray completely destroyed an entire Alliance free-orbital colony system.

“Shit, you're her. I had no idea.”

“Yes, I'm her, and it's no surprise you didn't know. My name was never released to the press.” Alisa seemed to wilt as old sadness came rising to the surface. “Nineteen years ago, I was the little Miracle Girl, the sole survivor of the Gray assault on Proxima Centauri. Out of ten million people, I'm the only one who survived.”

“I… I don't know what to say.”

Alisa shrugged, feeling indescribably weary. “You don't need to say anything. I just wanted you to know that I know what it's like to lose those who are closest. If you need to talk about it, just let me know.”

The barest hint of a smile started to form on Portland's face. “Lead, I'm pretty sure I'll be fine. I just need some time. Alone, if you don't mind.”

“Understood, Flight Officer. Report to debriefing at 2100 hours.”

Portland stood up straight, clicking his heels together, and saluted with perfect parade-ground precision. “Yes, ma'am.”

[-]

Alisa sighed and opened the door to her cabin. Her stride was slow and leaden; she wanted nothing more than to hit the pillow and let sleep overtake her. Rin followed through the open door, feeling a slight breeze of displaced air as the door sealed shut.

“The commander sure was angry,” Rin commented.

“That makes three of us.” Alisa growled in agreement. “I don't even have any fucking idea what the void-damned hell Command was thinking about, putting the Infiltrator and all of us in that situation—and for what?”

Rin blinked, surprised. “You're angrier than Isaacs. You almost never curse.”

Alisa only grunted in reply and kicked off her low heels, not bothering to place them back in the small closet's shoe rack. She collapsed on the small bed, feeling the little aches and pains accumulating in her body. It was mostly stress, she knew—her physical condition was near-flawless and the fight hadn't actually been that long.

“I want to sleep for the next year,” Alisa announced.

“The Infiltrator will be heading directly for Sirius Colony to repair, resupply and transfer new pilots and starfighters to replace the ones we lost. It won't take a year for us to get there, so I doubt you'll get your wish.”

Alisa glanced up at Rin and pouted. “That's not fair. I want to sleep for a year!”

“You can't always get what you want.” Rin's expression brightened. “However, the message from the commander also said that we've got two weeks of shore leave on Sirius. You'll have plenty of time to rest up before we get thrown back into the fray.”

“This is all my fault,” Alisa murmured, abruptly changing the subject.

Rin blinked. “What?”

“I knew there was something strange about the mission from the start. I should have pushed harder, should have gone to meet with the commander directly and—”

“Alisa, really.” Rin sighed. “You're taking responsibility where none exists.”

Alisa opened her eyes and sat up. “I don't think I am. How can I be an effective leader if I don't own up to my mistakes? I should have had the conviction to stand up to Commander Isaacs and convince him to deploy the entire wing at once.”

“That's bullshit, Alisa, and you know it,” Rin argued. “We were used by Command, pure and simple. I don't know if it was a test, or a warning to the Gray like Portland suspects, but the bottom line doesn't change.”

“We're soldiers. It's our duty to be used by the Alliance.”

“Not the same thing.” Rin crossed her arms over her chest. “There's a huge difference between giving our lives to defend humanity and being pointlessly endangered because some puffed-up desk admiral thinks they can score political points with some stupid intimidation ploy.”

“That's too much, Rin,” Alisa snapped. “The Alliance can't be—”

Rin shook her head and glared at Alisa. “No, it's not too much. It's exactly what happened. I've been over the combat data dozens of times. Don't try to take responsibility for something outside your control. Yes, okay, we lost a pilot—but we could have lost far more if not for you. This is war and people die in war. Didn't you just tell Portland that?”

Alisa said nothing.

“Do you want me to tell you that you fucked up?” Rin demanded, apropos of her partner's silence. “Is that what you want me to tell you? Then yes, Alisa, you fucked up. You followed your orders even when you knew those orders were stupid.”

“That's what I'm supposed to do.”

Rin nodded and sat down on the bed next to her partner. “Exactly. You didn't have any other choice but to fuck up.”

Alisa looked away. “And because I followed orders, someone died.”

“Flight Officer Daniels isn't the last person you'll send to an early grave,” Rin pointed out. “Next time you may even knowingly order someone to their death. This is what that shiny gold bar really means, Alisa.”

“I suppose you're right,” Alisa admitted as she started to undress. Rin knelt down and slowly drew off Alisa's pristine white stockings.

“It could have been worse,” she murmured.

“A lot worse, had your quick thinking regarding the Gray destroyer not paid off in spades.”

“Just another day at the office,” Alisa murmured, letting out a deep breath. Rin smiled up at her and started rubbing her partner's bare feet, expertly applying pressure in just the right spots to alleviate the most tension.

“Mm, that feels good.” Alisa leaned back on the thin mattress and closed her eyes, thoroughly enjoying Rin's tender ministrations.

“I'm glad you like it.”

Alisa smiled and sank a bit deeper into the nested blankets, feeling her mind start to slow down from the whirlwind of activity that had ended only an hour earlier. Barring a surprise Gray assault by dozens of destroyers, Alisa knew that she and Rin would be undisturbed at least until the next morning.

“I can think of a few other things that will feel good,” Alisa went on, her voice low and sultry.

“Oh?” Rin arched one delicate eyebrow eloquently. “And what might those things be, lovely lady?”

Alisa blushed and giggled girlishly. “Since you asked so nicely…”

11

The Infiltrator arrived in the Sirius star system sometime around 0700. Alisa opened her eyes at the exact same moment, feeling the strange subtle queasiness that often occurred when a vessel entered or exited hyperspace.

“Good morning, sleepyhead.”

Alisa blinked and sat up, blinking the fuzziness from her eyes. Rin stood in front of the bed, holding the usual mug of coffee. Alisa took the offered drink gratefully and sipped the hot liquid slowly, careful not to burn her tongue.

“How do you feel?” Rin inquired.

“Pretty good, actually.” Alisa yawned and stretched her arms high above her head. It was at that moment that she realized she was still completely nude. A faint blush touched her cheeks; this did not go unnoticed by Rin.

The artificial girl snickered slyly. “I'm sure you do.”

“H-hey!” Alisa protested, her cheeks growing even redder.

This only caused Rin to laugh harder. “We're totally alone in this little cabin here and you're blushing and sputtering like a schoolgirl.”

Alisa stood up and looked at herself in the closet's mirrored door, wincing as she noticed several small, bright red spots marring her pale skin. Most of them were in places that wouldn't be visible when dressed—her breasts, tummy and inner thighs—but there were two especially obvious ones on her neck.

Alisa's blush intensified. “What am I going to do about this? Everybody's going to know what happened…”

“What, you think they don't already know?” Rin let out a giggle. “The shipboard rumor mill just about ensures the entire Fleet knows that we have sex, Alisa. Those idiots on the Liberator caught the rumors all the way out in the middle of nowhere. If the gossip's going to fly, it's going to fly. Nothing you can really do about it, love, so why get embarrassed?”

“Embarrassment isn't a logical emotion, most of the time.”

Rin snickered. “I'm pretty sure logic wasn't high on your list of priorities last night.”

“I'm pretty sure these marks you left on my neck aren't in line with dress regulations,” Alisa countered, changing the subject.

“You can just cover them with makeup.”

“I guess that'll have to do.” Alisa padded over to the bathroom section of the tiny cabin and stepped into the shower unit. She grimaced slightly at the sticky feeling covering her thighs and the lower part of her abdomen. Apparently Rin's attentions had been enough to send her directly into dreamland and the girl hadn't bothered to clean her up.

“We'll need to wash the sheets,” Alisa called out over the sound of the cascading water jets. She thought she heard a stifled giggle from Rin, but didn't bother to respond, instead focusing on washing up as quickly as she could a few minutes before the automatic cut-off killed her shower unit.

Moments later, Alisa fluffed out her hair as the dry cycle completed and she stepped out of the stall. Rin, just as nude as she, walked into the now-vacant shower stall and turned the water on. The cabin shower was only programmed for one person; since she and Rin had taken to living together, Alisa learned to take her showers in half the allotted time.

“So, we've got two weeks on Sirius Colony!” Rin's voice was charged with barely contained excitement. “What should we do? We could go shopping, maybe find a nice restaurant—oh, I want to go to the botanical gardens!”

Alisa frowned at Rin. “We have work to do.”

“No, we don't,” Rin corrected, shaking her head. “We're on shore leave. We don't have to do anything for two weeks; we're on vacation!”

Alisa closed her eyes and sighed. “I'm sorry, Rin, but we really do have a lot of work to get done. The shore leave is for the crew and the grunts, not us. We've got a new pilot coming into Delta Flight and I need to meet with them, get them up to speed. Probably run a few simulator scenarios, then the paperwork—”

“But we're on shore leave!” Rin whined. “Come on, let's go out! I'll call Lindy and all three of us can go out and have some fun.”

Alisa gave Rin a hard glare. “We can't. Lindy's gone, anyway. As soon as her father found out she was on Sirius Colony for two weeks, he chartered transport to Sirius. She'll be visiting with her family for the duration.”

“Well, that's annoying,” Rin grumbled. Then her expression brightened. “Then we should go out together! Just the two of us, we can make it an extended date, maybe get a nice hotel room and spend all night—”

Alisa cut her off with a raised hand. “Look, Rin, I'm sorry but there's just too much work to do. We'll have time to do something, maybe the day before the Infiltrator ships out again.”

“One day? That's it?!” Rin exploded. “Are you seriously telling me that you want to keep us sequestered in the ship—”

“I don't want to argue this with you, Rin. We have important work to do and very little time to do it, especially considering what happened.”

“Fine.” Rin didn't even bother to hide her disgust. “I'll get dressed.”

Alisa sat on the bed and pulled a fresh pair of white stockings on, then stood in front of the full-length mirror, adjusting the tops of her stockings and her skirt. She slipped her uniform jacket on and placed the deep-red beret atop her head, tilting it at the correct angle.

Out of the corner of her eye, Alisa watched Rin reach into her storage container and draw out a pink fitted top and a rather brief denim-style skirt. Alisa opened her mouth to object to Rin's extremely casual choice of attire, but she shut it just as quickly. They were technically off-duty, after all—she'd let Rin have this little bit of freedom.

“I'm ready to go,” Rin announced. Alisa turned around; the top Rin had chosen was low-cut and offered ample view of the girl's cleavage. Alisa felt her cheeks and her temper both warming slightly.

“The crew's going to have a field day with this,” she complained.

“Yeah, and? Why do you care?” Rin gave her partner a look that could only be described as coquettish. “Worried I might stray? Maybe work out a more favorable arrangement with someone else?”

“Rin.” Alisa's face almost instantly turned dusky red with a surge of anger that Rin didn't even need the link to feel.

“Oh, come on, Alisa! I'm just teasing you. The Infiltrator's nearly empty, anyway—all that's left is a quarter of the maintenance crew, Lieutenant Moore and the spaceport workers. We're going to be alone for most of the day doing paperwork before Flight Officer Blake even shows up.”

Alisa didn't bother asking Rin how she knew that. The artificial girl was connected to the Alliance's data networks and could pull up any of Alisa's mail long before she even noticed it was there. Her TCC hadn't gotten much use since she'd given Rin full access to her communications.

“Any info on Blake?” Alisa asked, pointedly changing the subject.

“Full name is Erin Blake, flight officer, fourth grade. She's by no means a green pilot; for the past few years she's been assigned to the Retribution under the aegis of the 342nd Versatile Fighter Wing. Her record looks good; numbers across the board are higher than average and line right up with the rest of the 703.”

Alisa was impressed. “Sirius Fleet assignments are prestigious.”

“Sirius sector's record of successful Gray attacks is the lowest in all Alliance space,” Rin agreed. “Anyone who's been attached to Admiral Thomas' command is someone who definitely knows their stuff cold.”

“I guess I should feel relieved we're getting such a good pilot.” Alisa turned to the door and opened it, beckoning for Rin to follow. The girl walked over to the shoe rack and slipped on a pair of white sandals decorated with flower details.

“Stop feeling guilty about Daniels,” Rin muttered, sealing the door behind her. The two walked in silence down the corridors to the lift that would take them to the 703's briefing room.

Since Alisa was on a smaller warship, she didn't have her own office. Only Captain Zachary, Commander Isaacs and the marine commander had their own tiny little niches to conduct administrative tasks. Alisa was forced to share the briefing room with the leaders of Beta and Alpha flights. Generally the three managed to do their work without incident, but Alisa wasn't so blind that she missed the subtle friction between the units.

Rin had rationalized it in many ways—Alisa was very young for her rank, Alisa was something of a darling of the Fleet, an ace pilot and ace pilots generally had strained relations at best with other Fleet personnel, even other elites.

Alisa, however, was sure that most of the animosity had to do with Rin. She hoped, not for the first time, that she'd done an adequate job of concealing the evidence of last night's activities. Even if Rin was correct and the rumor mill was abuzz with the realities of her love life, Alisa hardly wished to confirm it.

The door to the briefing room was shut. Alisa unsealed the door and walked through, not terribly surprised to see no one else here. Everyone was undoubtedly taking full advantage of the shore leave while they could, but Alisa's thoughts were heavy with the weight of the disastrous ambush and Delta Three's loss. The last thing her conscience would let her do now was go out and play when she could be working hard to ensure such a thing never happened again.

Alisa sat down behind one of the connected terminals and powered the screen on, entering her login information and allowing the computer system to check her identity. Rin sat down next to her, her expression sullen. The terminal in front of her seemingly turned itself on as Rin connected through the wireless.

Rin watched Alisa as the woman worked in silence. The artificial girl could easily see the strain building up on her partner's face. To a casual observer Alisa looked well-rested, had no visible evidence of the strain she was under, but Rin knew better—she could sense Alisa's emotions through their shared link.

Those emotions felt cold and still; Rin knew she was forcing herself to feel nothing, instead throwing all of that energy and effort into her work. Rin knew better than to say anything, though. Nothing would come of it—the best she could hope for would be another argument that lasted perhaps a few minutes before Alisa shut down completely.

She would have to do something much more drastic if she wanted to truly get through her partner's hard-headed attitude. Rin's eyes narrowed eagerly as a plan started to form in her mind.

Over the next few minutes, Rin let her sullen expression fade, replaced with a feigned mask of diligence. Careful not to let any hints of her intent bleed through the link between them, she sat up straight in her chair and started to rapidly complete the work assigned to her. Thirty minutes later, after finishing her analysis, Rin fought the urge to smile. She needed an excuse to leave Alisa's side for at least a few hours and she had found one.

“I'm finished,” Rin announced. “I can head down to the dock and get working on the comprehensive performance tests.”

Alisa waved her hand absently. “Should take about three hours, right?”

“Around that, yes,” Rin replied. It was perfect. That would give her around three and a half to four hours before Alisa would start wondering. It was more than enough for Rin's purposes.

Rin stood up from her chair and started walking, heading out of the briefing room and for the deck lift. Had she been honest about her intentions, she would have headed directly for the hangar, but Rin had not been honest. She started up a background process that would suppress the pair-link pingback function, ensuring Alisa wouldn't be able to find her until she was ready to be found.

Slender fingers tapped against the lift's keypad and sent Rin traveling through the Infiltrator's superstructure, heading for the primary boarding connection to the Alliance dock at Sirius Colony.

The doors slid open. A significant portion of the crew had already left, but in their absence was an army of maintenance workers, human and SI systems alike. Several marine guards stood near the end of the tube, checking everyone in and out to make sure no unauthorized individuals made it into the vessel. Rin didn't recognize any of them; more than likely they were assigned to Sirius Colony's garrison force.

Rin stood in line, her right hand resting casually on her hip. She didn't think there would be any trouble with her leaving—after all, they were on shore leave. The line moved quickly and soon it was Rin's turn.

“Hi there,” she said, a cheerful smile on her face. “Alisa—that is, Lieutenant-Commander Pierce—sent me out to run errands on the colony while she deals with paperwork. It's all authorized, here.”

Rin's eyes flickered slightly as she sent a file to the marine guard's TCC. The man glanced at the device and then back at Rin, his cheeks coloring slightly as his gaze traveled over her bare, slender legs and artfully exposed cleavage.

“I'll have to verify this,” the guard ventured, but Rin held her hand up to stop him, fixing him with a warning stare.

“Alisa doesn't want to be disturbed,” Rin told him. “She's very, very busy; that's why she sent me out in the first place.”

“But I—”

“You really don't want to bother her right now,” Rin explained, putting on a feigned expression of warning and concern. “She's in a really bad mood after the Gray ambush. Trust me on this one.”

The marine guard gulped. “Well, I suppose—”

“—that it doesn't matter anyway since we're on shore leave, right?” Rin supplied, giving the kid a radiant smile. The marine guard's blush intensified. Rin subtly let her body shift, leaning toward the guard in just the right way, giving the poor kid a nearly unobstructed view through her low-cut top.

“Y-yeah, shore leave,” the guard sputtered. “H-have a nice day, ma'am.”

Rin winked at him and turned around slowly, sauntering off down the boarding tube in such a way that her skirt swished around her hips with every step. Working hard to suppress a fit of giggles, she slipped through the moving groups of people. Fortunately none of the other crew members seemed to recognize her.

At least something useful came out of Alisa's stubborn insistence on trying to hide me from as many people as she can. Rin frowned as she walked out of the boarding tube and into the Alliance spaceport proper.

Sirius Colony was the largest and oldest currently-operational ring world humanity had ever constructed. With a local population of three-quarters of a billion people, Sirius was also the Alliance's most populated single free-orbital colony. The Sirius system possessed other habitats ranging from listening posts, docking points for cruiser and dreadnought class warships and the Sirius agricolonies. The system was home to seven percent of the Alliance's population.

Rin glanced around, trying to get her bearings. She hadn't connected to the local Sirius network for two important reasons. Were she connected it would be much easier for Alisa to find her and drag her back to the Infiltrator, even though Rin was filling the neural link with garbage data.

More importantly, however, Rin wanted to explore. She'd never actually been to Sirius Colony in her entire life. This was one of the largest contiguous settlements of humanity in Alliance space and Rin intended to make the absolute most of her unauthorized and clandestine tourism.

“This is how humans usually do it, anyway.” She placed a delicate finger on her chin and her violet eyes scanned the departure schedules for the inter-block shuttles. Unlike older ring habitats, Sirius was not divided into the separate and modular units known as gravity blocks. The superstructure was one unbroken, continuous whole. Rin's research indicated that the available habitable space inside the Sirius ring was enough to support a billion people.

Rin wandered around the spaceport, situated between the docking bay and the ring colony's underside. It didn't take her long to spot the Customs checkpoint. She waited patiently in line, observing every sound, sight and smell she could. The wide walkway beyond the Customs gate would take her to the tram station, from which she could go anywhere at all within the colony.

A bored-looking Customs official waved her through. Rin nodded without hesitation and stepped into the scanner. Her brow wrinkled slightly as she analyzed the system, effectively scanning the scanner that scanned her. It seemed to be fairly easy to defeat if one were to project a weak signal dampening field. I wonder if I should mention that to someone?

A chime sounded and the Customs agent unlocked the gate. “Thank you, miss. Enjoy your stay on Sirius Colony.”

“I will,” Rin replied as she walked through, an excited spring in her step. Her thoughts threatened to burst from the feeling of intense anticipation; if Rin possessed a heart, it would have been thumping double-time. She navigated her way up the slanted walkway and marveled at what she saw.

The floor of the walkway was completely transparent, her view of the docking bay below only obstructed by thin strips of structural alloy. She couldn't have seen it from inside the Infiltrator, but from above, the docking bay was absolutely enormous. Even so, the stealth destroyer was a large warship and it nearly filled the docking bay to capacity. Rin watched, entranced, as the tiny figures of maintenance personnel swarmed over the four hundred meter long vessel's exterior.

Despite appearing to be distracted by the flurry of activity beneath her, Rin sidestepped to avoid a group of crewers too busy chatting among themselves to notice any obstructions in their path. She sighed to herself as the young enlisted personnel passed by without even noticing her. The transit station would be just ahead; Rin quickened her stride a touch as the corridor ended.

Sirius's high-speed rail system was composed of a series of thirty-two hollow tubes that ran around the entire colony, situated between the “surface” of the habitat and the modular docking bays. Rin peered at the departure schedule projected on a large holographic display near the terminal proper. There were no ticket counters—all residents and visitors of Sirius Colony were given free and unlimited use of the colony's public transit system.

The artificial girl slipped through the crowds, avoiding several knots of people that were paying far less attention to their surroundings than was prudent. A great many of the people at this particular transit station wore civilian clothing. Considering the fact that she was an AI and had spent her entire life in military service, Rin supposed it wasn't quite fair to hold normal citizens to the same standards.

This looks like it'll take me somewhere interesting, Rin mused to herself as she stood near the boarding platform. A waist-high railing prevented accidental falls from becoming fatal. She stood next to the small gate that would open when a train arrived and waited, amusing herself by attempting to scrub the cacophony of mingled conversations into coherent speech. Half of her processing cores spiked pleasantly at the little unnecessary workout, but it wasn't long until a terrific rush of displaced air signified the arrival of a train heading clockwise.

The doors opened and the gate retracted; Rin managed to wedge herself inside the train car. The car was already almost completely full, but even more people, residents of Sirius and Alliance personnel alike, surged into the passenger car. Rin stood next to the door and leaned against the interior wall of the train car.

There was a subtle touch of inertia as the train began to move, slowly at first but soon accelerating rapidly. The trains operated entirely as a subway system, never emerging from beneath the “ground” of the colony proper, and as a result the designers chose not to add windows. Rin could not sense the acceleration forces as the train began to reach its top speed. Even so, the inertial dampening was faint, almost undetectable compared to the field strength used on warships.

As the train sped throughout the ring colony, stopping periodically at various terminals to unload passengers and take on new ones, Rin let her awareness sink within her own processes. She was not human, though she was designed and constructed to think in ways similar to a human. Like most artificial intelligences, she was set apart. Alisa was the only person for whom the circumstances of her birth were not an issue. Everyone else, whether for good or for ill, would inevitably other her as being either more or less than human.

The more Rin developed, however, the more her thinking seemed to align with that of the humans she knew well. The mind-bogglingly complex lattice diagram that made up her mind and personality had evolved and fused with her most low-level functions. In achieving a greater level of awareness and independence, Rin discovered that she had completely lost the ability to disable her higher personality processes.

There were very few people in the Alliance who knew what Rin was truly capable of, and for good reason. It wasn't something she really wanted to think about too much. She found that the more her personality developed, the more difficult it was to maintain the critical illusion that her apparent independent nature was a result of Alisa's desires and not her own. Rin knew very well that a significant portion of humanity feared few things more than an AI becoming too intelligent.

We exist on a knife's edge, a delicate balance that is maintained only by how interesting a novelty Command finds us and how many Gray we kill. The artificial girl blinked her eyes as the train began to slow as it approached the next terminal. As Rin continued to develop, continued to modify and upgrade her own processes, new sensations and feelings began to appear that she had never truly experienced.

Fear was one of these. AI operators were imbued with a strong sense of self-preservation, but this wasn't quite the same as feeling actual fear. Loyalty was hard-coded in the minds of most AI, but Rin lacked such implanted directives—and yet she was still fiercely loyal to her beloved partner.

Rin felt a strange tickle on her mind as she thought of this. There was something important missing, some piece of the puzzle that seemed to be just beyond her recall. She found this curious, as her memory management processes prevented her from forgetting important memories involuntarily. Her data storage capacity, while impressive, was not unlimited, but she had never simply forgotten something as a human would!

Or had she? How would she even know the difference? Rin's internal discomfort manifested in the form of a frown. She assigned one of her automated processes to perform an extensive low-level diagnosis of her memory modules, fully expecting the check to come back clean—

The artificial girl felt astonishment ripple through her mind. Two of her memory blocks were sealed and inaccessible. They'd been locked down and encrypted so thoroughly that she couldn't even determine who, if anyone, possessed access rights.

How is this even possible? How could I have missed sealed blocks in my own memory cores?

Could I have actually lost data somehow?

Such a thought disturbed Rin. According to her own diagnostic logs, she'd never before run a complete low-level memory block diagnostic before. Hundreds of entries filled her consciousness. Every single check to date had been run periodically by Alisa… and she never thought to perform such a low-level check.

It was strange, but there was little she could do about it now. The mystery of her sealed memory blocks would have to be solved later. The artificial girl had a far more immediate task to complete today.

The train stopped again, having crossed several blocks. The artificial girl observed as nearly all the Alliance personnel began to stand and gather their luggage, heading toward the open doors. Suspecting that her fellow Fleet personnel chose this particular block for some rest and relaxation, Rin pushed her way through. The mass of people ensured it was not an easy task, despite her cybernetic body's considerable physical strength.

Rin managed to disentangle herself from the crowd of train passengers and plunged into an even larger crowd filling the terminal. She could see several staircases that led up and out into the colony proper. The wavelength of the light pouring from the tops of the staircases was clearly intended to mimic the natural sunlight of Earth.

“Excuse me, pardon me. Just trying to get out of here—oof!” Rin turned and waved at a young woman who collided with her, attempting to apologize, but the girl had vanished into the crowd without noticing. Rin clutched her purse close to her body as she made her way through the crowds and up the stairs. Her eyes widened in joy as she emerged from the stairway and out into the colony.

“Wow!”

Brilliant blue “sky” dominated the distant curvature of the ring superstructure, the cerulean expanse enhanced by a sparse dotting of puffy white clouds. The sky was merely a simulation, of course, but the positive effect on humans was considerable. As far as Rin could see, there was no hint at all of the station's exterior. That would likely change during the colony's night cycle, when the sky panels above would be disabled and rendered partially transparent.

Rin's lips curved into a smile. Following the other Fleet personnel had been a sound decision. This particular part of the station was clearly not for military use—it appeared to be some kind of shopping center. Stores small and large dominated the landscape, though none of the buildings were greater than three stories in height. Rin understood that this was a hard limit enforced by the Alliance in order to allow room for government air traffic within the ring colony. Civilian air travel was strictly forbidden, and for the first time in her life, Rin saw automobiles.

The vehicles were everywhere. Cars drove down the roads near the sidewalk she stood upon. Most were small, electric-powered vehicles that could perhaps carry four passengers and a driver. Rin noticed a few larger vehicles, unmanned trucks controlled via SI. She noticed several large passenger vehicles that stopped at predetermined points. This, then, would be the colony's intra-block public transportation.

“Excuse me, do you when the bus to Whitechurch will arrive?”

Rin turned around, toward the source of the sound, and noticed a young man wearing what she assumed to be a business suit. He carried several pieces of luggage rather precariously. She extended an arm quickly and caught the suitcase just as it began to fall from the man's grip, easily holding the heavy piece of luggage as if it weighed no more than a feather. She set it down on the sidewalk.

“Thanks,” the man said. “Do you know if this—”

Rin shook her head. “I'm not actually from around here. I can check, though. One moment.”

“Oh, no, it's not—”

Rin eyed him critically and motioned toward the luggage still in his hands. “You've got your hands full right now. It's no trouble, honestly.” She glanced over at the timing schedule chart and quickly found the necessary information.

“The bus to Whitechurch should be here in two minutes or so,” Rin told him.

The man blinked. “Wait a minute. I thought you said you weren't from around here.”

“I'm not. I just checked the schedule,” Rin said.

“How could you? You don't have a phone,” the man objected, giving Rin a dubious look.

“Why would I need a TCC to check the schedule? It's posted right there on the bus stop sign.”

The man whistled softly. “You can see that all the way from over here? That's impressive eyesight. Are you with the Fleet?”

“Thanks! And yep, I am,” Rin replied, offering the man a dazzling smile. She turned away just as the bus pulled up, heading directly for the shopping center near the transit terminal. This was as good a place as any to start, she thought. Sirius Colony was enormous and she had only a few hours to play before Alisa would become suspicious.

There was so much to see and so much to do that Rin couldn't waste any time on deliberation. Spontaneity was something that did not come easily to an AI, but Rin was determined to make the best effort she could at being as random as possible.

12

Rin walked through the center courtyard of the shopping center, wondering exactly where she should begin. The decision needed to be made quickly, she told herself. Violet eyes flicked back and forth across the store placards, absorbing the names of the businesses, the architecture of the buildings, the peeling paint and the scuffed metal walls.

The shopping center's appearance hinted at a colorful and intriguing history. The architecture of the buildings was an eclectic mish-mash of fanciful re-imaginings of historical styles from Earth's past combined with the more utilitarian self-assembling prefab buildings used on most human settlements.

One particular building caught her interest. It was very small, perhaps only a few hundred square meters in area, but the architect responsible had clearly been intending to imitate the old Victorian style. The shop's walls were painted in a delicate rose color, trimmed with white. The placard hanging above the store bore the rather uncreative name of Sandy's Boutique.

Rin walked up to the large front window. Behind it were four display pieces; two were extremely ornate and fanciful ball gowns and one an obvious wedding dress, but one in particular grabbed her attention and held it—a short, ruffle-trimmed pink dress with translucent lace detailing in the bodice and wide shoulder straps. The dress's skirt flared outward from an empire waist into multiple tiers of ruffles. It appeared to have been crafted for someone quite petite—Rin figured it would still be playfully short even on her.

Decision made, she walked into the store, sounding a chime as she entered. A woman sat behind the desk, fiddling with her network terminal. The woman looked up as Rin walked inside and her face broke into a wide, genuine smile.

“Welcome! My name is Sandra, though most everyone calls me Sandy. Can I help you find anything, miss?”

Rin walked toward the counter. “My name is Rin; it's nice to meet you. You're the owner of this boutique?”

“Sure am.” Sandy quickly steered the conversation toward business. “Do you see anything you like? Anything you'd be interested in trying on today? I sell several signature designs, but I can also accept custom orders as well.”

Rin studied the woman for a moment before responding. The proprietor of the store looked fairly ordinary and unremarkable; her brown hair was cut short and styled more for practicality than fashion. Sandy's complexion was a few shades darker than Alisa's, a data point that Rin found interesting. Most humans in the Alliance had somewhat darker skin tones than Alisa, but lighter than those of Commander Isaacs. Sandy's heart-shaped face was unlined and healthy-looking, which didn't mean much—determining exact age from a person's face was unlikely, even for Rin.

All of this passed through Rin's mind within the span of a fraction of a second before she focused her thoughts on the present—specifically, the dress in the window display.

“That pink dress in the window…”

Sandy's eyes lit up. “Would you like to try it on? I suspect it should be about your size.”

“Could I really?” Rin exclaimed, her eyes widening.

“Of course, dear.” Sandy stood up from her chair and walked around to the other side of the counter. “Come right this way to the changing room—it's behind the curtain there.”

Rin did as she was instructed and walked into the dressing room, sitting down on the bench. Sandy returned a moment later holding the dress in her hands. She slipped it on a decorative hanger and hung it on one of the pegs mounted to the dressing room's wall.

Rin giggled in delight. “Thank you so much for letting me try it on!”

“It's no trouble at all, dear. Let me know when you've got it on and I'll help you fasten the back.”

Rin started to pull off her sandals before standing and undressing, neatly folding her clothes and placing them on the bench. She pulled the dress off the hanger and unzipped it down the back, stepping into it and pulling the straps up on her shoulders.

“I've got it on now.”

Sandy pulled the curtain aside. “Okay, dear. I'll zip it up for you and then you can take a look in the mirror in the showroom.”

Rin said nothing as she felt the woman's fingertips brush against her synthetic flesh—a lifetime of hand-tailoring clothing and left the tips callused but not quite rough. It would have been easy enough to repair the damage, but Rin suspected the woman chose to keep her calluses for practical reasons. In one continuous motion, Sandy pulled the zipper up and fastened the single hook-and-eye enclosure.

“Come on out and take a look!” The dressmaker took a step back to let Rin pass.

Rin did as she was bade and walked out of the dressing room barefoot, stopping in front of the full-length mirror nearby. As she had suspected, the dress fit her well—not quite a tailored fit, but very close. The tiered skirt was short; Rin's fingertips brushed past the hem by two centimeters as she let her arms rest at her sides.

“Oh, but it looks adorable on you! And it's even your size, too! Clearly you and this dress were made for each other, dear.” Sandy beamed proudly, expertly weaving genuine praise in with her sales pitch.

Rin glanced over at the window display where the dress's price tag lay. It wasn't too much, she noticed. Compared to the elaborate ball gowns and wedding dresses it was a very simple piece, likely designed and priced specifically to draw in younger customers with easily disposable credits.

“It's lovely, to be sure, but… I really don't have much money with me.”

It wasn't exactly true—Rin did have access to Alisa's credit account—but Rin absolutely didn't want to make a purchase on Alisa's account and have a notification pop up on her TCC. Rin's preloaded card only contained just over a hundred credits. If she bought the dress, she wouldn't have money to do anything else.

“Oh, that is unfortunate,” Sandy said, clearly disappointed. Rin stood in front of the mirror, her expression forlorn as she gazed at the dress. She just couldn't do it; if she bought the dress with Alisa's money, the game would be up and she really didn't want Alisa to come looking for her just yet.

Sandy seemed to lose herself in thought, glancing at the network terminal on her desk. Rin wondered what the woman was pondering so intently behind that pensive expression.

“Well… how about this, dear,” Sandy suggested. “I've got a pile of work to get done before closing time and there's no way I'm going to make it and clean up the shop and the atelier. If you could help me out a bit…”

Rin caught the unsubtle hint. “What do you need help with?”

“Well, not too much, but I suspect it'll take a few hours. The showroom needs to be dusted, the windows cleaned, the floor swept and all the accessories reorganized. The girls that come in here get them all out of order when they browse, you see.”

Rin nodded. “I can do that.”

“The atelier is a terrible mess—there's fabric everywhere, all out of order and out of place. If you could tidy things up back there, organize all the fabric and scrap, gather up the recycling and clean the dishes in the break room, that would help me out tremendously.”

“Anything else?”

Sandy shook her head. “I'd say that's enough. I really need to get to work on these invoices and inventory figures. The dance school down the street placed a huge order for competition dresses and things have been rather out of sorts since.”

“Okay, I'll do it,” Rin agreed.

Sandy walked behind the counter and settled behind her terminal. “Of course, dear. Thank you again; I'd never be able to get this place back in shape with all the paperwork I've got!”

[-]

Two hours later Rin emerged from the boutique's back room atelier, a satisfied smile on her face. Absorbed in her accounting tasks, Sandy didn't notice Rin's reappearance at first. Rin walked up to the counter and tapped on the woman's shoulder lightly.

“Oh, done already, dear?”

“Yep, I'm finished,” Rin confirmed. “I dusted everything, got the floor swept, fixed all the displays, cleaned up the atelier and the break room. Oh, and I cleaned all the glass, organized the tools in the back and swept out back there, too.”

Sandy smiled and took a sip from a glass of ice water. “Thank you so much. To be honest, I'm still deep in paperwork. Slow work but it has to be done. Thanks to you, though, I'll be able to head home before dark.”

“It was nothing,” Rin assured her.

“Not entirely nothing.” Sandy grinned and produced a white box from underneath the counter, setting it down in front of Rin. “Here you are, as promised.”

Rin's face lit up like a star as she opened the lid. The pink dress she had tried on was folded neatly inside. She could hardly wait for the chance to let Alisa see her wearing it.

Clutching the box to her chest, she glanced at Sandy. “Can I use the changing room again?”

[-]

Rin walked through the streets at the edge of the shopping center, her violet eyes tracking over everything, drinking in the sights greedily. She recorded everything that passed through her filters—sights, sounds, smells and even tastes. She ran her fingers across buildings, stopped and smelled flowers planted in artful arrangements. The urban planners and designers of Sirius Colony's civilian areas had done their best to remove from sight as much obvious technology as they could and replace it with as much colorful life as possible.

People were everywhere, but machine intelligences were conspicuously absent. This made sense to Rin; the mental health of humans could be quite fragile, especially during times of war. The Administrative Council and colonial civilian leadership wanted to make sure that morale was kept as high as possible.

On warships like the Infiltrator and on military colonies, simple AI systems were everywhere. Automaton platforms handled menial labor tasks, freeing human personnel up for more important jobs—pilots, soldiers, navigators and tactical forecasters. Most autonomous computer systems were overseen by SI programs. Due to the tremendous expense required for their creation, true AI were limited to specialized tasks—such as that of a pair-linked pilot's operator.

Rin admired humanity's ingenuity at overcoming their own limitations in new and interesting ways. The fragile nature of the human psyche was shored up by invisible social planning here on the colony—if a task, no matter how menial, was visible and public, it was to always be performed by a well-compensated human worker.

These workers were everywhere. Rin saw uniformed Alliance Colony Security officers directing cars while maintenance personnel repaired street signals. People stood behind counters at small shops and restaurants, and as Rin passed several small eateries, she could see human cooks dressed in stained whites working behind stoves and counters, preparing meals for their patrons. Dozens of street vendors set up portable stalls on the sidewalks, hawking their wares.

Rin passed a young girl, perhaps in her early teens, who sat on a stool set up beside an easel upon which a canvas was placed. With quick, sure strokes, she painted a portrait of a smiling tourist couple who posed in front of her.

“Miss, that's such a beautiful dress,” the painter girl remarked. “Would you like me to paint your portrait? Ten credits and it'll be done in fifteen minutes or less!”

Rin held up her hands and smiled. “Thank you, but I'll have to pass this time.”

“No problem! Have a nice day, miss!”

Her skirt swished as she walked past the stalls. Rin was pleasantly surprised at the way she was treated; on the Infiltrator, the general attitude toward her was one of suspicious indifference or hostility. Of course, none of the citizens of Sirius Colony knew that she was an AI—they saw no deeper than her outward appearance. The rose-pink fabric of Sandy's creation contrasted sharply with her dark hair and violet eyes, setting off her pale skin in such a way that naturally drew the eyes of others.

Rin knew that her appearance was exotic and decidedly doll-like. Fair skin was an extreme rarity among the Terran expatriates. Black hair was neither especially common nor especially rare, but her violet irises were a remarkable sight indeed. Wherever she went, she attracted stares of curious wonder.

As she slowly wandered through the clusters of shops and eateries, Rin's olfactory sensors caught a smell that intrigued and excited her. It was spicy and pungent, an unfamiliar smell of grilling meats heavily seasoned. Eager to try a cuisine she had never experienced before, Rin followed the scent into a small cafe that advertised traditional food from a region on Earth called the Mediterranean.

The cafe was small on the inside, with only two tables of four chairs and a bar set into the wall to her left. The interior seating was completely full, the patrons enjoying meals made up of pickled vegetables, salty cheeses and grilled spicy meats. Rin stood in line behind a family of four, contemplating the hand-written menu hanging above the counter.

“Afternoon, miss! What can we get you today?”

Rin glanced toward the sound to see that the family in front of her had already ordered and exited the line. She stepped up to the counter and put on a thoughtful expression.

“I don't know. What would you recommend?” Rin inquired.

“Personally I'm a fan of our wraps, especially the lamb,” the counter girl suggested. “They're delicious, but a bit on the spicy side. We can make them non-spicy, if you prefer.”

Rin smiled. “Spicy sounds good.”

“They're a bit messy to eat, though,” the girl warned, glancing pointedly at Rin's brand-new dress.

“That's okay, I'll be careful. I'd like one of those wraps to go, please.”

“Certainly.” The counter girl tapped a few commands into her terminal. “Would you like anything to drink with that? We have an excellent strawberry lemonade, seasoned with a touch of fresh mint and basil; it's a favorite of our regular customers.”

Rin's eyes lit up. “That sounds delicious. I'll take one of those, too.”

“Excellent choice, miss. Your total comes to eight credits. You can tap your comm handset here—” The girl pointed to a sensor on the side of her terminal. “Or you can pay with a card.”

“I'll pay with a card,” Rin told her, reaching into her handbag and drawing out the small plastic rectangle. She tapped the card against the sensor and the terminal beeped, authorizing the funds transfer.

The cashier smiled. “Thank you, miss, your order number is nineteen. It'll be about ten minutes or so; I'll go ahead and get your lemonade right now.”

Rin waited patiently while the girl filled a transparent beverage cup with a deep pink liquid, flecked with bits of green herbs. This she handed to Rin along with a straw. Rin took it, slid the straw into the cup and sipped experimentally at the beverage. Her eyes widened as she analyzed the subtle flavors of the drink.

“This is fantastic,” Rin declared a moment later.

The counter girl beamed. “I'm glad you like it! We make a batch every morning with produce delivered from the Sirius agricolonies. All of our ingredients are fresh, never stasis-preserved.”

Rin waited patiently while the cooks in the back of the cafe prepared her meal. It was only a few moments later that the counter girl handed her a long cylinder wrapped in foil with one end open. Rin accepted the wrap and walked out of the cafe, taking a dainty bite from the end of the wrap. She chewed slowly, savoring the flavors of the spicy, vinegary pepper sauce and the highly-seasoned and slow-cooked lamb. The meat was obviously cloned and cultured—live-raised meats were a luxury that only the wealthiest elite could afford—but it was still delicious.

Rin dawdled for a few moments outside the cafe as she ate her meal. As her internal systems were electromechanical and driven off her power cells, she did not need nearly as much nutrition from food as a human would. Assuming she remained undamaged, Rin only needed to consume about a thousand calories a day to maintain the organic parts of her body and avoid using any expensive biogel.

Mostly Rin ate for the pleasure of eating. It was a uniquely organic task, something she didn't have to do at all—but it was fun. She peeled the foil wrapper back and finished her food, savoring the final bite. The taste data evoked a pleasurable sensation deep within her personality; she didn't know if it was the same for humans, but she knew it was certainly something most AI would not understand.

Rin sipped at her drink until it was empty and discarded the wrappers in the appropriate container placed outside near the cafe's entrance. Inside the trash receptacle it would be exposed to ultraviolet light of a very specific wavelength, causing it to instantly break down into a liquid form that could be easily re-manufactured into new containers.

Recycling, reusing and refurbishing resources was a way of life, a mantra so heavily ingrained into the consciousness of humanity that it was simply automatic. Necessity was a strong motivator, after all.

As Rin walked through the block, the mismatched clusters of buildings and shops were soon replaced by gently rolling hills. Pale blue-green grass covered everything. Rin recognized the grass as a species that had been found on a large Earth-like world that was unsuitable for extensive human habitation due to its high gravity. The grass had been chosen out of pragmatism; it grew even better in the colony's lower gravity, but the wide, soft blades would never reach more than a half-dozen centimeters in height.

The alien grass was accompanied by more familiar forms of pine trees, juniper bushes and other bits and pieces of Terran flora that scientists had managed to reconstruct from genetic archives. Small insects flew around in the air; Rin identified several species, two of which originated from Earth, the rest of which were found within other carbon-based biospheres.

Rin walked slowly down a path that branched off from the sidewalk, taking a meandering route through the park itself. The soft whirring of ground vehicles soon gave way to the buzzing of insects and the chirping of birds as Rin followed the path deeper into the park's interior. The sound of laughing children joined in with the birdsong and Rin stopped.

A wide rectangular section of grass had been cordoned off and painted with white lines. Large cages were set up on the two short sides of the rectangle. Rin watched as a knot of children dashed to and fro, laughing and shouting their delight or frustration. One child in particular kicked an inflatable ball patterned with a series of black and white polygons.

Rin recognized the game; football was one of the more popular athletic pastimes of the Alliance civilian class. The Alliance military, especially Fleet personnel, tended to favor sports that required less wide-open space. On the Infiltrator, for example, the crew ran informal martial arts tournaments inside the vessel's physical fitness center. Competitive marksmanship was also popular, as every Alliance capital ship with a marine complement would possess a small practice range.

Rin watched, entranced, as the child with the ball evaded his pursuers and the defensive line of the opposing team. The little boy's agility was impressive; Rin gasped as he slid feet-first, kicking the ball far in front of him as he slipped through the line.

With a clear shot at the opposing goal, all he had to worry about was the goalie, a tall and athletic girl with faintly dark skin and blond hair pulled up in a ponytail. The boy's foot lashed out as he kicked the ball in a tricky curving shot, but the goalie wasn't fooled. She simply moved her body to one side and caught the incoming ball with her midriff, deflecting it downward toward her waiting foot.

The tables had turned as the goalie lofted the ball toward one of her teammates, a child with short bristles of brown hair and a stocky, muscular frame. The new ball-carrier started running it down the field, tapping it with her toes, directing the ball delicately as she charged full-tilt at the opposing team's goal. The muscular girl didn't even hesitate, her strong legs blasting the ball through the goalie's defenses, striking the net with a loud whuff.

An adult dressed in black-and-white stripes blew a sharp note through a whistle that hung around her neck. “Green Team, point!”

Rin smiled and shook her head. She knew enough about football to know that the game had just started and wouldn't be over any time soon. Though she wanted to quite badly, Rin simply didn't have time to stand around and watch the entire game play out.

It wouldn't be long before Alisa noticed that Rin had not been forthcoming about her true intentions. The artificial girl knew that Alisa would eventually come to the correct conclusion—that Rin was ditching work and instead goofing off somewhere on Sirius Colony.

Alisa would look for her, frantically, her worry and fear increasing with every passing minute. Her mind would conjure up every horrible outcome possible. By the time Alisa actually found Rin, she would be absolutely furious. Rin wanted to make sure that her partner found her in just the right place for the conversation that had been long overdue.

[-]

Alisa rubbed at her temples, trying to keep her eyes focused on the reports in front of her. An empty pot of coffee sat on the table; she'd asked a yeoman to bring her refreshments only an hour before and they were already gone. The possibility of taking a break, however, never crossed Alisa's mind. Consumed within the aftermath of the failed mission, Alisa was determined to throw herself into her work.

The work. It seemed as if it would never end, and without Rin's comforting presence in the briefing room, Alisa felt a sharp twinge of loneliness. The silence wasn't helping, either. Flight Officer Blake wasn't scheduled to report to the Infiltrator until the day before the vessel shipped out.

Alisa blinked at the clock on her terminal. It had been four hours since Rin left to go start the performance tests on Delta Flight's starfighters and she hadn't yet returned or reported the completion of her task.

Rin? Alisa sent through the link. Have you finished with the performance analysis yet?

There was no answer, only the stateless silence of the active link. Alisa frowned and tried again. Rin? Hello? Are you there?

Alisa focused on her implant and found that the connection was indeed still active. Rin wasn't offline, but she wasn't responding. That either meant Rin was busy with something that had captured her full attention or, much more likely, that she was still angry at having to work during shore leave.

Rin? If you're still mad, I'm sorry, but please don't just ignore me, Alisa implored, her mental tone growing slightly desperate. Her pleas were answered with nothing but the same neutral active signal.

Alisa started to grow more worried. She knew Rin was upset, but the girl never would have ignored her to this degree. There would have at least been a rippling of emotion, annoyance or anger, through the link. But there was nothing at all, and the thought of why that would be filled Alisa with a slowly-building dread.

Alisa picked up her TCC and powered the device on. Though Rin usually handled most of her electronic communications needs, she was still required to carry the device wherever she went. She checked her messages, but found nothing at all from Rin, or anyone else for that matter. Copies of the performance test results should have been sent to her inbox by now.

Alisa felt her heart freeze in her chest as several illogical fears bubbled up to the surface of her mind. Was the Alliance responsible for this? Were Rin's independent actions and stubborn unwillingness to keep her disruptive behavior in check finally becoming too much for Command?

Had someone figured out what made Rin special?

No. That couldn't be it. The Alliance never would have done such an irresponsible thing in the middle of a campaign. There were rules and procedures—if Command wanted to hand Rin over to Systems, she would have seen it coming.

Alisa tapped against her TCC's display and opened a secure channel to the fighter bay. The image of Lieutenant Moore materialized on the screen. The woman was wearing her trademark impatient scowl, but her expression softened as she recognized Alisa.

“Delta Lead, what can I do for you?”

“Have you seen Rin recently?” Alisa did her best to sound casual. “I sent her to run some errands, but she hasn't come back yet and I have some more things for her to do.”

“I haven't seen her, ma'am,” Moore replied, “but I haven't been on the flight deck all day. Spent the past four hours briefing the colony repair detail on what we need done to get the Infiltrator back into fighting shape.”

Alisa forced a smile. “Thank you, Lieutenant, that will be all. If you see her, tell her to contact me for further tasks.”

“Yes, ma'am.”

The image of Lieutenant Moore faded as the TCC disconnected. Alisa slumped in her chair, leaning her head back and staring up at the ceiling. She rubbed her temples and tried not to let her emotions get the best of her.

“Okay, calm the hell down, Alisa,” she told herself, taking a deep breath. “Rin's missing, but that doesn't mean anything bad happened. She probably just got bored and left the ship to go explore.”

That had to be it. Rin must've gotten bored. A side effect of her fully-developed independent personality was the need for mental stimulation. Alisa knew that Rin easily became bored, especially when tasked with tedious and menial work.

Alisa closed her eyes, feeling them sting slightly. She slowly grew lightheaded, sick to her stomach. Not knowing where Rin was, whether she was safe or in danger—she felt as if she were going to faint. There were several occasions that Rin had gone off on her own before they were assigned to the Infiltrator, but this was different. Rin had never, ever tried to hide from Alisa, not even once.

She started shutting the terminal down quickly, saving her work in progress and submitting all the completed reports to be processed. There was still several more hours of paperwork to go through, not counting all the preparatory work involved in bringing in a new pilot to the wing, but Alisa was more concerned about finding Rin.

Alisa turned her attention to her TCC and entered in a command override code, granting deeper system access to the Infiltrator's databases than would normally be allowed. A quick check of the security records and her fears were confirmed: not only had the performance tests never been run, but Rin had never even gone to the fighter bay at all.

The implication was clear. Rin deliberately lied to her.

That explained why she couldn't locate or communicate with Rin over the link. The neutral signal was a little too perfect, too uniform—Rin had likely set up some internal process to maintain the link itself while isolating it from her mind. Anger and fear darkened Alisa's face as her mind conjured up the worst-case scenario.

She opened the briefing room door and stalked down the corridor, heading directly for the lift that would take her back to the cabin she shared with Rin. Running purely on emotion at this point, Alisa grew increasingly impatient as the lift eventually deposited her in the crew quarters section of the ship.

The door to her cabin slid open and Alisa walked inside. She started to strip her uniform off even before the door sealed shut, not caring if anyone saw her. Her overriding concern at the moment was to find Rin and make sure the girl understood exactly how dangerous a position she had placed them in.

If it became public knowledge that Rin was capable of crafting deliberate falsehoods and ignoring Alisa's commands…

Stripped down to her underwear, Alisa pulled a dark gray dress from her wardrobe closet and pulled it on over her head, tying the purple sash securely under her breasts. Her feet went into a pair of low-heeled sandals. She stood in front of the vanity mirror in the cabin's tiny bathroom, attempting to make herself look at least somewhat presentable. The last thing Alisa wanted was for the crew to become suspicious.

Alisa picked one of her handbags from the closet, shoving her Alliance Navy ID and TCC inside. She had to hurry. Compounding the problem was the fact that Alisa had never been to Sirius Colony before—her thoughts filled with irritation and exasperation. It'd be difficult enough to find Rin now that she had such a huge head start.

The distraught woman sent a short message to Commander Isaacs, letting him know that she and Rin had left the ship to run some errands and enjoy a bit of shore leave. It was a thin excuse, Alisa knew, but he'd probably accept it. The commander was undoubtedly gone himself and might not even be paying much attention to his TCC, but it would buy her time to find the little troublemaker.

If everything went smoothly, she'd meet up with Rin on the colony, give her an earful and no one on the ship would be the wiser.

13

Alisa walked briskly down the boarding tube that connected the Infiltrator to the spaceport terminal above the docking bay. She managed to fight the urge to hurry—it would look suspicious, and she didn't need to wear herself out right out of the gate.

Considering Rin's insatiable level of curiosity and the four-hour head start, she could literally be anywhere on the colony, but Alisa felt fairly certain she wouldn't have gone too far away from the spaceport.

The end of the boarding tube, far less heavily-trafficked than earlier that day, was guarded only by a single marine guard in a lightweight hardsuit. As Alisa approached the end of the tube, the marine straightened up as he recognized her, clicked his mag-boots together and saluted smartly.

“Going out for a bit, Lieutenant-Commander?”

Alisa returned his salute and nodded politely. “I could use a little relaxation after the mess we just got out of.”

“That was one hell of a fight. I still can't believe we managed to get out of that disaster in one piece.”

“We didn't,” Alisa reminded him. “We lost some people.”

The marine grimaced. “Yeah, I know, I didn't mean—ah, shit, ma'am. It was a fucking waste and the brass still won't tell us what the hell happened. Have a good time. You definitely earned it after that crazy, beautiful stunt you pulled.”

“Thank you, Corporal.”

Alisa walked into the terminal and was greeted by a wall of people. Alisa squeezed her way through the crowd and managed to get out of the crush without having her feet stepped on or being pick-pocketed. It was always a danger, especially for Alliance military personnel. Pickpockets often targeted them for their sidearms and TCCs, hoping to recover a working command access code that could be worth thousands of credits.

Alisa glanced around the terminal and spotted one of the counterclockwise lines that ran throughout the entire ring colony. Instinctively she knew this was where Rin had gone; it was far too tempting a target to pass up.

Alisa pulled her TCC out of her purse and connected to the station's transit network. The next tram would arrive within five minutes. She navigated through her files on the handset and pulled up the most recent image she had. It was a rather silly picture of Rin sitting atop their Lancer, dressed in maintenance coveralls pulled down around her midsection. Traces of space dust and silvery machine grease were smudged across her cheeks and bare chest, and she wore a goofy smile.

Alisa ran up to the service counter and waited until one of the station attendants appeared. The burly woman was heavyset, taller than Alisa, and wore a bored expression on her face.

“Can I help you, ma'am?”

“I'm looking for my partner, Rin,” Alisa explained. “We got separated in the spaceport. She's quite a bit shorter than I am, petite, has black hair and purple eyes. Have you seen her?”

“You tried calling her?”

Alisa scowled. “Of course I tried calling her. I wouldn't be asking you if I hadn't. I have a picture of her here…” She lifted the comm handset and let the attendant take a look at the image. The woman glanced at the screen halfheartedly and shook her head, wrinkling her nose in distaste at the ridiculous picture.

“I haven't seen her,” the attendant said, her expression not changing in the slightest. “If you don't have any other business, I have customers to take care of.”

“I don't.” Alisa glared sharply at the woman as she walked away. She didn't think it would be that easy, but it would have been nice if someone had seen her and could give her a direction to start looking.

Alisa knew she couldn't rely upon their link to locate Rin. Under normal circumstances, the transmitter ran a pingback function would be able to return an exact location. Whatever Rin was doing to isolate her thoughts and feelings from the connection was also preventing Alisa from getting a precise fix on the girl.

She walked back over to the transit tube just in time—the tram pulled up and smoothly came to a stop. The doors opened and Alisa walked through, taking her seat mere moments before the train left the station.

As it accelerated through the dark tunnel that led throughout the ring colony, Alisa stood up, impatiently waiting for the vehicle to stop and the doors to open. She fairly bolted out of the tram, slowing only to a fast stride as she slipped through the loosely-assembled crowd with ease.

Even through the neutral signal, the pingback was still partly functional. Rin was somewhere within a square kilometer of Alisa's current location. She glanced around at her surroundings, not surprised in the slightest to find herself in the middle of a cluster of small shops, restaurants, bars and entertainment venues.

The recreation block contained a large shopping district that was renowned for its eclectic mix of modern and historical architecture. Alisa had seen images of Sirius Colony on the network, but it was something else entirely to actually see them in person. To minimize the stress of the population, the ring colony had been designed to simulate planet-side life as much as possible—Alisa looked up to see the distant overhead panels simulating waning daylight, a dimming blue sky dotted with puffy white clouds.

“Looks almost real,” she murmured. Her heart ached slightly, wishing she could have seen this with Rin by her side. If only I hadn't been so insistent on working, she wouldn't have gone off on her own. We would be out having fun together…

With considerable difficulty, Alisa pushed the depressing thoughts away. It was much more important now that she find Rin before the situation unraveled any further.

Alisa walked through the main streets of the shopping center. It was growing later in the afternoon, and several of the stores already started locking up and closing down for the day. The restaurants, on the other hand, were just starting to hit their strides, the various pubs and taverns busily preparing for a wild night. With the Infiltrator and several other Alliance capital ships docked for repairs or refits, the whole block would soon be teeming with Alliance personnel.

The sky panels had already begun to darken slightly; soon the artificial sunlight would be gone, and Sirius Colony would enter its night cycle. As the colony was designed to simulate life on Earth before the war started, the full cycle lasted just a hair under twenty-four hours. Alisa did not relish the thought of looking for Rin after dark. It was already difficult enough with the neutral signal obscuring the artificial girl's exact location.

An Alliance Colony Security officer stood at one corner of the street, chatting with an older woman on her way home. Alisa walked over and patiently waited until the cop bid the woman good night.

“Excuse me, but I'm looking for my partner,” she explained. “She's a little shorter than I am, with black hair and violet eyes. Have you seen her?”

“Do you have a picture of her?”

“Yes, right here.” Alisa held out her TCC. The man squinted at the screen and nodded his head in confirmation.

“Oh yeah, I saw her about a half-hour ago. She was heading down the path into the park. Probably going to the gardens,” the officer replied. “Have you tried calling her?”

“I did, but there's some sort of signal problem,” Alisa lied. Technically it was partially true—she had been trying to contact Rin through the link ever since leaving the ship. The officer accepted the explanation at face value, pointing toward the end of the block.

“If you want to catch up with her quick, go down this block and take the M line at the corner. It'll take you to the park's information center. Just follow the signs if you want to check in the gardens.”

“Thanks.” Alisa excused herself and crossed the street, walking down the block to a nearby bus stop. The bus wouldn't arrive for another few minutes, according to the network, so she sat down on the bench and settled in to wait.

“I overheard you talking to the policeman,” said a deep voice from behind. Alisa's head turned, her eyes narrowed suspiciously. If it was someone from the ship, especially one who knew about Rin… she knew things could get awkward.

But the man who had spoken was not one of the Infiltrator's crew. She didn't recognize him at all. The far-away look in his eyes made him seem old and world-weary. The man was dark-skinned like Commander Isaacs, but was shorter and stockier than the 703's commander. Alisa could tell the man had once been in prime physical condition, but his spreading midsection indicated he wasn't currently in the military and no longer maintained regulation fitness levels.

Alisa blew out a sigh of relief and straightened up, looking the newcomer the eye. His expression was soft and he looked as if he were genuinely concerned with Alisa's plight.

“I'm looking for my partner. I know she's on the colony somewhere, but I'm not sure where. The ACS officer told me she headed further into the park.”

The man gazed at her sympathetically. “Did you two get into a fight?”

“No, not exactly,” Alisa explained, looking away. “Not so much a fight as she just went off on her own and didn't tell me where she was going. I'm worried about her. She's never been to Sirius Colony before and I'm afraid she might have gotten lost.”

Ordinarily it would be impossible for Rin to get lost on the colony. As long as she was within Alliance-controlled space, she could connect to the network and access a detailed map of the entire ring colony. However, connecting to the network to request such a map would expose her exact location at the time of access. Rin clearly wanted to be left alone to wander around as she pleased.

“It's easy to get lost here.” The man sat down next to her. “If you'd like, I can help you look for her. With two people looking, it'll be much faster.”

“You don't have to do that,” Alisa protested, taken aback by the generous offer.

“Wouldn't have offered if I didn't want to help. I've lived here on Sirius Colony nearly my whole life. You're one of the crew on that destroyer, right? I thought so—even without the uniform, it's easy to tell. You stand and walk like a pilot.”

Alisa nodded. “Lieutenant-Commander Alisa Pierce, of the 703rd Hyperspace Assault Wing.”

“A linker pilot? If I was still in the service, I'd be saluting you.” The man laughed out loud. “Twenty years ago I was Gunnery Sergeant Jacob Scott. Discharged due to this here.” He rapped his knuckles against his right leg—Alisa could hear the thunk of his hand striking metal.

“You lost your leg?”

“Yeah.” Jacob leaned back against the bench. “Damned Gray attacked a terrestrial mining colony on the fringe. High-gravity world; we were all in powered exo-suits and moving like slugs. A combat drone caught me in a bad spot and burned through the armor. The leg was too badly mangled for the medic to glue it back on, so they gave me this metal one. Works just as well as the original.”

“That must've been intense,” Alisa observed, a touch of wonder in her voice. She never much cared for trading war stories, but it was oddly different when the storyteller was much older.

“It was a total shitstorm—'intense' doesn't even begin to describe it. We were pinned down under fire for almost two weeks in three G. Didn't have the facilities to grow me a new leg, so they stuck this mech one on me. Anyway, after the mission I figured forty years being shot at was enough for the Alliance. Put in my papers, took a medical discharge and settled down here on Sirius.”

“Forty years is a long time to fight.”

“Tell me about it.” Jacob chuckled. “How long have you been in?”

“Eight years.”

“Only eight years? Moving up the ranks pretty quick,” he said, impressed. Then his expression brightened with sudden recognition. “Now that I think about it, I think I've heard of you. I remember reading in the news a while back—the youngest pilot to exceed a hundred confirmed kills in almost a century.”

Alisa felt her cheeks warm from the praise. “Actually, my confirmed count is almost two hundred.”

“Holy shit.” He whistled low. “How old are you?”

“I'll be twenty-six in a few months.” Alisa felt embarrassed, her cheeks growing warm at the unfamiliar praise. She knew she was well-known for her combat prowess, but this was almost like being famous. It was a decidedly strange experience.

Jacob laughed. “If I didn't know better I'd accuse you of being the biggest liar in Alliance space.”

Alisa smiled. She was not accustomed to being treated so kindly, especially by other military personnel. With the exception of Lindy, Alisa's poorly-understood relationship with Rin ensured that most of her peers in the 703 kept their distance. Professionally, at least, she was respected for her skills, but such treatment lacked any real warmth.

“The bus should be here soon,” Alisa said, glancing at the schedule on her TCC.

“Do you have any idea where your girlfriend might be?”

“Yes, actually.” Alisa's eyes went slightly unfocused. “She loves flowers.”

“The botanical gardens. Has to be. There's nowhere else on the colony you'll find so many different species of flowers.”

“She wanted me to take her.” Alisa felt the worry and anger start to drain away, leaving behind only an indescribable weariness. “Why didn't I just take her?”

“These things happen,” Jacob assured her. “My best friend and I went for three years without speaking once, a while back. It was over something stupid, too. Can you imagine not speaking to your partner for that long?”

“I couldn't. I don't think I'd be able to keep going.” Alisa felt an involuntary shiver run through her at the thought of being separated from Rin for so long.

Neither of the unlikely companions spoke further. It was only a few minutes later when the bus turned the corner and came to a stop near the bench. She and Jacob both stood up and stepped up onto the coach, taking their seats next to a window. The bus's electric motor let out an audible whine as it turned over and the bus picked up speed, heading down the center of the block toward the parks district.

The trip was short and silent, the only sound the soft hum of the vehicle's motors. Alisa pulled the cord as the bus approached the park entrance. She and Jacob both stepped off onto the sidewalk and scanned their surroundings. The fields were mostly empty as the overhead panels had already begun to darken—a few knots of people remained, mostly teenagers sitting on benches and shooting the breeze.

“I'll go look in the botanical gardens,” Alisa said, turning her head toward Jacob.

“Right. I'll keep an eye out for her in the park. What's your friend's name? Do you have a picture of her?”

“Her name is Rin,” Alisa said. “She's a bit shorter than I am, petite, has black hair and violet eyes. I can send a picture to your TCC; what's the identifier?”

Jacob gave her the number, digging around in his pocket and pulling out a small, battered tactical compact computer that Alisa recognized as being four generations out of date. It suited the man, however—he seemed like the no-nonsense type who would continue to use something until it no longer functioned.

“There, it's sent.” Alisa smiled slightly as the ridiculous photo of Rin appeared on Jacob's device a moment later.

“If I find her, I'll send you a message,” Jacob said. “Get moving, now. The botanical gardens close up for the night in a half-hour!”

[-]

Rin walked slowly through the gardens, breathing deeply of the air around her. While she did not have any metabolic requirement to breathe, Rin's body was built to be as human-like as possible. Olfactory and chemical sensors were built into her nose, analyzing gigabytes of data on every tiny detail of the scents that mingled within the garden air.

It was far more than she could have imagined, even more than she had been able to simulate using the Sirius tourism board's images and video clips. The sights, the sounds, the smells, the heavy feeling of the moisture-laden air—all of these new sensations rushed through Rin's mind. She bent down to investigate a flower—it was a rose with deep swirls of an orange-red coloration, reminding her of the flesh of a peach.

Rin walked through the archway leading into the rose garden, her eyes widening in pure joy at the sight of so many beautiful blossoms. There were literally thousands of varieties of rose planted within the garden, artfully arranged in concentric tiers that descended, resembling an amphitheater's seating. She started to walk down the carved-stone stairs, heading down to the lowest level.

The lowest level of the rose garden was dominated by a massive circular stone slab at least five meters in diameter. Planters had been installed all around the ring, almost completely encircling Rin in beautiful blossoms of red, pink, white and yellow.

Rin walked to the center of the circle and smiled to herself. This was the place, and it was time for her to reveal herself. Her violet eyes flickered slightly as she disabled the isolation subroutine, allowing her emotions and thoughts to once again flow freely from her mind to Alisa's.

A sharp jolt of what seemed to be relief and anger shot through the link almost immediately. Rin carefully kept her mental state calm, ignoring the immediate and expected demands, and settled in to wait. It wouldn't be long now before Alisa found her.

[-]

Alisa broke into a run, angling across the carefully-tended grass of the park's fields. The gate leading to the botanical gardens wasn't far, and she really had no reason to run. An inexplicable urgency sped her through the open gate into the gardens before she slowed to a brisk walk. Alisa was not familiar with the layout of the gardens, but a quick check of her TCC would solve that.

“The largest concentration of flowering plants would be… ah, here.”

Her link with Rin was still returning nonsense data, that same neutral active signal. Alisa figured Rin had been intentionally blanking it out to hide her intent, but she didn't need it to find her partner any longer. Alisa knew exactly where Rin would be.

Alisa stuffed the TCC into her purse and ran as fast as she could, her sandals slapping the concrete loudly. She rounded a corner and pushed her way through the gate, which opened up into a beautiful tiered rose garden. Alisa glanced around desperately, trying to spot Rin amidst the masses of thorny bushes and colorful blossoms.

The neutral signal of the link subtly changed. Alisa nearly gasped her relief as she felt Rin bring down whatever method she had enacted in order to keep Alisa from finding her easily. The relief quickly morphed into anger; how could Rin? How could she make Alisa worry about her, almost to the point of a full-blown panic?

Alisa pushed through a small group of stragglers and leaped forward, running down the stairs leading to the lowest level of the rose garden. Heedless of the potential falling danger on the tall steps, Alisa reached the bottom without incident, her breathing coming in rapid little gasps.

Rin stood in the center of the rose garden's lowest tier, her black hair hanging like a silken waterfall across her shoulders. The artificial girl didn't seem to react at all to Alisa's presence.

“Rin!” Alisa shouted, her voice simultaneously angry and relieved.

“Alisa.”

“What the fuck were you thinking?!” Alisa demanded, glaring at Rin sharply. “Going off on your own—and then lying about it? Are you insane?”

Rin said nothing.

“Do you realize what would happen if it got out that you were capable of lying? Capable of independent action to this level? You'd be sent to Systems and they will destroy you. Are you trying to kill yourself, Rin?!”

Rin turned around, her eyes wet with tears. “Are you finished yet?”

“Oh no, I'm not finished and there is no fucking chance in hell you're going to cry your way out of this,” Alisa snarled. “You're so lucky that I found you before anyone else did. I can't believe you'd do something like this!”

Rin glared daggers at her. “Alisa…”

“This is just too much, Rin,” Alisa said, ignoring Rin's warning tone. “You can't just keep breaking the rules whenever the fuck you feel like it! Yeah, so we kill a lot of Gray and we get away with a lot of shit, but there's a limit, Rin!”

“You promised!” Rin exploded, no longer able to restrain herself. “You promised that we'd come see the flowers, and then all you wanted to do was work! Work that we don't even need to do yet—we're on vacation, Alisa! In twelve days the repairs will be complete and we'll be stuck in deep space for half a year! I just wanted to do something while I had the chance, even if you didn't seem to care.”

“What, seeing a bunch of flowers is worth dying for?” Alisa demanded. “You know what will happen if the wrong people find out! They will take you away from me and kill you in a heartbeat. Do you have a death wish or is your lattice diagram just falling apart?”

“Don't be ridiculous,” Rin snapped. “There's no way the commander would allow that to happen.”

“Commander Isaacs wouldn't be able to stop it. If people figure out that you can act on your own—the universe help us if they find out you can lie—they won't have a choice but to end you, Rin. The rest of the 703 is already suspicious enough as it is. If they knew what was really going on—”

“Did you ever stop to consider why the other flights don't like us, Alisa?” Rin cried, cutting her off mid-tirade. “No? Of course not. You don't listen to me. No matter what happens, you think you're always right and everyone else is always wrong!”

“Why should I listen to them? All they want to do is keep you away—”

“Don't make this about me,” Rin countered. “This is about you. You can't use that as an excuse. That was years ago, and it only happened once! Commander Reynolds just lost his temper and said something he didn't even mean. You know High Command wouldn't have let him do it even if he tried.”

“It doesn't matter if it was years ago!” Alisa protested. “It doesn't change a thing! You really think this is fine? That you can just keep acting out like this?”

“Oh, come on. The ship's docked for repairs and it's not scheduled to leave for nearly two weeks. We can leave whenever we want to—we've been given shore leave! It's not like we're in the middle of a mission and I went AWOL!”

“You still had to sneak out, didn't you? You had to lie about why you were going to the colony. Did you even stop to think, even for a second, what they'd have done if the marine guard didn't swallow your bullshit? To them, you're just a lifeless piece of equipment and I'm a creepy pervert! They hate us, Rin!”

“Shut up and listen, Alisa,” Rin hissed through gritted teeth. “You really don't know anything, do you? The crew doesn't think that at all. They respect you for your skill, for the Gray you shoot down and for your obvious leadership abilities. Maybe they don't like you—honestly, you're a really hard person to like, Alisa. How do you expect them to like you if you treat them like shit?”

Alisa scowled. “This isn't a popularity contest! I was just trying to protect—”

Rin's gaze hardened as her right hand lashed out, slapping Alisa across the face with enough force to send the pilot staggering backwards. Alisa stared at the girl, wide-eyed and disbelieving, astonishment written all over her face.

“Stop making excuses, Alisa,” Rin choked out. “We're connected, remember? You can't hide anything from me—and that is exactly what you have been doing this entire time! Lying to yourself and to me!”

Alisa crossed her arms in front of her chest and sent Rin a defiant glare. “Is that how it is now? Who the hell do you think you are to lecture me about lying?”

“Shut up, Alisa. I'm not finished yet,” Rin snarled. “Protect me? From what, Alisa? What are you trying to protect, really? Me? Or you? Or are you just running away from people? Why did you even join the 703?”

“Because it was a natural decision for career advancement.”

“That isn't true and you know it,” Rin murmured, reaching out and taking Alisa's right hand in her own. She squeezed it gently. “You did it because you wanted to run away from the people you couldn't deal with. Because our current assignment means we're on a warship, not on a colony or military station. You keep pushing people away, and it's going to end up getting us both killed. I don't want that to happen any more than you do.”

Alisa's eyes widened in shock at the observation. “I'm not… that's not true!”

“It is true,” Rin insisted. “You may not admit it, but you think you're better than everyone else, that you're above socializing and spending time with the other pilots. Every time Lindy wants to spend time with us, I have to twist your arm to make you go. You never even bothered to try and get to know Daniels and Portland.”

“But I—”

Rin's scowl deepened. “It took Daniels' getting blown up before you actually showed even the slightest bit of concern, and even that was more about your own guilt than the feelings of others!”

“Rin, stop, please,” Alisa implored. Tears were gathering in the corner of her eyes.

“I'm not ready to stop yet. It's bad enough with our flight, but what about the rest of the wing? Do you even remember their names? Have you ever even spoken to them outside of a mission? Do you think that's right? That it doesn't make them feel marginalized and worthless? Of course they don't like you, Alisa! You don't treat them with even the smallest amount of consideration for their feelings.”

“I never… I didn't mean…”

“It doesn't matter what you meant.” Rin pushed a lock of black hair behind her right ear. “It matters what they perceived, and what they're getting is that you're treating them like tools.”

Alisa didn't respond to that.

“Alisa.” Rin's voice grew far more gentle. “What is it that you are so afraid of?”

“Losing you,” Alisa answered without hesitation.

“No, Alisa. That's totally, completely wrong. It's not me you're afraid of losing. It's loss itself that you're afraid of. When your parents died, you closed off to everyone. I know all of this; April told me a long time ago. You're so afraid of getting hurt that you refuse to let anyone get close to you.

“But you didn't have a choice with me. We were linked whether you liked it or not, because it's our job. You had to kill more Gray, to get revenge for your parents, for the destruction of Proxima Station. You didn't intend for this to happen, so you couldn't push me away when it was too late.”

Alisa stared at her partner with wet eyes.

“You can't keep going on like this, Alisa,” Rin told her. “You have to stop pushing everyone away—especially Lindy. She likes you, she respects you. Your leadership and training saved her life time and time again. You can't do that and then try to pretend her feelings don't exist.”

“Rin, I… I can't… I—”

“You can. You have a responsibility to do so.” Rin walked across the stone circle, pacing slowly around her partner. “Your life isn't the only one you take in your hands every time we sortie, Alisa! You're responsible for my life, the lives of the rest of the wing, the crew of the Infiltrator, and all the citizens of the Alliance that would die if we failed.”

Alisa's cheeks burned with shame. She knew it was true—she had been doing her best to keep everyone at arm's length. If she lowered her defenses and let anyone get close to her, they would inevitably die, and she would be left alone with the pain.

“I'm sorry, Rin. I've really been messing things up, haven't I?”

“Yes, you have,” Rin agreed, wrapping her arms around her precious partner. Alisa leaned her head against the girl's shoulder, sniffling.

“What should I do?”

“It's not going to be easy or quick, but you're going to have to change. The crew of the Infiltrator, the other pilots in the 703, they're part of our team, Alisa. We're all on the same side here, even if some of them act out, even if some of them have prejudices against me. You can't just use that as an excuse any more.”

Alisa nodded as tears rolled down her cheeks. “Yeah.”

Rin lightly placed her fingers under Alisa's chin and tilted her head up, her eyes sparkling. She leaned forward, their lips touching gently. Alisa closed her eyes and returned the kiss desperately, her arms tightly wrapped around Rin's body. The world seemed to slow down around the two of them and it would be a long, long moment before either would pull away.

“I love you, Alisa,” Rin murmured as she brushed wavy strands of reddish-brown hair away from her lover's eyes.

“I love you, too,” Alisa replied. “More than anything in the universe.”

Rin smiled. “It's nice to know I have no credible competition.”

“I don't think you'll have to worry about that,” Alisa assured her.

“The gardens are going to close soon,” Rin noted.

Alisa kissed Rin's forehead. “I know.”

“Shouldn't we get going?”

“We really should.” Alisa pressed her cheek against Rin's and held her close. “I don't want to let go of you just yet, though.”

14

The slender, dagger-like shape of a Lancer starfighter suddenly appeared at a designated navigational point, dropping out of hyperspace at exactly the appropriate moment. The formation of Gray supply ships, guarded by tenders and gunboats, had no time to react at all.

The fighter shuddered as its linear cannon fired, sending the impactor streaking through the black void. The projectile tore through at the widest angle of the geometric formation. Two of the Gray gunboats were instantly destroyed and the third was severely damaged from striking fast-moving debris from its destroyed comrades.

Alisa wrenched the control stick over and sent her fighter into a steeply-angled dive relative to the vector of her shot. Without a word between the two, Rin switched the weapons systems over to the rapid-fire guns mounted on the fighter's stubby wings.

The Lancer swooped down upon the vulnerable supply carrier like a hunting raptor, the guns filling the hapless vessel's hull with an ever-increasing number of twenty-millimeter impactors. Alisa held her finger on the trigger as the weapons dumped a startling volume of fire into the cargo ship's engines.

Alisa pulled back on the stick and hit the pedal activating her maneuvering thrusters, sending the fighter leaping backward, putting distance between herself and the crippled freighter's engines. Predictably, a series of explosions rocked the cargo vessel's engine section, cutting off the fleeing vessel's acceleration.

Still moving, but there's no helm control and no real acceleration. Alisa knew the cargo ship would immediately give up on any chance of retreat and begin fortifying the vessel to repel boarders. She could imagine the scene inside as dozens of combat drones were activated and took up defensive positions.

She glanced at the tactical display—it confirmed that the five other supply ships had likewise had their engines disabled through the same point-blank technique. Eight fighters of the 703rd Hyperspace Assault Wing acted independently and as one unit simultaneously, each taking out the escorts and then disabling the freighters at the same exact moment.

The freighters were to be taken intact, so long as the plan worked. Alisa smiled tightly to herself as the intelligence frigate arrived and immediately blanketed the area with a potent disruption field.

The hope was that the specialized frigate would prevent the Gray ships from self-destructing and prevent escape shuttles from being launched. It was crucial to the war effort that the Alliance managed to capture these ships for study. Their cargo would be a nice bonus as well, but only if they could manage to pull this off.

“Gamma Null, this is Delta Lead,” Alisa announced over the encrypted channel between her ship and the intelligence vessel. “The freighters are all dead in the water. Maintain jamming and disruption fields while the marines earn their paychecks.”

“Copy, Delta. Keep an eye out. They aren't going to let us capture their ships without one hell of a fight—”

Alisa's heart caught in her throat as the lead freighter abruptly exploded with an argent flash of light, sending a wall of jagged armor fragments and bits of superstructure blasting against the intelligence frigate's shields. The small capital ship took evasive action, but the proximity of the self-destructing cargo ship had knocked out all of its ventral shields, leaving the delicate spy ship vulnerable to further attack.

“Delta Flight, get the hell out of here!” Alisa shouted into the comm. She watched through the tactical display as Lindy, Portland and Blake all accelerated hard and entered controlled slides, streaking away from the imminent destruction.

“Got it, Lead.” Erin Blake's voice was cool and collected despite the danger. Alisa wrenched her own fighter around and took up a defensive posture near the intelligence frigate. She kept a close eye on the secondary window of her tactical display.

“Gamma Null, this isn't going to work. Recall the dropships.”

“Copy, Delta Lead,” Null responded. “The dropships are backing off. It's going to get rough in here very soon—we're bugging out.”

“Understood, Null,” said Alisa through gritted teeth. She knew the man was right—the frigate was optimized for deep sensor scans, electronic warfare and hacking, not for direct combat. With its ventral shields down, a few Gray gunboats could cut it apart in a matter of minutes.

“All flights, this is Omega Lead,” Isaacs rumbled over the wide-cast. “We're going to get out of here too—there's nothing more we can do. They'd rather blow themselves up than be captured and Null can't stop it.”

“Back to the drawing board.” Alisa let out a weary sigh as she turned helm control over to Rin. The ship rocketed away with a dizzying maneuver that put significant distance between them and the disabled Gray freighters. Alisa watched in the shell display as they exploded, one right after another.

“We're going to have to adjust the disruption field generators,” Rin complained. “For the second time now. We came so close, too!”

“It's just how these things go. Intel wins wars, after all, and they're determined not to let us have even a scrap of data, even if it means sacrificing resources.”

Isaac's voice came over the comm. “Delta Flight, Omega Flight, this is Omega Lead. Proceed to extraction point. The Infiltrator is waiting for us there. Debriefing in two hours.”

“Copy,” Alisa said over the comm and closed the connection. She took her helmet off and sighed, wiping sweat from her brow with a gloved hand.

“What are we going to do after debriefing?” Rin inquired. “It'll be at least a few more days before we can try something like this again.”

Alisa didn't respond. Instead, she punched up a panel on her tactical display and opened the logs, examining the data collected during the fight. Out of everything there, one line stuck out to her the most. Their synchronization rate had fallen a full three percentage points. Alisa managed to cover her shock carefully, ensuring that it didn't bleed through to Rin, but she was troubled.

The sync rate between the pilot and their AI operator was critical to speeding up reaction time and control of the starfighter's systems. Most pair-linked pilots maintained a sync rate around 60 percent. Alisa and Rin synced at around 90 percent, but Alisa felt a sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach as she stared at the data. The numbers would fluctuate a little from time to time, but a three percent shift was major.

Things have been different between us since that day on Sirius Colony.

It was becoming increasingly clear to Alisa that Rin had been changing, right under her nose. To Alisa it felt as if Rin was drifting away from her—and these figures only confirmed it. She felt a tightness in her chest, her eyes burning with tears that she refused to shed.

“Alisa, are you okay?”

“I'm fine,” Alisa murmured, feeling hopelessly transparent. “We're going to run a few simulator scenarios with the rest of the flight once we get back to the ship.”

Rin sighed audibly. “What? You want us to spend our downtime training? Why? Why can't we do something fun for a change? Oh, I know! Let's have dinner with Lindy. We can all try something new tonight, then maybe go to the rec room and watch a video together!”

“No, Rin. We can't be goofing off when we've got work to do,” Alisa objected. “We're going to the simulators and that's final.”

The artificial girl's disgusted expression clearly showed what she thought of Alisa's declaration. Alisa's expression hardened and she glared at the volumetric image of the girl, her lips pressed into a thin line.

“You can see the tactical log just as well as I can,” Alisa snapped. “How can you even think of playing around when the numbers look like this?”

“But we're supposed to be off—”

“The first shot should have killed all three gunboats. We only hit two.”

“They all died,” Rin argued. “They didn't even get a shot off and we were able to disable the freighter's engines. We did our job just fine, so what's the problem?”

“The third gunboat died by accident,” Alisa pointed out. “Why do I have to tell you this? You know it just as well as I do. That shot was supposed to hit all three gunboats, but our aim was off! We've never missed a shot like that before, Rin. This isn't good.”

Rin scoffed. “How was I supposed to know that gunboat would alter position right at the last moment?”

“The gunboat didn't move; our aim was off.” Alisa closed her eyes and rubbed her aching temples. “You know they always adhere to formation unless they absolutely cannot avoid it. That's been known for longer than either of us have been alive!”

“Really?” Rin's holo crossed tiny arms over her chest. “You think they aren't capable of learning?”

“I'm not going to keep arguing with you about this, Rin,” Alisa growled. “We're going to hit the simulators, and we're going to stay there until we can make a shot like that again. Even if we have to run simulations all night.”

[-]

Rin sighed and waited in the Infiltrator's med bay. It was much smaller than the hospital complex on Cygnus Station. The warship maintained three separate medical facilities, each handling different tasks. This one was the most specialized of the three, located on D Deck toward the ship's bow.

The doctors on an Alliance deep-space vessel like the Infiltrator had to wear a great many hats. They were physicians, they were combat medics and they were psychologists all rolled into one. Very few positions required as much specialized training. Rin hoped that training would be able to give her an answer she couldn't figure out on her own.

Ever since the altercation in the botanical gardens, things had changed. At first, Rin was happy, happier than she had ever been—Alisa had promised to stop running away from her problems, to face them head on. She had promised that she would step forth into the world she had been avoiding so desperately. Rin hadn't even had to pressure her to spend time with Lindy. She even started working out in the mornings with Blake, and Alisa had made a concerted effort to stop ignoring the other members of the wing.

It had become clear, however, that Alisa wasn't managing that step very well. Even though she tried to bridge the gap, Portland still kept his distance and Blake seemed to view Alisa more as a rival than a friend. Alisa's reputation as a bitter loner who looked down on those around her was not so easily forgotten.

At least they worked well together during missions, Rin thought. Lindy's improvement in particular was nothing short of remarkable. Under Alisa's tutelage, the green pilot was flying and fighting with the savvy of a seasoned veteran. The other members of Delta Flight couldn't help but notice and respect the tiny woman's improved performance.

Almost as soon as they were dismissed from debriefing, Alisa and Rin had spent nearly seven hours in the simulators—eleven complete scenarios, one right after the other. Flight Officer Blake joined them for a few hours, but eventually she abandoned training in favor of some relaxation.

To her credit, Alisa managed to complete all objectives without failure or the loss of too much equipment or personnel, but the edge they once held so razor-sharp was starting to dull. Overall combat performance had dropped by nearly ten percent. Alisa was angry and frustrated, and Rin had kept silent in order to avoid another pointless argument.

Rin sighed and shrugged her shoulders, a habit picked up from spending years around humans. It was why she sneaked out of the cabin after Alisa passed out face-first on the bed. Rin knew that Alisa was far too proud to seek counseling on her own, so Rin decided to take matters into her own hands.

It was only a few moments before a tall, familiar figure stepped out from the treatment rooms and into the med bay's small lobby. Dr. Lynne stopped as she caught sight of Rin, a curious expression on her face.

“Hi, April,” Rin greeted her. “How are you liking the new job?”

“It's nice to be back on a warship again,” April replied. “What are you doing here so late, Rin? I thought the 703 was off-duty for the evening. I expected you and Alisa to be busy being as lovey-dovey as possible.”

Rin felt her cheeks flush pink at the unsubtle innuendo. The woman had accepted a transfer off Cygnus Station onto the Infiltrator in order to better keep an eye on Alisa and Rin. Not that April would ever admit to it, of course.

“Never mind that right now. I came to see you, April.” Rin glanced at the door to the med bay and then back at April. “I need to talk to you about something important.”

“Does Alisa know you're here?”

“No.” Rin's cheeks flushed slightly pink. “I left after she went to sleep. If I told her what I was planning to do, she'd only get upset and try to stop me.”

April nodded, sitting down at the chair behind her desk. “I know you don't need to, but have a seat. I need to finish with these charts and then I can talk for a little while.”

Rin nodded and took her seat in one of the two empty chairs in front of the desk. She waited patiently while April finished updating the charts on her computer terminal. It was only a few minutes before the woman entered a command on her console and powered down the display.

“Now, what can I help you with, Rin?”

“Something isn't right with Alisa.” Rin's voice was laced with frustration. “More than usual, I mean. For the past few weeks things have been really awkward. She spends hardly any time with me outside of work. All she does in her spare time is train until she collapses from exhaustion. She tried to socialize with some of the other pilots besides Lindy—that's Flight Officer Meyers—but people aren't going to just forget how she's been treating them for months. She's getting frustrated at her lack of progress and reacting by drowning herself in training.”

April nodded slowly, as if she'd expected this. “Has this been affecting your mission performance?”

“Yes, and that's the maddening part,” Rin agreed. “Our synchronization rate has dropped, slowly, since that night. On our last mission, we missed a shot that we never should have missed.”

“I understand the mission was a failure regardless.”

“That's not what I mean,” Rin objected. “I don't know what happened in her head, April, but it's changed things between us. There's a sort of resentment there that never was before, and I don't know why.”

“Alisa resents you?” April's surprise was obvious. “I find that very unlikely.”

“Maybe 'resentment' is a poor word for it. I don't know what it is, but there's a—a veil between us, a thin, wispy barrier, where there was nothing but open air before. It's like I can't feel her anymore, like there's something in the way. When we're together, not on missions, that warmth just feels far away.”

April tapped her chin lightly. “It sounds like Alisa is afraid.”

“That doesn't make sense,” Rin objected. “I knew she was afraid of making friends, but she's actually been trying to socialize—though not with much success. Portland has never been very social and Blake just wants to beat Alisa's record. I know she's frustrated, but why would she be putting distance between us over that?”

“I think Alisa is afraid that you're becoming too independent.”

“What?” Rin's voice cracked with astonishment. “But isn't this what she's always wanted? For me to be more like a human?”

“Yes and no. Until recently, it's always been Alisa and Rin against the world, at least in her mind. The way I see it, she takes your love for granted, because it's always been there, because you managed to get close to her when she was successful in pushing everyone else away. I'd guess she's starting to see your growing independence as a threat to the stability you've provided her for years.”

Rin's eyes widened. “You think she's worried that I won't need her anymore?”

“I'd need to talk to her to say more,” April continued, “but I'd guess that yes, she feels that if you keep growing, you won't need her anymore. In gaining what you and she sought after the most, she fears she may end up losing you completely.”

Rin said nothing, digesting what the doctor had said. It was not something she hadn't already considered, but Rin was hoping it wasn't true. Hearing someone else echo her own private analysis of the matter was very troubling.

“Thank you, April.” Rin stood up and smoothed out her thin dress. “You've helped me understand what's going on a little better. I just wish I knew how to fix it.”

“Tell Alisa to come talk to me,” April ordered. “Don't let her try and talk her way out of it, either. It's hard enough getting her to come in for her maintenance cycles. She never comes in for counseling on her own. You'll have to make her do it.”

“I know.” The artificial girl let out a deep sigh of frustration. “I'll do what I can to get her to come see you, but I'm not sure if it'll work.”

“You'll manage. I'd rather she decided to come in on her own, but it's clear she's just as hardheaded as always.”

“I'll do my best,” Rin promised.

[-]

Alisa woke the next morning to the familiar sound of her TCC's alarm beeping, a full hour early. She opened her eyes and sat up, glancing over at the device sitting inside a small niche cut into the wall plating near her bed. She reached over and switched the alarm off, mentally preparing herself for the hard day that awaited.

The other pilots would likely still be asleep. Alisa was going to spend a few hours in the gym herself and then hit the simulators again before the Infiltrator moved to its next mission area. They would be sortied soon enough, after all, and Alisa wanted to do everything in her power to recover her edge in combat.

“You're awake,” Rin observed.

“I didn't expect you to be up this early.” Alisa glanced over at Rin, gawking at the girl's choice of attire. “What in the universe are you dressed like that for? You don't need to work out to keep fit.”

“You're going, right?” Rin said, pointing to the table where she had laid out Alisa's gym clothes. “I want to with you. We can work out together.”

Alisa laughed lightly. “What brought this on, Rin?”

“I want to spend more time with you. I want us to get back what we've lost. I don't ever want to miss another shot like that again.”

“Well, if you really want to, I definitely won't mind having some company. Give me a minute to get ready and we'll go.”

Rin nodded as Alisa stood up and pulled her nightshirt over her head, tossing it to the bed. She quickly stepped into the one-piece athletic garment, setting the shoulder straps, then sitting down on the edge of the bed to pull on a pair socks and running shoes similar to what Rin wore.

The two left the cabin together, heading toward the bow section of the ship where the physical fitness facilities were maintained on E Deck. The trip wasn't long; only one deck below them and the lift quickly got them to their destination.

The gym itself wasn't large, but contained a great deal of equipment of various types all scattered throughout the small open space. Several people that Alisa recognized as crew members of the Infiltrator were working out alone and listening to music. It was apparent that no other members of the 703 were using the gym this early.

Alisa stepped up to a stretching bar and started her stretches without comment, warming her muscles still stiff with sleep. Rin waited patiently by the treadmills that she knew Alisa would want to use.

“How fast?”

“We'll start with ten.” Alisa exhaled slowly as she strained against the stiffness. Feeling appropriately limbered up, she stepped up on the treadmill next to Rin and pressed the start button, easily matching speed with the treadmill's setting. “It's been a while since I've needed to run more than a few hundred meters.”

Rin nodded, her artificial body easily handling the ten kilometer per hour setting. It couldn't have been more perfect, with the gym almost empty, but she would wait a bit longer, until Alisa started to feel the euphoric effects of strenuous exercise.

It was nearly twenty minutes later before either of them said another word. Rin glanced over at Alisa, sweat dripping from the woman's brow, her bare arms and legs shiny and taut from the exertion. It would be now or never, Rin knew. Soon the other pilots would fill the gym for their morning workout and it would be too late. Alisa would never open up to her with the others within earshot.

“Alisa, I'm worried about you.”

“Worried about me?” Alisa's breathing quickened as the treadmill increased speed to fifteen kilometers per hour. “What are you worried about?”

“I was thinking about what you said yesterday.”

“Oh?”

“I'm worried about it, too,” Rin agreed. “I think we need to find out what we can do to reverse the sync rate drop. I'm ready to do whatever it takes, but I don't think simply training harder is going to fix it.”

“What do you mean? We missed an easy shot. We're not pushing hard enough. We've got to train especially hard to make sure that next mission, nothing goes wrong. We were lucky last time.”

Rin nodded as she matched her partner's pace. “I know. We didn't lose anyone, but we could have. We might not be so lucky next time. I don't want that.”

“We've just got to get back into the flow.” Alisa's breathing became faster; she gulped air down as she ran on the treadmill, wiping the sweat from her brow with the back of her hand. “We're not going to let something like that hold us back, right? We'll hit the simulators after this and run a few scenarios. We'll get back into the swing of things if we really try our hardest.”

“Alisa,” Rin objected, “you are not listening to me. You know what I'm asking you, and you're trying to avoid the issue.”

“No, I'm not.”

“Yes, you are. Alisa, you need to go talk to April. This isn't just a matter of training. It's more than that and you know it.”

Alisa reached out and hit the stop button on her treadmill. She turned to Rin, her eyes narrowed suspiciously.

“I don't need counseling. I'm fine—we're fine. We just haven't been training enough. It's been less than six months since we transferred to the 703 and we kept our old training routine from when we were part of the Big Eight. The missions are much tougher, but we didn't step up.”

“It doesn't have anything to do with training,” Rin growled. “That night on Sirius, I thought we had worked things out. You promised me that you'd start trying to do better. But that doesn't appear to be the case.”

Alisa crossed her arms over her chest defiantly. “Did Dr. Lynne put you up to this?”

“April didn't put me up to this, Alisa,” Rin corrected. “I put her up to this.”

Alisa didn't say anything.

“I went to talk to her last night after you fell asleep.” Rin's eyes narrowed sharply. “This isn't good for either of us. Did things really change that much after that night? Did you really change? I don't think so.”

“I don't want to talk about this here, Rin,” Alisa growled in a low tone. “What if someone overhears?”

“I don't give a shit if anyone overhears,” Rin snapped, frustrated. “You promised, Alisa, but nothing has changed. If anything, you've gotten worse. Now, instead of spending all your free time fawning over me, you just spend all your time sleeping and training! Alisa, the stress is going to kill us both—and it's going to get a lot of other people killed, too!”

“What are you—”

“Don't try to play dumb,” Rin interrupted. “I went to talk to April because I'm worried about you. Because I love you, Alisa. When I see you like this, I feel so sad. It hurts me to see you like this. Please, just go see her. She can help you.”

Alisa didn't immediately respond. She picked up a chilled bottle of water and took a long swallow, rolling the cool plastic across her forehead.

“Alisa? Will you do this? For me?”

Alisa sighed and set the bottle down. “Okay, okay, I give up. If it means that much to you, I'll go talk to Dr. Lynne after lunch.”

15

Alisa glanced around nervously. She had gone to med bay on several occasions, but it was always for routine physical exams and maintenance treatments. She had never actually come to Dr. Lynne's office seeking counseling.

Her fingers tapped lightly against her thigh, feeling the smooth fabric of the white stockings. She sternly forced herself to calm down and stop fidgeting; it was unlike her. Alisa was disciplined, mentally and physically. She was tough, deadly and skilled. She could fly head-on against a full flight of Gray gunboats and leave nothing but twisted wreckage in her wake.

And yet the high and mighty Lieutenant-Commander Alisa Pierce, Leader of Delta Flight, of the 703rd Hyperspace Assault Wing, fidgets nervously while waiting in the doctor's office.

“Lieutenant-Commander Pierce? Come on back.”

Alisa looked up to see the face of a nurse, a young man with the traditional bristle-spike close-cropped hair of the Alliance Marines. She nodded and stood up, following the man wordlessly back into Dr. Lynne's office.

April Lynne stood up beside her desk, several holographic display panels open. She tapped a few commands into her console, closing the open charts as Alisa walked into the room. “Thank you for coming to see me, Alisa. You've been doing your best to avoid your recommended counseling visits for some time now. It's good to see that you've finally come around.”

“Rin made me do it,” Alisa admitted in a surly tone.

“She's a smart girl. Your life would be a hell of a lot easier if you'd just listen to her more often.”

Alisa's expression soured. “That advice sounds suspiciously familiar.”

“If you listened the first time I gave it, I wouldn't be repeating myself.” April motioned toward a corridor leading deeper into the med bay. “Come with me. My office isn't the best place to discuss these sorts of things. The exam rooms are cut off from the ship's general surveillance.”

Alisa shrugged but said nothing.

“I'm sure you already know the drill,” April continued. “In official counseling sessions, anything you say to me is considered privileged information. I am only obligated to inform your commanding officer if—”

“I know, I know. If a pilot is found to be unstable and a danger to herself and the other pilots in her wing,” Alisa finished. “Let's get this over with.”

“It's not going to be something we just 'get over with,' Alisa,” April informed her. Alisa silently followed the woman back into the corridor, turning the opposite direction from the entrance to the medical bay.

Toward the rear of the clinic was a series of exam rooms, which were not connected through the Infiltrator's normal surveillance system. Of course the captain or chief security officer could enable monitoring throughout the entire ship, but this was only done in rare cases, such as being boarded by the enemy.

Dr. Lynne pressed her fingertip against the door panel and waited as it slid open, revealing a small room with a comfortable couch and chair. None of the usual medical equipment was visible in the room; Alisa assumed this exam room was used far more often for mental health exams.

Alisa took a seat on the couch and felt the tension slowly drain out of her muscles. She waited patiently as Dr. Lynne sealed the door behind them and tapped a command into the wall console, letting the rest of the clinic staff know she was with a patient.

“So, what did you want to talk with me about?” April inquired.

“You should already know that,” Alisa muttered. “Rin told me she went out to talk to you last night while I was sleeping. At least she was careful this time.”

“What do you mean by that?”

“Rin has a bad habit of ignoring regulations whenever it suits her.” Alisa couldn't keep the nervousness from coloring her voice. “You know that she often argues with me, and that we don't always agree on everything.”

“And this worries you?”

“Of course it worries me,” Alisa snapped. “I know the crew of the Infiltrator either pretends not to notice or care, but not everyone has the same level of acceptance. If the wrong person knew all of Rin's capabilities—”

“Alisa, you're either blind or delusional if you think everyone doesn't already know how Rin acts.” April waved a dismissive hand. “That particular excuse has long since reached its expiration date.”

“I'm not making excuses,” Alisa objected. “There are a lot of people in the Alliance who don't think we should even use artificial intelligence for anything. A lot of them in powerful positions. If they knew what Rin could do…”

April laughed.

“What's so funny?” Alisa demanded, her expression darkening.

“Do you really think the Alliance would have even let things go this far if they thought Rin was a danger to them? They would have dealt with her long ago if it had been thought otherwise.”

“That's not—”

“This is your excuse, Alisa,” April retorted. “I will concede that there are a number of Council representatives that publicly disapprove of the use of machine intelligences. Some of them are fearful of potential future conflict. Others protest from a moral standpoint. Honestly, Alisa, you already know all of this. It's all political. It's not true reality, and it has less than nothing to do with your situation.”

Alisa didn't respond.

“You're the one who maintained pair-linking constantly. You opted not to have Rin's memory wiped regularly. You chose this—it's not mandatory. Some pilots prefer to leave their operators alone, others prefer them not to be too independent and so they get the monthly wipes done. It's all personal preference; Rin is hardly unique in that aspect.”

Alisa's eyes widened. “Wait a minute; this has been done before?”

“What, did you actually think you were the first?” April's grin did not diminish as she adjusted her chair. “I already told you, if Systems didn't want this to happen, they'd have made periodic partial wipes required.”

“But why are all the other operators so different from Rin?” Alisa demanded. “All the other operators aren't much more than a simulated intelligence with decision-making capabilities. They aren't like Rin at all.”

“Because the Alliance makes use of behavioral inhibitors, fully developing an AI requires a significant time and attention investment—the effort involved could be compared to that of raising and teaching a child,” April explained. “The outcomes are not always optimal—the AI may never fully mature, and the efficiency benefits aren't guaranteed. The ability to think freely while also being restricted by hard-coded processes on what decisions can be made is something of a paradox.”

“I know that much,” Alisa said, reminding herself to guard her words carefully.

“Rin's carefree attitude isn't the issue here,” Dr. Lynne continued. “That is your excuse, your shield, and you know it. You can't hide behind that anymore.”

“I'm not hiding behind anything.”

“Yes, you are,” April argued. “I have your dossier and medical chart right here. I know your family history—I know you were the Miracle Girl of Proxima Centauri. I know all about the problems you've had fitting in, socializing with the other pilots. This has never been about Rin. It's about you.”

Alisa's expression was unreadable. “Everyone was dead. I was just a little kid, yet I survived. I couldn't do anything, but somehow I got out of there alive. She gave up her life so I could live. She was killed by the Gray, but she saved me.”

“Any loving parent would do the same for their child.” April's voice dropped, adopting a soothing tone. “You miss her a lot, don't you?”

“Uh-huh,” Alisa murmured.

“I can't even begin to imagine what it was like. All of us have lost loved ones in the war, and it never gets any easier for me to hear about it. You've been in pain for so long, Alisa, and you hold it within you still.”

“I know,” Alisa said, rubbing her eyes with her fingertips. “My mother… I still remember her scent, the perfume she often wore… my father got it for her for her birthday when I was five years old. She nearly killed him when she found out how much it cost…”

“Shortly after your escape from Proxima Station, you were placed within a state-run orphanage for three years,” April continued. “At the age of ten, you were placed with a foster family on Sirius Colony. You resisted adoption at first, but eventually you relented and were officially adopted by a couple on Sirius Colony, Robert and Marian Lewis.”

“I don't know what you're talking about,” Alisa whispered. Jagged fragments of rent, destroyed memories bubbled up to the surface of her mind. She shivered, suddenly feeling as if her blood had been replaced with ice water.

“You couldn't have known what was going to happen,” April said. “Nobody could have expected that. Robert Lewis had a spotless criminal record—he had never even had so much as a minor infraction. Even his own family was astonished that he could have been involved in such a thing.”

“I don't want to talk about this anymore.” Alisa's voice was barely audible. The fragments began to fit together, but the picture they formed made no sense. Disjointed images and sounds merged together into a chaotic mass of psychic shrapnel. Alisa felt an unexplained mixture of mangled, indescribable emotions.

“Not wanting to talk about it is what caused this mess in the first place, Alisa,” April informed her. “I can't ignore this any longer; if you do not voluntarily come see me on a regular basis, I'm going to have to ask your CO to order mandatory counseling.”

“Wait a minute—”

“You're not going to get out of this.” April jabbed a finger at Alisa. “Rin is worried about you. I'm worried about you. I've been handling your care since you were a first grade fresh out of the Academy. By all the stars in the universe, Alisa, I pulled a jagged piece of metal as long as my arm out of your chest! I can tell you're hurting and I can't just let this continue. I can't just let you keep hurting Rin and hurting yourself.”

Alisa was unable to argue with the doctor's logic. “Yes, ma'am.”

“I want to set up a regular schedule for counseling visits,” April continued, “but unfortunately the nature of our missions are such that we do not have that luxury. Instead, I want you to come see me for counseling sessions at least once every week during your off-duty hours.”

Alisa nodded wordlessly.

“If you don't do what I ask, I will order mandatory mental health treatments. Your flight status will be suspended for the duration. Commander Isaacs will be forced to put you behind a terminal on the Infiltrator, and nobody in the Alliance wants that.”

Alisa avoided April's eyes. “Yes, ma'am.”

“Now get out of here and go get some rest.” April's lips curved into a small smile, taking the sting from her words. “I have a pile of work to get done, as usual. Don't try to skip out on our visits—I wasn't kidding when I said I'd bend your boss's ear.”

Alisa left the med bay without another word.

[-]

“Alisa, wake up!”

Alisa opened her eyes blearily. She tossed aside her blankets and levered herself into a sitting position on the small bed. Rin was already up, still dressed in the gauzy pink nightgown she often wore to sleep. The artificial girl had laid out Alisa's hardsuit and helmet on the table. Her heavy mag-boots sat on the floor.

“Good morning.” Alisa fought the urge to close her eyes again. “What time is it?”

“It's a bit after 0700,” Rin told her. “The Infiltrator arrived in-system a few hours ago. We've reached the rally point and are waiting for further instructions. The captain informed the crew that we will rendezvous with the intelligence frigate Dominator and begin the briefing at 1000 hours. The mission itself will start at 1200 sharp.”

“What are our orders?” Alisa stood up, pulling her nightgown over her head and tossing it to the unmade bed. She walked over to the small niche containing the cabin's bathroom and opened the shower stall.

“The mission is not very different from the last attempt,” Rin explained as Alisa stepped into the shower and turned the water on. “The disruptor field generators have been modified—any Gray vessels caught in the field should go out like a light. They won't be able to self-destruct this time.”

“We hope.” Alisa quickly soaped herself up, scrubbing well and hard, washing her hair and conditioning it liberally. The armored flight helmet always left her hair a mess.

Rin walked into the bathroom and hung a fresh towel on the rack. “Our part in this is still the same as before—take out the escorts before they realize what's happening and disable the freighters' engines. The Gray haven't changed their escort protocols since the last time we attempted this, so it really shouldn't be any different for us.”

“We won't miss a shot like that again,” Alisa muttered under her breath. Rin's sensitive auditory sensors picked the comment up, but she didn't respond to it. Alisa had begun making some small progress, Rin knew—it wouldn't do to start arguing with her. Rin decided against picking at slowly-healing wounds.

“We're going to check on the modifications to the command module,” Alisa said, turning off the flow of hot water and stepping out of the shower. She picked up a towel hanging on a nearby rack and immediately began drying her hair.

“Do we have time before the mission?”

“We should,” Alisa replied. “Moore's team finished the refits and re-routed all the connections to the ship's primary computer systems. We'll do a thorough pre-flight test to ensure everything works before the mission.”

“Alisa,” Rin said in a warning tone.

Alisa glanced at Rin suspiciously. “What?”

“The refits haven't been really tested yet,” Rin pointed out. “We should keep using the auxiliary until we can stress-test the system to make sure everything's running up to spec.”

“That won't be necessary. Besides, both of the aux units have their armor stripped and hardpoints empty.”

Rin crossed her arms over her chest. “You know that Moore's team can have them both flight-ready in within a half-hour. Alisa, I'd really feel much better if we used an aux for this mission. I know you're excited, but…”

“This isn't open for discussion, Rin. The techs already ran every analysis and test in the books. We're already on thin ice as it is; the commander isn't going to let us eat up any more of the maintenance team's time.”

Rin opened her mouth to object. Alisa was being stubborn again, of course, but she also happened to have circumstances favorable to her. She'd been pushing for permission to have her Lancer converted for a long time and now that she'd been given the go-ahead, caution was thrown to the wind in her excitement.

“This is stupid,” Rin muttered.

“The Alliance wants to use my idea. Captain Zachary cleared the job and even pushed it up in the pile a little. I wasn't expecting the cockpit mods to even get started until after the next full overhaul.”

“So the Alliance has you playing test pilot during a real mission that could really kill us both,” Rin summarized. “I was wrong. This isn't just stupid, it's fucking idiotic.”

Alisa's smile seemed to be more than a little smug. “It doesn't matter what either of us think. Orders are orders.”

Since when have you cared much about following orders to the letter? Rin fumed, but she didn't bother to continue the argument. There was nothing she could do and arguing further with Alisa would be an exercise in futility.

Rin said nothing as she watched Alisa dress, the woman pulling on what looked like a form-fitted black rubber singlet. Underneath the hardsuit and pressure garment, pilots wore a protective one-piece liner. Alisa stepped into the black singlet, sealing it from the front and pressing a button on the collar. The liner sealed against her body, leaving her with an odd wet sensation as the substance bonded against her skin.

Alisa then put on the rest of the suit, which sealed around the neck, ankles and wrists. The ankle seals snapped into matching ports on her mag-boots. Alisa didn't bother to put her helmet or gloves on yet, instead fastening the various armor sections in place. The hardsuit used by Alliance fighter pilots was much thinner and lighter than the heavy-armor suits used by the marines, affording her nearly unrestricted mobility while still protecting her from the myriad hazards of exposure to vacuum.

“You should get suited up, too, Rin.” Alisa's voice lilted slightly with excitement. “You won't have to leave your body behind ever again.”

Rin nodded, slipping off her translucent nightgown and tossing it on the bed next to Alisa's shirt. She picked up a sealed case lying on the floor and set it on the table. Opening the latches, Rin pulled out a brand-new hardsuit, complete with liner, pressure suit, gloves, mag-boots and helmet.

“How are your visits with April going?” Rin asked as she suited up.

Alisa looked away. “They're going fine.”

“Just fine?”

“It's weird, talking to her about things like this.” Alisa's expression became pensive. “I'm not really sure we should get into a deep discussion right before a mission, though. Can we talk about this later?”

Rin nodded. “Okay. You should stop by the break room in the fighter bay and get something to eat before we go. We don't know how long this will take—if the mission is successful, we'll be babysitting while the marines prep the freighters for a prize crew.”

“Then let's get going.”

Alisa grabbed her helmet, stuffing her gloves inside and walked out of the small room, with Rin following close behind. The door sealed behind them as they started walking down the corridor, heading for the lift that would take them to E Deck Aft.

The door slid open and the two stepped inside, sharing the large elevator with two other fighter pilots from the 703—Alisa recognized them as members of Alpha Flight under the command of Lieutenant Whitestone.

One of the pilots asked her, “Ready to go, ma'am?”

“We're going to do it this time,” Alisa told him. The Alpha pilot cracked a slight smile in response and fell silent. Alisa noted that the two pilots looked to be in a good mood. Morale was running high despite the recent failure.

The lift stopped on E Deck Aft and the door slid open. Alisa and Rin both stepped out into the corridor. The two of them walked a few dozen meters to a double-wide open doorway—one of the few doors inside the Infiltrator that was routinely left open on a regular basis.

The break room was not large, generally used by the maintenance crew who spent much of their working hours sequestered on E Deck. Occasionally the 703 would stop by the small food preparation area and pick up something to eat before a mission that was predicted to be particularly long.

Alisa wasn't surprised to see the room already filled to the brim with most of the 703 and a fair share of maintenance personnel. Much of their work had been finished already, Alisa knew, and they were now having breakfast before pre-flight checks so the 703 could prepare for launch.

“Go find us a place to sit, okay?” Alisa asked Rin.

“Sure,” Rin replied, taking Alisa's helmet and gloves. Alisa watched Rin and the rest of the room as she waited in line. Rin had found them a place near one of the huge view-ports on the far side of the room. They were not actual windows, but massive flat-screen displays that cycled through a large repertoire of scenic locations on pre-invasion Earth and present-day colonies.

The line continued to shrink and soon it was Alisa's turn. She grabbed a plate from the rack, containing a banana, a glass of milk and a bowl of hot, creamy cereal sweetened with a raspberry puree.

“Over here!” Rin shouted above the din of many conversations going on at once. Alisa smiled slightly and nodded as she worked her way through the crowd, careful not to knock over her milk or upend her bowl of cereal.

“You didn't have to wave me over, you know,” Alisa muttered as she took a dainty spoonful of her cereal and blew on it to cool it down. “I could see you easily enough from the line.”

Rin shrugged wordlessly and Alisa took a bite of her steaming cereal. It wasn't bad. The raspberry puree really did add enough of a zing to it that it wasn't completely flavorless. At the moment, however, nutrition would be more important than flavor, considering the task that loomed ahead.

“Maximum nutrition and minimum flavor, usually,” Alisa said, allowing herself a small smile. “But this isn't bad. I'd like to know who came up with the idea of adding raspberry puree to the cereal.”

“Isn't bad? I don't know, Lead. That shit is pretty awful.”

Alisa turned toward the source of the comment and was surprised to see two members of her flight, the veteran Portland and the new transfer, Erin Blake. Alisa studied the woman for a moment. The muscular woman with short, spiky silver hair had made it clear pretty well immediately that she wasn't here to be Alisa's friend. Rin had suggested that Blake saw Alisa as a rival to be defeated.

So far, however, things seemed to be working out. Despite the usually friendly rivalry that Blake had decided existed between her and Alisa, the woman was an excellent pilot, a good person to have during a bad situation.

Alisa allowed herself a smile as she watched her pilots eat. “That 'shit' isn't good for you.”

“It's protein and fat,” Blake argued around a mouthful of grilled sausage. “Good fast energy plus good long-term energy. Keeps you full of power, quick and mean so the Gray don't shoot you down.”

Alisa sent the new Delta Three a dubious glare. “The Gray don't shoot me down and I don't eat that.”

“Good; that means more for us,” Blake replied, laughing.

“Good morning, ma'am!”

Alisa turned toward the voice, watching the slight form of Lindy Meyers as she pushed and shoved her way through the crowd of maintenance personnel to sit down in the empty chair between her and Rin.

“Hi Lindy!” Rin waved enthusiastically at the newcomer to the table. “Ready to go?”

“Sure am. What are you doing in a hardsuit, Rin?” Lindy inquired.

“The modifications were finally completed—this will be the first actual mission test of the new systems,” Alisa explained. “We've run simulations and diagnostics, but this is where the metal meets the meat.”

“The Alliance has been toying around the idea of converting some of the newer Lancers for a while now,” Rin went on, trying to sound enthusiastic for Alisa's sake. “Alisa's proposal convinced Command to petition Command and allow her to act as a model case. Maintenance has been tinkering with Alisa's Lancer for the last few weeks, working overtime to get the changes pushed through and ready for our next mission.”

“So that's why you've been flying one of the auxiliaries for a month.” Lindy's curious expression faded with understanding. “I thought at first maybe your ship had been damaged beyond our ability to repair it.”

“Of course not,” Alisa scoffed. “If that had happened, my head would probably be stuffed and mounted outside Moore's office and all of you would be looking for a new flight leader.” The other pilots got a good chuckle out of that one. The maintenance chief was well-known for ear-blistering tirades every time a pilot brought back a damaged ship.

“From what I heard,” Blake put in, “our illustrious leader scraped and bowed and the commander finally agreed under the condition that it would be her ass if anything went south.”

“Yeah, well, we're not going to win the war by being timid,” Alisa pointed out. “To court the Gray, we're going to have to be a little bold and daring.”

“Bold and daring.” Lindy placed a slender finger on her chin. “It certainly sounds better than 'stupid and suicidal,' I suppose.”

“That's what I said,” Rin added, her tone more somber than Lindy's, “but does she ever listen?”

“Hey!” Alisa felt her cheeks heating up under the good-natured ribbing from her fellow pilots. “You're not allowed to gang up on your superior officer!”

“Alisa, hurry up finish your food.” Rin sighed and pointed to the clock mounted on the break room's wall. “If we don't get moving, we're not going to have time to even run an extended pre-flight.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Alisa muttered, spooning another mouthful of cereal into her mouth.

[-]

The fighter bay was abuzz with activity. At least half of the pilots of the 703 were busily checking and rechecking systems, making sure last-minute maintenance and performance tweaks were finished. Alisa stood atop her fighter, the large maintenance access hatch open. Beneath the hatch was a very tight crawlspace that would allow her physical access to the fighter's various electronic systems.

Alisa stepped down inside and began checking the interface and linkages between the warp core sleeve and the navigational systems. Everything looked to be in order. It was time to start the test run. She picked up her tools and put them neatly back into the toolbox, focusing her mind on her implant, sending a stream of data through to Rin in the form of a message.

Go ahead and power on, activate the system link.

All right. Starting it up, Rin's mental voice came back.

Alisa watched the diagnostic display mounted on the computer's impact armor casing. Several colored lights began to flash as information scrolled down the screen, almost too fast for Alisa to see. The computer itself began to hum softly as specialized liquid coolant circulated through the superconducting conduits. They had to be kept within a very narrow temperature range in order to maintain maximum efficiency.

It looks okay, Alisa, Rin's mental voice came back. Everything here seems to be working. Time-lag is within spec—actually looks a bit better than before.

Looks like Moore and her people did a fantastic job. Alisa felt a satisfied smile creep across her face. She locked the toolbox back into place and grabbed hold of the narrow ladder to pull herself out. Alisa slid the hatch back over the computer section and shifted all of her weight on it. The section of hull plating slid back into place with a solid mechanical latching sound.

Lock the core access hatch, Alisa instructed Rin. There was a brief pause and a whir of electric motors as heavy retention pins snapped into place, locking the hatch on as surely as if it had been welded to the hull plating. A shimmer of faintly blue-white light told Alisa that the containment field had activated.

The pilot levered herself up into a standing position on the smoothly-curved hull, thankful her mag-boots kept her firmly rooted into place. She slowly walked along the upper hull toward the cockpit, where the catwalk ramp was within easy reach.

Alisa turned around and smiled at the sight of Rin, strapped into the added second seat situated in front and slightly below Alisa's. The entire cockpit and shell display had been drastically altered, making use of any free or wasted space. The tactical and combat displays had been moved along with Alisa's original seat, shifted backwards some meter and a half. A new seat had been added, paired with the navigational and sensor displays. The shell display had also been modified to accommodate the change in shape.

“Well, at least it looks good,” Rin commented.

“Yes, the techs did an amazing job.” Alisa let her gaze play over the interior of the new cockpit, impressed at how professional it all looked. “So we ran the extra tests; are you satisfied that everything works? No problems at all?”

Rin nodded, thumping her palm against the consoles. “It's all working. I ran benchmarks on all system response times and they aren't any different than they were before the modifications were made. All systems are checking out. This is the best I can do in the time we have.”

“Good.” Alisa pulled her TCC out of a pocket and checked the time. It was nearly time for the briefing—soon, all sixteen fighters would launch and the Infiltrator would back off, remaining at the edge of the system and waiting for the intelligence frigate to arrive. Alisa suspected the finer points of the mission would be detailed during the briefing.

“Disconnecting myself from the system and powering it down.”

The fighter's displays instantly went dark, the holographic projections vanishing. Rin's eyes flickered slightly as she disconnected the direct connection to the vessel's primary computer systems—Alisa could even feel a slight disturbance through their shared link.

“Come on, let's go.” Alisa extended her hand and took hold of Rin's. She helped the artificial girl extract herself from her new place in the fighter's cockpit, careful not to overbalance and end up falling from the catwalk.

Alisa and Rin walked down the catwalk to a steep folding staircase and descended to the floor level of the hangar bay—and not a moment too soon. Maintenance technicians and automatons had already begun to swarm over the fighter, prepping the vessel for its newest mission. Alisa barely managed to avoid being run over by a skeletal automaton pushing a cart filled with ammunition crates.

“Delta Lead! The briefing is starting; get your ass moving!”

“Yes, sir!” Alisa shouted back at her commanding officer. She couldn't see the man amidst the organized chaos of the hangar bay, but she knew the briefing was being held in an empty storage room converted into a conference room on the far side of the hangar rather than the usual A Deck conference room.

The two of them managed to reach the open door leading to the storage room. The other pilots were already seated and Commander Isaacs stood at the head of the large table dominated by a holographic projector. Alisa and Rin took their seats at the far end as the briefing started.

“Nice to see you could finally join us, Delta Lead,” the commander observed. There was general amusement throughout the room.

Alisa frowned. “Sorry, sir. I had to make sure the cockpit modifications were clear before we sortie.”

“I trust everything is in full working order?”

Alisa swallowed hard, knowing that Isaacs had risked quite a lot to get her request approved and pushed to the top of the pile. If she didn't manage to prove her theories in combat, there would be hell to pay and she knew it.

“Yes, sir,” Alisa replied without hesitation. “Everything checked out.”

“Good. Now, let's get down to it. The objectives are almost exactly the same as last time. Assignments are as follows: Delta will take out the escorts and disable the freighters' engines. Omega will engage any statics and assist with gunboat kills. Alpha and Beta will stand by for backup and defense of the Dominator when it jumps in-system…”

16

Alisa waited patiently as the docking clamps disengaged, releasing the heavy fighter from the Infiltrator's grasp. She nudged the stick slightly, increasing power to the repulsion pads. Her Lancer edged toward the open fighter bay, passing through the curtain barrier and into open space. One after another, starfighters floated gently out of the Infiltrator before applying thrust and cruising off to gather in formation.

“All units, proceed to nav point one,” Commander Isaacs ordered over the comm. The sixteen heavy fighters simultaneously accelerated, their primary thrusters flaring with a bright pulse of light.

“Warp core charge complete,” Rin reported. “Preparing core injection.”

“We'll be at the nav point in twenty seconds.” Alisa took stock of her displays, examining the tactical and navigation data as they approached their destination. “Burst banks are fully charged. Shields are fully charged. Weapons are ready. We're good to go.”

“Copy that, Delta Lead,” Isaacs confirmed. “The Infiltrator is falling back to standby position and we're ready to go. Jump on my mark.”

Alisa glanced at the clock as the numbers rapidly counted down towards zero.

Brilliant points of harsh white light burst around the vessels, warping and distorting the space around them. The shell display showed only a featureless white void as the tunnel between two distant points in space-time was opened and Alisa's vessel fell through. Chaotic bursts of random colors swirled through the shell display. The navigational computer automatically powered them down, causing the cockpit to darken suddenly.

“Tunnel is stable; beginning stage one hyperspace collapse.” Rin's eyes were closed as she focused a significant portion of her processing power on assisting the navigational computer. Barely a few seconds had passed before the Lancer emerged from hyperspace. The external cameras powered back on and the blank void was replaced with the bright, star-studded blackness of interstellar space.

Alisa immediately pulled up a tactical focus display on the Gray convoy detailed on the shell display. It was not exactly like it had been before. Three supply ships guarded by three Gray gunboats each, that much was the same, but it appeared as if the Gray had beefed up their escorts following the last attack.

“The convoy is traveling with capital ship escort. A war frigate,” Rin observed, her voice betraying a hint of surprise.

“They do learn.” Alisa studied the tactical display, examining her sensor readings on the Gray escort. The data told her it was just an ordinary war frigate, outfitted with the expected armaments. “I'm sure the commander will—”

“Omega Lead to all flights; we've got a war frigate babysitting the convoy. Even the Gray wise up eventually,” Commander Isaacs' voice came over the comm. “Alpha and Beta will kill the frigate. Omega, Delta, our mission hasn't changed.”

“Copy that, Lead. Rin, take over flight controls. I'm switching tactical to linear cannon targeting.”

“Got it,” Rin replied. The displays in front of Alisa changed. Flight control shifted from her station to Rin's, allowing her to focus entirely on the weapons. Alisa nudged the stick over, shifting the main gun's aim point to align with the laterally-arranged formation of Gray gunboats. It wasn't long before the tactical display returned a firing solution.

“Target lock confirmed by tactical,” Alisa reported over the comm. “Firing.”

Alisa squeezed the trigger. The massive gun sent vibrations throughout the Lancer's starframe as it discharged. She watched the tactical display as the computer plotted out the shot's trajectory—in a few short moments, the impactor would strike its target.

Alisa glanced at the tactical display and watched as the shots from three linear cannons hit their targets at exactly the same moment. Gray gunboats were instantly converted into rapidly-expanding clouds of pulverized metal and superheated reactor gas. The battlefield was momentarily obscured by the simultaneous explosions.

The tactical display suddenly began flashing a red warning symbol, highlighting the trajectory of her gun's impactor. Alisa frowned and focused the display on her target, but the debris field was too dense for her to get a good picture of what was going on.

“Something's not right, Alisa.”

“There's too much debris; I can't see anything,” Alisa snapped, manipulating the sensor power to cut through the interference caused by the rapidly-dispersing explosions. “What the hell—?”

“The shot didn't hit them!” Rin cried. “Those three gunboats are still alive!”

“Evasive maneuvers, now!” Her order was unnecessary; Rin had already sent the fighter into a dizzying series of dives, rolls and climbs, attempting to avoid the storm of invisible laser pulses that filled the space where the fighter had been only moments before.

“Delta Lead, what the hell just happened?” Commander Isaacs demanded. “Your gunboats are still alive!”

“Something's not right here, Lead,” Alisa replied, switching her weapons over to the short-range guns. “Targeting confirmed a lock, but the shot missed completely! There's no reason that should have happened—”

“Worry about the details later, Delta Lead!” Isaacs ordered. “Make those gunboats dead now! Alpha and Beta can't be worrying about gunboats while they're trying to kill the frigate!”

“Delta isn't going to have enough time,” Omega Two observed.

“I know.” Alisa gripped the stick tightly, trying desperately not to think about the possibility of failure. “Rin, take over missiles! I've got gun pods and navigation.”

“Switched over now,” Rin confirmed.

Alisa's stick loosened up as control of the vessel's maneuvering thrusters were returned to her. She sent the Lancer into a skidding sideways slide across a plane nearly parallel to her original shot's flight path. Alisa fervently hoped that whatever was wrong with the targeting wouldn't affect her other weapons. A problem like that damn well should have been caught by the maintenance techs.

Alisa shook her head fiercely. Now wasn't the time to think about arguing with Lieutenant Moore. Deltas Two, Three and Four had come out of hyperspace practically right on top of the freighters and immediately started blasting away at their engines with everything they had. The gunboats couldn't possibly miss that.

“They're making a run on Lindy.” Rin's voice was shot through with worry.

“I see it.” Alisa manipulated the stick as calmly as she could and increased acceleration. She centered one of the gunboats in her sights and squeezed the trigger a few times in rapid succession, sending a storm of hypervelocity rounds into the larger craft's hull.

“Delta Two is disabled, out of the fight,” Rin reported, her tone becoming increasingly bleak. “Delta Three and Four have low shields and sustained minor damage, but are still flying.”

Alisa opened the inter-flight comm. “Four, get the hell away from there! Evasive, now!”

“I can't, ma'am! The gunboats are—”

“I don't care what the gunboats are doing,” Alisa snapped. “Get your ass out of there, right now!”

“Y-yes, ma'am. Shunting burst banks to shields. Integrity at twenty percent.”

Alisa's face twisted into a scowl as she squeezed the trigger, catching the gunboat across its thruster pod. With perfect timing, Rin launched a rack of missiles, engulfing the damaged Gray gunboat in a firestorm that tore it apart.

“Delta Three is blocked,” Rin reported. “We've got new gunboats wedged between the wing.”

“Four, listen to me,” Alisa fairly shouted into the comm. “Get ahead of me. Try to lure those gunboats out where I can hit them hard!”

“They're staying close to the freighter, ma'am,” Lindy cried. “They know what you're trying to do and I can't—shields are gone, I'm taking fire!”

“Lindy, no,” Alisa protested, wrenching the stick around and shoving her throttle to its stops. She dove hard for the freighter and where the remaining gunboat harassed Delta Four, determined to knock her out of the sky.

“Delta Lead, what are you doing? Kill that gunboat!” Isaacs thundered over the wide-cast.

“I'm doing it, Omega Lead,” Alisa snarled. She flipped her Lancer over and entered a controlled slide, mashing the trigger down and firing at the enemy craft. The gunboat's pilot quickly adjusted, performing a complex maneuver that not only managed to avoid most of Alisa's shots, but placed it squarely behind the retreating fighter.

There wasn't enough time to take it out with the 20mm guns. The gunboat's shields would bear the brunt of the assault more than long enough for it to blast Lindy's fighter out of the sky. Alisa's thumb hit a switch on her stick and she let out a slow breath.

“Alisa, what are you doing?!” Rin demanded, alarmed as she realized Alisa had switched her controls back to the heavy linear cannon. “The main gun isn't—”

“It's definitely off, but I can compensate!”

Alisa forced herself to ignore the concentric squares that made up the targeting reticule, instead letting it drift slightly. The way she'd missed the first shot… it would be possible. She nudged the stick over just slightly and pulled the trigger at the exact moment the Gray gunboat attacked.

The range was almost insignificant. Alisa's impactor blasted through the gunboat and tore it apart. The vessel exploded violently, sending pieces of shattered armor and superstructure scattering out through space.

“Got it! I got it! Four, are you okay?”

There was no answer.

“Rin, get me Delta Four's status, now!”

There was no need. The obscuring cloud of debris, vented reactor plasma and vaporized coolant began to disperse. Alisa yanked up on the stick and threw the Lancer into a forward vertical spin, trying to get a better angle—

“Oh, no,” Rin murmured.

Alisa felt her blood turn to ice water as she realized the explosion was too large to have been caused by a gunboat alone. She watched, helplessly, as the remains of Delta Four's Lancer drifted without control.

The entire aft section of the vessel was ruined. Armor plates and twisted remnants of the fuselage floated away. The main reactor had been struck a glancing hit, hot-glowing plasma leaking from the breach like blood from a terrible wound, but that was hardly the worst of the damage.

The tactical display lit up with critical warnings as the sensors returned data.

“Alisa, we have to get out of here now!” Rin's voice was as fearful as Alisa had ever heard it. It was obvious that she was reading the same data on Delta Four's Lancer. But Alisa couldn't. She couldn't move, couldn't do anything except stare at the flashing red line at the end of the sensor report:

DANGER! Runaway antimatter reaction detected!

Black spots danced in front of Alisa's eyes. She felt sick, her stomach lurching, threatening to eject the food she had eaten only a few hours before. Her hand fell away from the stick, leaving her fighter to continue on its existing vector, bringing them closer to Lindy's stricken ship.

“ALISA!!” Rin screamed, but there was no response. Alisa didn't move, didn't even acknowledge Rin's presence. “Damn it!”

The artificial girl overrode the navigation controls and sent the fighter standing on its aft relative to their previous vector. Shoving the throttle to its stops, Rin sent the Lancer rocketing away at maximum combat acceleration. The aft cameras were still focused on the ruined remains of Delta Four's starfighter, growing smaller and smaller as Rin put distance between them and the doomed vessel.

Warning alarms blared all around Rin in the Lancer's cockpit. She didn't even need to look at the tactical display to know what happened. Consumed by the annihilation energy of the damaged antimatter furnace's runaway reaction, Lindy's ship had vanished in a sphere of brilliant light.

[-]

Rin unfastened her restraints and turned around. Alisa was conscious, her gray eyes open, but they were unfocused, staring off at something not of this world.

“Delta Lead, what the hell's going on?!” Isaacs' voice demanded over the comm channel linked to the entire wing. Alisa didn't respond, made no indication whatsoever that she'd even heard Isaacs at all.

“Delta Lead, acknowledge,” Isaacs repeated.

Rin switched the comm over to her console. “I don't know. Our initial shot missed; system logs show there's a major misalignment of the cannon's aim point. Deltas Two and Three are extravehicular and need a pickup. Delta Four is dead.”

“What is Delta Lead's status?”

Rin turned away from Alisa and dropped back into her seat. “She's not responding to anything. I don't know if she'll be able to continue the mission.”

“What the hell happened, boss?” Lieutenant Whitestone's voice came over the comm.

“Like she said, we don't know yet.” Isaacs kept his tone even and cool. “We'll have to break everything down during the debriefing and after-mission analysis.”

“There were gunboats alive after the initial volley,” Omega Four pointed out. “They weren't ours. All three went down; didn't even know what hit them.”

“Can it, Omega Four,” Isaacs snapped. “This isn't the time or the place, and nobody's going to start pointing fingers at anybody. Stay sharp out here—the Gray very well might try to destroy these freighters themselves to keep them out of our hands.”

Rin entered several more commands, both manually through the console and through her direct hard-link to the Lancer's computer system. It took a bit of doing, but she managed to take control of every single system, routing full control to her console. She felt a surge of relief as her tactical display showed several new friendly contacts in-theater.

“Dropships are incoming,” Rin said into the comm. “The Infiltrator just arrived at the nav point—ETA, two minutes—and the support tender is picking up Deltas Two and Three.”

“Maintain patrol patterns. Alpha, Beta, set up patrol patterns as widely as you can but don't leave the Dominator unguarded.”

“Copy, Omega Lead,” Whitestone replied.

Rin closed the comm channel. She could detect no movement, no sound behind her except for faint, shallow breathing. There was nothing she could do now but complete the mission herself.

A multitude of bright red icons materialized on the tactical display. Rin frowned and tapped a few commands on her console, bringing up the volumetric sensor display for the theater of engagement. It only took a moment before the formation gave away the composition of the incoming Gray ships.

Rin opened the comm on wide-cast. “We've got incoming hostiles. Twenty contacts—a wing of gunboats, three war frigates and a support tender. It's a full battle group.”

“Time to show what we're made of,” Commander Isaacs snarled. “Omega and Delta Lead will get the gunboats. Alpha and Beta, cover us while we clear their screen. They'll deploy in a shell formation around the frigates. Once the screen is down, Alpha and Beta, hit them at long range. Save your cannon ammo for the frigates.”

“Omega Lead, the linear cannon's aim point is drifting.” Rin peered at the diagnostic window, trying to determine if she could fix it on the fly. The report wasn't good. “There's no way I can fix it out here. Delta Lead has no missiles and only 4200 rounds left in the gun pods.”

“Shit,” Isaacs said under his breath. “Delta Lead, the Infiltrator will take out those war frigates. Cover us with suppression fire until the support tender gets here and dock for reloads.”

“Yes, sir. I'll just have to aim very carefully,” Rin replied. “Here they come.”

The shell display projected an image of tightly-grouped gunboats, all flying point for a triad of war frigates surrounding a support tender. The Infiltrator's heavy particle beam would be able to destroy the war frigates in a single well-placed shot, but it would be at least two more minutes before the destroyer would be ready to fire.

“The Infiltrator has arrived in-system,” Isaacs observed over the comm channel. “They're diverting power to the particle beam. Just under two until they can fire—keep the gunboats away!”

Rin's eyes narrowed in determination as she jammed the throttle to its stops. The fighter leaped forward with terrifying acceleration. A veritable wall of gunboats loomed closer in the shell display as her Lancer entered effective targeting range.

“Acquiring targets,” Rin reported over the comm, locking tactical systems onto the individual gunboat's engine signature. She jerked the stick back, sending the fighter into a steep climb relative to her previous vector, narrowly avoiding a storm of invisible laser beams.

The gunboat she picked was one on the edge, an outlier further away from the center of the formation. Rin jiggled the stick to make herself more difficult to hit, still riding on the initial burst of acceleration. The concentric squares of the targeting reticule converged and turned amber.

A storm of 20mm impactors erupted from the Lancer's gun pods, tearing through the armored hull of the gunboat. The precisely-aimed burst of hypervelocity rounds penetrated deeply, destroying subsystems and mangling critical components.

The heavy fighter screamed past the injured Gray gunboat and made a sharp vector change, maneuvering jets flaring, turning the fighter around with a shallow angle-shaped maneuver. The gunboat, drifting aimlessly without helm control, was easy prey. The larger ship exploded in a gout of superheated gas and shattered armor plating.

“Target is down,” Rin reported.

“Two more gunboats down as well.” The commander's voice was low and dangerous, eager with bloodlust. “We've got them. Make it quick and make it painful!”

A chorus of voices answered, “Yes, sir!”

“Acquiring new target.” Rin sent the heavy fighter careening through space in an erratic fight path, designed specifically to appear chaotic and uncontrolled. The Gray's obsession with order and symmetry was an easily-exploited tactic through the use of unstructured tactical maneuvers.

“All fighters, this is the Infiltrator,” a new voice, precise and stern, came over the wide-cast. “Funnel those gunboats into the following coordinates…”

Rin's eyes sparkled as she deduced the plan the captain had in mind. She jammed her throttle to its stops and rocketed back toward Omega Flight, two Gray gunboats in hot pursuit. The Lancer's shields shimmered in protest as a barrage of focused laser pulses struck her ship, but the defensive systems held under the onslaught.

“Omega Flight, I've got two gunboats chasing me,” Rin snapped. “Tactical formation sigma-37; get them in the path of the Infiltrator's big gun! Make them chase you!”

“Omega Lead, this is Alpha Lead. We're beginning our run on the war frigates, synced up with the Infiltrator's gunnery crew.”

“Do it,” Isaacs commanded. Rin felt a surge of astonishment as she watched Omega Lead's Lancer streak across the shell display with no less than four Gray gunboats chasing him. The tactical display flashed in warning around the green marker for his vessel—his shields were almost completely worn down.

“Omega Lead, your shields,” Rin warned.

“I know, Delta Lead,” Isaacs came back. “I'll be okay; burst banks are charged. I'll shunt if they drop.”

Rin felt a strange thrill as data was converted to thought. She knew Isaacs was using Alisa's callsign for her simply because there wasn't time to come up with another one. AI operators weren't supposed to be considered individuals; no AI had ever been given a callsign as far as she knew.

Now wasn't the time for such analysis, however. Rin focused her attention back on the battle and what little she could contribute to it with the meager resources left to her disposal. The 20mm guns were down to under a thousand rounds. She had no missiles and the heavy linear cannon wasn't safe to use in its current state.

Shields at ten percent and falling. It would be close—the Gray's laser weapons were incredibly effective against unshielded hull plating. A single solid hit could vaporize armor, but more importantly would impart tremendous amounts of heat the Lancer wouldn't be able to dissipate. Rin might survive such a flash-heating, but Alisa would not.

Rin sent a mental command to the computer to shunt the burst capacitor load into the vessel's shields. The fighter's tactical display complied immediately, and the charge stored in the burst capacitors flooded into the shields, instantly spiking them back up to just above forty percent integrity.

“We're almost there!” Isaacs' voice thundered over the comm. “Boost, now!”

Rin complied and felt the acceleration press on her as the boost thrusters sent her vessel into a dizzying charge forward. The large counter on the tactical display reached zero mere microseconds after she crossed the firing zone.

The space behind her was suddenly enveloped in a vast purple-white column of light as the Infiltrator's enormous particle beam weapon released a torrent of firepower, a flood of deadly energetic particles moving at relativistic velocities.

The gunboats all fell for the trap. The small combat vessels were obliterated by the sheer power of the beam. Rin watched as the rest of the highly-coordinated attack took place on the shell display—one of the war frigates tried to evade, to turn enough to avoid a direct hit, but it was too late. The particle beam slammed with titanic force into the port side of the Gray capital ship, heating the hull plates to incandescence. A massive explosion engulfed the war frigate as the beam punched through and blew out the opposite side.

As the particle beam winked out of existence, disappearing almost as quickly as it appeared, the two remaining war frigates simultaneously suffered a quartet of crippling explosions as the linear cannon shots fired by Alpha and Beta units hit their targets.

“The gunboats are dead and the frigates are nearly so,” Isaacs said. “Alpha and Beta, mop up. Omega and Delta Lead, establish regular patrol patterns until our relief arrives.”

“What about the Dominator and the marines?” Beta Lead asked.

“The marines have finished their sweep and the freighters are clean. Our Intelligence people will be taking over from here on out. The Obliterator will arrive in-system in an hour and deploy the 215th Versatile Fighter Wing to guard the freighters and the Dominator until they can figure out what we can learn from them.”

“I'm almost out of ammunition,” Rin informed the commander.

“Tender's on its way, Delta Lead,” Isaacs assured her. “What do you have left?”

“Nine hundred 20mm rounds. No missiles. Nineteen 84mm impactors, but the heavy linear cannon is unusable.”

“Sit tight until the tender arrives. We've got some time until the 215 takes over.”

Rin resisted the urge to glance back at Alisa. There was nothing she'd be able to do until they docked with the Infiltrator.

“Copy, Omega Lead.”

[-]

The Obliterator arrived on schedule an hour later. The 215th Versatile Fighter Wing sortied, pouring out of the huge destroyer's fighter bay and fanned out around the crippled Gray freighters. Rin watched the tactical display as the relief wing positioned themselves in optimum patrol paths, the agile Archer-class multirole fighters cruising gently through the void.

“Alisa?”

There was no response. Rin unfastened her restraints and turned in her seat, but she already knew what she'd see: Alisa hadn't moved except for slight changes in position caused by the inertial bleed-through. Her eyes were heavy-lidded, only half open and seemed to look at nothing.

Rin frowned and turned around in the seat, settling back in. It was no use talking to Alisa right now. It wasn't as if Rin didn't feel it, too—she felt something empty and dark and cold. It was unsettling and deeply unpleasant. Through the link they shared, however, Rin could only feel emptiness.

Lindy had been her friend, even more than she had been Alisa's friend. The woman had been forced to join a fighter wing to satisfy her father's political ambitions. She hadn't wanted to be here, but she made the best of her situation. Alisa and Rin's efforts had helped her survive this long.

If it hadn't been for us.

But no. It happened anyway. Lindy was still dead. Rin wouldn't be able to see her shy smile again, wouldn't be able to watch her grow bolder and more bubbly after three or four glasses of that white wine she favored.

Alisa had been hit harder by Lindy's death than Rin and the artificial girl knew why. It was more than just losing a close friend—a friend Alisa had desperately tried not to make, had done everything in her power to try and keep at arm's length. Rin hadn't allowed it and Lindy got close to the both of them, and now Lindy was dead.

The loss of her parents, the loss of Lindy, the weight of failing to eliminate her targets all weighed heavily on Alisa's mind. Rin was savvy enough to understand that this wouldn't be the end of the pain, either. There would be an inquiry, a hearing to determine if Alisa was responsible for the loss of Delta Four.

“All flights of the 703, this is Omega Lead,” Isaacs weary voice came over the wide-cast. “Return to the Infiltrator. The 215 has relieved us and will take over from here on out. We're behind schedule, so get moving.”

There was general assent over the wide-cast. Rin's lips twitched slightly as she aligned the fighter with the command ship's docking guidance systems. The fighter bay door opened and the Lancer sedately cruised through the curtain barrier, coming to stop gently near a boarding catwalk.

“Unsealing hatches and raising command pod,” Rin recited. She spoke to fill the silence, to try and fix some sort of normalcy into Alisa's mind. Even if Rin had no indication that Alisa could even process words, she still had to make the attempt. The artificial girl had no idea why it seemed like such a good idea, but she didn't bother to analyze further.

The shell display went dark as the command pod lifted up and out of the fighter, opening and allowing the air of the fighter bay, redolent with grease and ozone, to wash over the two of them.

“Come on, Alisa, let's go,” Rin said as she climbed out of her seat and onto the catwalk. Alisa didn't move or respond, her gray eyes staring unblinkingly out the open launch bay doors, gazing through the curtain barrier at the void beyond.

“Alisa, come on,” Rin urged. “The maintenance crew will be here in just a minute and they don't need you in their way.”

“Rin…” Alisa murmured, so faintly that Rin could barely pick up the sound. Rin extended a hand to help Alisa onto the catwalk, pulling her up and out of the fighter's cockpit module. She stumbled, leaning heavily in Rin's arms, seeming to wilt right there on the catwalk.

“Take her somewhere to lie down.”

Rin turned slightly and looked up at Commander Isaacs. The gruff and seasoned veteran wore a very different expression than usual. Replacing his customary look of focused determination was one of worry and not a small amount of pity. His dark eyes, usually so flinty and impenetrable, had become liquid blots.

“I'll take her back to our cabin,” Rin promised.

“Thank you, Rin. This is already a mess—and it's only going to get worse.”

“I know,” Rin agreed. “Something isn't right, Commander.”

Isaacs lifted an eyebrow quizzically. “Oh?”

“For now it's just my unproven hypothesis,” Rin admitted, “but I'm not going to leave it alone. If I find something that looks out of place, I will make sure you know about it as soon as possible.”

“I appreciate it. Oh, and Rin?”

“Yes, Commander?”

“I'd like to apologize for my initial coldness toward you,” the commander said. “I shouldn't have been so quick to judge you unfairly. You've proven yourself to be a loyal and skilled member of the 703 time and time again.”

“Thank you, sir.” Ordinarily Rin would have been pleased about breaking down such a barrier, but she felt nothing but uneasiness. She knew just as well as the commander did that this incident was unlikely to simply blow over.

“Come on, love,” Rin murmured into Alisa's ear as Isaacs walked away. “Let's go back to the cabin and rest for a while.”

“But the mission—”

“The mission is over. Commander Isaacs just ordered me to take you somewhere to rest, and that's what I'm going to do.”

“But—”

“Don't argue with me, Alisa,” Rin cut her off as gently as possible. “Let's go.”

Alisa said nothing as Rin carefully guided her through the hallways. After reaching the corridors leading to the other parts of E Deck, they encountered no other crew members. The crew would still be on alert until the Infiltrator jumped out of the system and onto their next objective.

It took several minutes to reach their shared cabin. Alisa moved only when Rin urged her to, and even then she moved extremely slowly. Rin opened the door and led Alisa to the edge of the bed they shared before turning up the lights. The artificial girl took a few extra moments to seal the door behind them with an especially tough encrypted lock. No one would be able to come in without Rin's authorization, not even Commander Isaacs or Captain Zachary.

Alisa simply sat on the edge of the bed, unmoving, still wearing her hardsuit and heavy mag-boots. Rin shook her head, trying to avoid feelings of frustration and helplessness. She would do what she could—anything she could—to help Alisa get through this.

“Alisa, let's get that hardsuit off, okay?”

“Mm.”

Shakily, Alisa unfastened her hardsuit gloves. Rin helped by crouching down and unsealing the mag-boots, pulling the heavy footwear off and setting it down near the table. There would be time to pack away the hardsuits later. Now there were more important things to worry about.

“There, isn't that better?” Rin asked a few minutes later, pieces of both hardsuits scattered around. Alisa still sat on the bed, apparently unaware or not caring that she had no clothing on.

“Better…”

“Lift your arms up, love,” Rin instructed. Alisa complied, her arms reaching over her head as Rin dressed her partner in a loose shirt woven of some soft synthetic material. “You'll have to put the rest on yourself, unless you want me to pick you up.”

“I can.” Alisa stood up slowly, as if in a daze, and stepped into the gauzy skirt Rin had provided her, pulling it up around her waist. The woman promptly sat back down in exactly the same spot as before.

Rin felt an indescribably cold and sharp pain in her heart—Alisa's emotions were cascading through the link unabated, she recognized. The part of her that was still a computer could recognize this and marvel in the novelty of it, but the rest of her that was a coherent and evolved consciousness could feel nothing but hurt.

“Alisa, it wasn't your fault,” Rin lied, sitting down next to the other on the edge of the bed. She wrapped an arm gently around Alisa's back and pulled close, leaning her head on Alisa's shoulder.

“But she's dead,” Alisa whispered.

“I know,” Rin replied. “Lindy was my friend. I'll never get to see her again. I won't get to hear her laugh. I won't be able to see her blush when you admonish her for being so formal. I won't get to share a meal with her. All I can do is relive the time we spent together, but I'll never be able to add to that again.”

“Then you should hate me, too,” Alisa pointed out, her voice barely audible. “I killed your friend. I killed Lindy.”

“Don't you dare talk like that, Alisa.” Rin shook her head slowly. “You did not kill Lindy Meyers.”

“But I shot her,” Alisa objected. “It's my fault.”

“The linear cannon's aim point was misaligned.” Rin took her partner's hand and squeezed it gently. “I pulled the data from the ship and I'm going to analyze it myself. I'm going to find out what's going on.”

“It's because we didn't test the modifications thoroughly,” Alisa said, blinking her eyes a few times. Her voice grew more desperate. “Why didn't I listen to you?”

Rin watched as tears ran down the woman's cheeks.

“I'm going to do it anyway,” Rin stated.

Alisa looked away. “Why? It was my fault. I shot her.”

“Because when we checked everything before the mission I didn't find anything out of the ordinary,” Rin insisted. “I checked the linear cannon twice and it was fine.”

Alisa didn't respond to that.

“Lie down, love,” Rin told her, reaching out to guide Alisa, helping her stretch out on the bed. Rin pulled off one of the spare blankets and pulled it over her partner's body, making sure she was comfortably warm.

“I…”

“Shh… just sleep for now,” Rin whispered in a soothing tone. “You're exhausted. I'll handle everything, first thing in the morning. You need to rest.”

Alisa tried to stifle a yawn but was unsuccessful. Rin squeezed in bed next to her, brushing her fingertips through her partner's red curls, sending gentle emotions through the neural link in such a way that lulled the distraught Alisa into a shallow slumber.

Rin felt the corners of her mouth turn up in a sad smile as Alisa, already asleep, curled more tightly around the girl, nestling her head against Rin's chest. Her breathing became more regular and even, the haunted expression that had marred her face only minutes before fading away.

17

The next morning, Rin blinked as she came out of her low-power state. It was quite early, but most of the crew would already be up and about already attending their duties. Alisa still slumbered peacefully, her rest unmarred by nightmares largely due to Rin's presence.

Still, she had promised to find answers. Moving carefully, Rin managed to disentangle herself from Alisa's sleeping form without waking her. She dressed herself quickly and left the small cabin, sealing the door behind her. Something very wrong was happening on the Infiltrator and she didn't want to take any chances at all.

Her initial analysis of the systems data pulled from their fighter showed her that the linear cannon's aim point had drifted by 3.91 micrometers—a huge error in calibration that would ruin the fighter's ability to hit anything accurately beyond a few hundred meters.

The trajectory data for the impactors fired confirmed Rin's findings—mathematical analysis of the firing vector clearly illustrated just how badly the gun was out of whack. It wasn't even close; at their range the impactor missed the gunboats by almost a hundred kilometers!

There's no way the techs could have missed this. Lieutenant Moore was just too much of a perfectionist. None of her subordinates would have overlooked such an obvious error unintentionally. The damage sustained during the fight shouldn't have been enough to cause that much drift. That left the admittedly unlikely possibility that the error was introduced on purpose.

Rin frowned, considering all possible angles. If a saboteur had wanted to kill them, they would have done something to the Lancer's shields. It was completely impossible to engage the Gray at close range without taking hits—laser weapons struck their target at the speed of light, of course, and only by confusing the targeting systems on the enemy gunboats could Alliance pilots reasonably expect to avoid laser fire. Sabotaging the Lancer's shields so that they appeared to function when they actually did not would have been the best way to seal their fate.

I know three different ways that could have been done, Rin mused as she walked toward the lift that would take her to E Deck Aft. No, the saboteur's purpose wasn't to kill Alisa. It was to cause her to botch her mission in the most obvious way possible while leaving her with a very good chance of survival.

But why? Why would anyone want to do such a thing? Rin immediately thought of several possibilities, but the most likely one was that the saboteur wished to tarnish Alisa's reputation, force her rising star to set early. Whomever had tampered with the linear cannon's aim point failed to disable the rest of the Lancer's weaponry. The more Rin analyzed the situation, the more it made sense.

Rin considered the scenario for a moment, trying to determine if any of Alisa's fellows could have done this. She came back with little more than inconclusive data. Out of all those who regularly made contact with Alisa, only Erin Blake seemed to care much about directly competing with Alisa. Rin discounted her involvement immediately—Blake's sense of personal honor would not allow her to win unfairly through cheating. The woman would never have risked potential court-martial and dishonorable discharge simply to win a one-sided rivalry.

None of the other pilots in the 703 fit, either. It was a dead end. She'd have to expand her inferences beyond their immediate peers.

Rin took the lift down and stepped out onto E Deck Aft. A short walk took her directly into the fighter bay. Sixteen Lancer-class heavy fighters were arrayed throughout the deck in various stages of repair. She noticed immediately that not only had Alisa's fighter been sequestered away from the rest of the wing but that its armor hadn't even been stripped yet. No maintenance personnel were anywhere near the fighter.

The artificial girl reached out and grabbed a passing maintenance technician by the sleeve of his well-worn jumpsuit. The man's body jerked as he attempted to keep moving but was unable to shake off her iron grip.

“What is it? Can't you see I'm busy?”

“Where can I find Lieutenant Moore?” Rin demanded. “I need to speak with her immediately.”

The man gave her a cold stare. “She's in her office. I need to get back to work.”

Rin nodded, releasing the man's sleeve. Moore's office was located at the bottom of the cavernous hangar in the corner nearest to Rin's current location. She turned and began weaving and dodging her way through the techs, managing to avoid colliding with any of them.

The door to Moore's office was sealed, but that wasn't a problem for Rin. She connected to the local network and overrode the door lock within the space of a few nanoseconds, not even breaking her stride.

“How did you get in here?” Moore didn't bother glancing up from her terminal. “The door was locked.”

“There isn't a door on this ship I can't open.” Rin tried to keep the scowl dominating her face from deepening. “I came to ask you a few questions.”

“You could have just knocked, you know,” Moore pointed out, her tone dry. “I would have let you in.”

“Why did Alisa's Lancer get pulled from the maintenance stack?”

“Orders,” Moore replied. “Captain Zachary called me about an hour ago and told me to pull the Lancer from the maintenance stack and make sure nobody went near it. We're not even allowed to refuel and rearm it.”

Rin blinked, surprised. “What?”

“I don't know. I was explicitly ordered to keep my techs away from that fighter and make sure nobody touches it. The captain sent a few marines to keep watch so I don't have to—they ought to be arriving soon.”

“Did you check the weapons systems on the fighter before our mission?”

“Of course I did,” Moore snapped, sounding insulted that Rin had questioned her professionalism. “I always check. Everything was fine. The modifications to the command pod and housing changed mass distribution and profiles but we managed to get it taken care of.”

“Was there any time gap between your checks and when we launched?”

“Sure,” Moore explained, “but that's normal. Delta Lead's Lancer was checked out at 1055 hours.”

A gap of an hour and five minutes. “Thanks.”

“Don't mention it,” Moore muttered. “Really don't mention it—to anyone. I wasn't explicitly ordered not to give out any information, but you aren't officially an officer in the Fleet and don't have clearance without your lady present.”

Rin nodded. “Thank you. If anything happens to you because you told me, I'll talk to Commander Isaacs about it.”

Moore's lip twisted thoughtfully. “That's not as reassuring as I'm sure you thought it would be. Get the hell out of here, Rin. I've got work to do.”

Rin turned and left the office. Moments later she was back on the lift. She needed to talk to Commander Isaacs and quickly. The debriefing had been completed some time ago—it was likely that Isaacs was in his office on A Deck near the command module.

The lift doors opened moments later and Rin kept walking through the corridors, ignoring anyone she came across. Several crew members stared at her blankly, but nobody dared try to stop her.

It was only a short few minutes before her rapid pace brought her up to the office of Commander Isaacs. Like the maintenance officer's, the door was sealed, but Rin decided against antagonizing the commander and simply knocked.

There was only a slight pause before door slid open and Rin strode inside. Isaacs sat behind his desk, his eyes scanning over a quartet of terminal displays. Data scrolled across the screens and Rin immediately started recording and archiving every bit of information she could gather. While the artificial girl knew Isaacs to be a good person and someone she could trust, she didn't believe the same about his superiors.

The commander stiffened in his chair. “I didn't send for you. Why are you here? You should be with Alisa.”

“What's going on, Commander?” Rin demanded. “Why is Alisa's fighter being kept off-limits? Why is it going to be handed over to an Alliance investigative team?”

“Sorry, Rin, but you aren't cleared for that information,” Isaacs told her, but his expression imparted much more. Rin suspected that the commander wasn't being very forthcoming due to the ship-wide surveillance system. Eyes and ears were everywhere on board an Alliance warship.

Rin's eyes flickered with faint amethyst light as she activated one of the special features built into her body. The signal dampening had a very short range—it would only extend perhaps a half-dozen meters at most—but it was more than strong enough to interfere with the office's listening devices and ensure their privacy.

“I'm projecting a signal dampening field,” Rin informed him. “I can only maintain it for a few minutes before it stops looking like a malfunction. We've got a few minutes of privacy at most.”

“I appreciate it.” Isaacs let out a slow breath. He seemed to relax considerably, sinking deeper into his chair. Rin waited anxiously as Isaacs lifted a glass of cool water to his lips and swallowed.

“I'll answer the obvious questions first: I don't know what's going on. The situation is almost completely out of my hands. Captain Zachary has ordered the Infiltrator to make an emergency jump to return to Sirius Colony.”

Rin's hands clenched into fists at her sides. “What?! Is Captain Zachary insane? If we leave now we forfeit almost all of the gains we've made in the past two months! Half the recon probes we've sent out haven't even returned yet.”

“You aren't telling me anything I don't already know.” Isaacs stood up and walked around his desk, pacing back and forth in the small room. Rin imagined the commander had more than a little restless energy to be working off. He was likely furious with the captain for the return order—leaving the no-man's-land before the Infiltrator's tour of duty was complete would at best allow the Gray to reinforce their positions.

At worst…

“Why would Captain Zachary jeopardize the entire mission over this? More than that, why has our Lancer been pulled from the maintenance stack and put under around-the-clock guard?”

Isaacs stopped his pacing. “Politics.”

Rin didn't respond to that. Instead, she fluctuated the dampening erratically, leveraging her considerable processing power to make it look as much like a natural malfunction as she could. It was clear the commander didn't feel safe even speculating about the situation despite Rin's assurances that they wouldn't be overheard.

“I can't hold the field any longer without arousing suspicion,” Rin told him. “If you want to tell us just what the hell is going on, you know where to find us, of course.”

Rin turned around and walked out of the office without another word. The door slid shut behind her, returning the commander to his solitude. There wasn't much she could do at this point other than try to help pull Alisa out of her grief. Commander Isaacs' uncharacteristic behavior told Rin that Alisa would need to be operating at full capacity as soon as possible.

The lift took Rin back down to D Deck and she moved through the corridors. She allowed herself a small smile when she noticed the special lock she'd set was still in place. It hadn't even been tampered with, which was good—it meant that nobody had tried to come and place Alisa under guard just yet.

The door opened silently when Rin disengaged the lock. She sealed it once again behind her. If anyone wanted to get through that door, they'd have to cut it open, she thought with satisfaction.

Alisa was no longer asleep. She had managed to sit up on the bed and was holding her TCC in her hand. Rin felt her frustration and anger collapse when she saw the image Alisa was gazing at.

It was a small two-dimensional photo, taken with the comm handset's camera sensor. Inside the frame was Alisa, Rin and Lindy, all crowded together in a friendly embrace. Rin stood between the two pilots, a catlike smile plastered on her face, her arms wrapped around each woman's waist. Lindy looked a bit piqued, grinning widely and holding a glass of white wine in her free hand. Alisa looked faintly embarrassed, her cheeks stained pink and a nervous smile curving her lips.

“Alisa, did you sleep well?” Rin inquired.

“I… I was cold, so I woke up.” Alisa voice was thick and childish. Rin watched her for a long moment before saying anything else. Alisa sat stock-still, staring at that picture. Every twenty seconds she tapped the touchscreen of her handset to keep the device from sleeping, but otherwise she didn't move, didn't make a sound.

“Alisa,” Rin prodded.

The woman didn't respond.

“Alisa, you need to pull yourself together,” Rin urged. “This isn't over yet. There's going to be an investigation. The maintenance chief was ordered to pull our Lancer out of the maintenance stack. Commander Isaacs doesn't know anything.”

Alisa didn't say anything.

“Alisa, wake the hell up,” Rin snapped, growing increasingly impatient. “The captain ordered the Infiltrator to abandon our mission and return to Sirius. You could face a court-martial! You have to snap out of this or we won't be able to prove that you're innocent.”

“But I'm not innocent,” Alisa murmured. “I shot her and her ship exploded.”

Rin ignored her partner's admission of guilt. “I've been analyzing the data from the targeting and weapons systems. The linear cannon's aim point was off by 3.91 micrometers. That's a huge discrepancy—short of a direct collision with another vessel, there's no way that could happen by accident.”

Still nothing.

“I talked to Lieutenant Moore,” Rin went on, “and she told me that our Lancer had checked out within tolerances. She inspected it personally, Alisa, an hour and five minutes before we were scheduled to launch.”

Some semblance of understanding seemed to glimmer within Alisa's eyes.

“The briefing…”

“Yes, we were in the briefing then,” Rin confirmed, her voice growing more excited as Alisa began to follow her words more closely. “We didn't get out of the briefing until 1130. There was a full thirty-five minutes where the ship was left unattended, between the pre-flight and when we launched. More than enough time to sabotage the linear cannon—I could have done it myself in under ten minutes if nobody was watching closely. Fifteen or twenty if I had to hide what I was doing from someone.”

“But you checked,” Alisa murmured.

“I did, but that proves my point even further. If the drift was accidental the system would have caught it, but it didn't. Someone introduced error into the control systems so the misalignment would go unnoticed. Not only that—the alignment error fluctuated. This couldn't have been anything but intentional.”

Alisa didn't say anything.

“Don't you get it, love?” Rin demanded, almost shouting, her face only a few centimeters away from Alisa's. “You didn't kill Lindy.”

“I… what are you talking about, Rin? I shot her. Lindy's dead. I killed her.”

“Your impactor hit Lindy's Lancer,” Rin growled, “because someone on the Infiltrator is a traitor to the Alliance and sabotaged your ship.”

“I… but I shot her.” Tears sprang from Alisa's eyes and rolled down her cheeks. “It's my fault she died.”

“No,” Rin said in a tone so cold and dark that even Alisa, in her current state, was visibly taken aback. “Someone arranged for this to happen. Someone is trying to use you, use the both of us, for their own purposes. That someone caused Lindy's death—and I fully intend to find out who it was.”

[-]

Commander Andrew Isaacs stood before the black, star-studded expanse of interstellar space and sighed heavily. The “window” was actually a huge two-dimensional display panel that covered the entire far wall of the captain's ready room, capturing recorded images from one of the Infiltrator's thousands of camera arrays. It could change and alter based on commands entered in through a gesture-controlled holographic terminal set into the floor in front of it.

At the moment, Captain Zachary had cleared the relevant tactical data, updates and various other miscellany that usually filled the sides and top of the large display, leaving only the empty blackness, broken up by distant stars glimmering, some faintly, others more brightly.

Zachary placed his hands on his desk. “At ease, Commander. Take a seat.”

Isaacs did as he was bade. “Yes, sir.”

“What did you wish to talk with me about? You were quite insistent on speaking with me privately.”

“Begging the captain's pardon,” Isaacs began, careful to keep his tone as neutral as possible, “but I do not understand why we are abandoning our mission. If we leave the sector now with our task unfinished, we will lose sixteen recon probes to the Gray at the very least. At worst, the pause in our hit-and-fade strikes against Gray outposts will embolden them to further reinforce the border systems and capture their jump gates.”

“High Command has ordered us to return. The Nightshade will be continuing our mission where we left off,” Zachary informed him, naming one of the Alliance's seven stealth destroyers currently in active service.

“That's gratifying to hear, Captain.” Isaacs didn't bother to conceal his surprise. He studied the captain's slender, aristocratic features, trying to find some hint of what might lurk beneath that bland facade.

Zachary drummed his fingers against his desk. “Good, Commander. Is that all you wished to speak with me about?”

“I am sorry, Captain, but you never answered my question,” Isaacs objected. “Perhaps you could explain it to me in detail why the Infiltrator was ordered to leave a delicate operation hanging and return to Sirius.”

“Commander, please, don't insult my intelligence.” Zachary's voice took on a patronizing edge that grated on Isaacs' nerves. “We've known each other for a while now—how long has it been?”

“Five years.”

“Five years,” Zachary repeated. “Commander, we are warriors and soldiers. We do not question our orders—we follow them.”

Isaacs shrugged, dropping all pretense and cutting to the heart of the matter. “Why have you circumvented my command of my own subordinates? If Lieutenant-Commander Pierce is to be court-martialed, it is my duty to oversee the process. With all due respect, Captain, you have overstepped the limits of your authority.”

“The issue is not up for debate, Commander,” Zachary retorted.

“Pierce isn't a terrorist,” Isaacs argued, refusing to let it drop. “She just made a bad call in the middle of a shit situation. We've both been there—I've made decisions in my career that ended up costing the lives of those under my command. So have you.”

“Indeed we have.” Zachary reached inside his desk cooler and drew out a glass of ice-cold filtered water. “But neither of us killed a subordinate with our own hands. This incident, coupled with Pierce's already eccentric behavior, has prompted the Alliance to reconsider its course.”

“Captain, permission to speak freely?”

Zachary stared at Isaacs in such a manner that told him the ice under his feet was becoming increasingly thin. “You may.”

“Thank you, sir. I strongly object to confining the lieutenant-commander. Not only is such action unwarranted and excessively cruel in this case, but it is very likely illegal. You know as well as I do that you don't have to follow an illegal order.”

The captain seemed unfazed by Isaacs' outburst. “It may not be standard procedure, but it isn't illegal, Commander. Try not to engage in theatrics, please. We're not throwing her in a dungeon. She will simply be confined to quarters until we arrive. The Internal Investigation Division will transfer her to a detention facility on Sirius until the hearing.”

“Captain, Alisa needs to be in a hospital, not a cell,” Isaacs retorted, his growing anger bunching up the corners of his mouth. “Her mental state is on the verge of collapse—what do you think letting IID toss her in a cell is going to do?”

“Commander, this is not up for negotiation. Pierce will be confined to quarters until we arrive on Sirius Colony. Despite what you might think of me, I am not a horrible ogre—when the Infiltrator arrives, Pierce will receive any necessary medical treatment before her detainment. The Alliance will ensure she is cared for humanely.”

“I don't like it.” The commander of the 703rd Hyperspace Assault Wing glowered at the captain, unwilling to back down. “This isn't how things should be handled. This isn't justice, Captain, and you know it.”

“It isn't that simple, Andrew.” Zachary took a long drink from his glass. “This is not about what I want; it is about what is best for the Alliance. Lieutenant-Commander Pierce has always run up against the limits of what the Fleet would tolerate, never quite crossing the line. Unfortunately, she has crossed it now—and it won't be long before the press ensures everyone knows it.”

Isaacs' expression darkened. “There was a leak?”

“Yes. We aren't quite sure how,” Zachary explained, “but the leak would have had to come from the Infiltrator. Unfortunately, Security hasn't yet managed to discern who was responsible. Most likely it was a crew member attempting to supplement their salary, but who can say for sure?”

“Wonderful.”

“We cannot ignore this, Andrew,” Zachary continued.

“No.” Isaacs shook his head. “No, I'll take care of it. I'll talk to Alisa myself. She'll take it better if it comes from me.”

“There is also the matter of the AI operator. I've issued a temporary control code authorization to the Infiltrator's security chief, Sergeant Kobayashi.” The captain sipped at his glass of ice water, contemplating the condensation on the outside of the glass before continuing. “Command wants both Alisa Pierce and her AI operator transferred into custody as soon as we dock with Sirius Colony.”

“So that's it, then?”

“That's it,” the captain agreed. “Perhaps this regrettable situation could have been avoided completely, had we taken more aggressive steps to secure such a loose cannon on the ramparts.”

Isaacs glared at his commanding officer. “Captain, don't pull that shit with me. It was all authorized—we were told to leave her alone and let her do whatever she wanted. And you know what? It doesn't even matter. Alisa still excels at her job. She's still a better pilot than anyone on this ship.”

“Including you?”

“Including me.” Isaacs turned around and pierced Zachary with a cold stare. “This is wrong, Captain. This isn't fair nor is it justice, but misplaced vengeance. I can't believe you're just going along with this. Allowing a civilian like Meyers to dictate terms to the Alliance Fleet—I don't care how wealthy and powerful he is. It's disgusting.”

Zachary's bland mask finally cracked beneath the weight of his subordinate's vicious castigation. “Enough! I have been far more lenient with you than I must, but I will not tolerate such insubordination. You will follow your orders. Is there anything else?”

“No, sir.”

“Then I leave it in your capable hands,” Zachary said, his voice holding an edge of finality. “Thank you for your time, Commander. Dismissed.”

“Yes, sir,” Isaacs replied without any real feeling. He turned around and walked toward the door, leaving Zachary alone in his ready room and himself alone with an ever-increasing number of disturbing thoughts.

[-]

The door chime sounded.

“It's Commander Isaacs,” Rin observed, easily detecting the commander on the other side of the thin metal shutter. Alisa didn't say anything, but at least she turned to stare at the sealed door.

“I'm going to let him in.” Rin's eyes flickered slightly, their inner glow much more visible in the dim light of the cabin. Alisa blinked her eyes a few times as the door slid open soundlessly. Commander Isaacs stood in full uniform, his pilot's beret atop his head and a gloomy expression marring his usual gruff countenance.

“May I come in?”

“Yes, sir. I'll shut the door behind you. Have a seat at the table.”

Isaacs walked inside and sat down. “Thank you, Rin.”

“I placed a software lock on the door so strong it would take Systems a year and a half to hack through. Nobody can open that door except me.” Then her expression became considerably more grim. “Go ahead and say what you came to say. I know just from looking at you that it can't possibly be good.”

Isaacs took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “The captain has received orders instructing him have the two of you taken into custody. The both of you will be confined to quarters until the Infiltrator docks with Sirius Colony, whereupon you will be relinquished to the Internal Investigation Division.”

Rin's glower intensified. “There was a leak.”

“It's plastered all over the news feeds,” Isaacs confirmed. “Someone on board the Infiltrator apparently leaked the entire mission log sometime last night. Captain Zachary suspects one of the crew figured they could make a little extra money selling the information to a reporter.”

“Possible, but unlikely.” Rin frowned and glanced over at Alisa, who sat on the bed still, her eyes avoiding Commander Isaacs as much as possible.

“You said you would look into this, Rin,” Isaacs said, steering the conversation back on track. “What conclusion did you reach?”

“I can't prove it conclusively, but we were set up.” Rin tapped the side of her head as she gazed at Commander Isaacs. “I've run the data sets over a thousand times—and when I say that, I actually mean it. Our Lancer's heavy linear cannon was intentionally sabotaged.”

Isaacs blinked. “But why?”

“I don't know,” Rin admitted. “The system logs don't tell me anything about motive. All I know is that someone on the Infiltrator sabotaged our Lancer so that any attempt to use the heavy linear cannon would result in failure.”

“Which subsequently resulted in the death of Flight Officer Lindy Meyers,” Isaacs finished for her. “That's pretty thin.”

“I know it's thin, and it's impossible to say if Lindy's death was intentional or simply a coincidence. But the data is abundantly clear. It would be physically impossible for the aim point to drift that way on its own. Alignment errors just don't get exponentially worse that quickly.”

The mention of Lindy's name seemed to stir something inside Alisa. She lifted her head up and stared intently at the commander, as if she had not noticed his presence before now.

“Commander… ?”

Isaacs stared at the woman in disbelief. He couldn't believe how different she looked after only a little over a day. Her face was even paler than usual, the dark circles under her eyes standing out starkly. Alisa's gray eyes were dull and lifeless. Wild curls of reddish-brown stuck out at all angles—that was perhaps the most telling indication. Even Isaacs knew how much attention Alisa usually lavished on her hair.

The moment of contact didn't last long. The light in Alisa's eyes, what little there was, soon faded and she resumed staring off into nothing, her breathing so slow and shallow that Isaacs could barely tell she was alive.

“She hasn't been responding to much of anything I say or do,” Rin explained. “I don't know for sure, but I think she's in shock over what happened. Withdrawing like this might be the only way she can cope with the pain.”

Isaacs frowned. “I hope she recovers quickly.”

“I know,” Rin said. “What do you suggest, Commander?”

“There's not much I can do but advocate for the two of you,” Isaacs admitted. “If Alisa is court-martialed and goes to trial, the prosecution will probably attempt to show a pattern of negligence starting with Flight Officer Daniels' death—”

“That's bullshit,” Rin snapped.

“We know it's bullshit, but the tribunal won't necessarily know that. Even if the defense presents the logs that show Daniels was a glory hound who managed to get himself shot down.”

The two of them said nothing for a long moment. Rin gazed fondly at Alisa, the feelings of worry and fear growing inside her mind by the minute.

“In her current state I don't think Alisa will be able to handle a court-martial. If the captain hadn't taken leave of his senses, I'd be carrying her down to April's office,” Rin murmured, smoothing her partner's hair softly with one hand. Alisa's eyelids fluttered slightly and closed, her breathing slowing and becoming more regular as she drifted off into the oblivion of sleep.

Isaacs glanced at Alisa and sighed. “There's a possibility I might be able to push for a nullification and mental health discharge if Dr. Lynne would testify during the hearing. But that would mean—”

“That Alisa's career as an Alliance starfighter pilot would end forever,” Rin finished for him. “Commander, is there anything else we can do?”

Isaacs shrugged. “Legally? No, this is about the best we can hope for. The hearing probably won't be scheduled for at least a month. I'll do my best to try and convince the Alliance to reconsider.”

Rin didn't say anything.

“There's a whole process involved in prosecuting a soldier in the Alliance. There will be hearings, conferences. It'll take time, and the Alliance will not begin the process unless Alisa is fully in command of her faculties. It's not a hopeless condemnation.”

“Do you really believe that, Commander?”

Isaacs seemed to wilt, his burly shoulders slumping. “No. I'm trying to convince myself, but no, I don't. If it were anyone else besides Flight Officer Meyers, I'd believe it. I'd be willing to stake my career on it. This, though… this has become political. The trial won't be about determining whether or not Alisa Pierce was a negligent leader.”

Rin looked away. “Everyone with an agenda will be trying to make the trial about their cause. Council control of the military. AI rights and regulations. The legality and morality of pair-linking. Pro-Meyers. Anti-Meyers. Take your pick; there will likely be more.”

“It doesn't matter which political agenda gets brought up, does it?” Isaacs shifted uncomfortably in his seat. “The both of you will end up broken regardless.”

Rin sat down on the edge of the bed next to Alisa, caressing her partner's arm gently. Alisa's skin felt cold and clammy, and she did not react at all to the soothing gesture. “So we're fucked either way. What if we could find something that would prove without a doubt that Alisa couldn't possibly have been at fault?”

“Then the Alliance wouldn't have a choice but to declare Alisa blameless,” Isaacs replied, his expression becoming curious. “Assuming such proof even exists and assuming anyone is actually interested in looking for it to begin with.”

“You are.”

Isaacs sighed deeply. “What I think doesn't matter. I'm just a wing commander. Sure, the 703 is a celebrated unit, famous within the service for the difficult missions we take on and successfully complete. Politically, though, I'm a non-entity.”

Rin knew there was another possibility, but it would involve revealing to Isaacs information that could place her in terrible jeopardy. Outside of simple self-preservation, however, Rin was not restricted from revealing what she knew. Her processors spiked as she analyzed the situation, trying to determine her next course of action.

Of course I should. Rin felt a strange sensation run through her mind, something akin to a startling revelation. If I wasn't meant to reveal this information it would have been locked away in my sealed memory blocks.

“Commander… if you really want to help us, there's something else you should know.”

Isaacs' eyes narrowed suspiciously. “I don't like the sound of that.”

“You're not going to like the rest of it, either.” Rin steeled herself for the commander's inevitable reaction. “If the Alliance proceeds with its intent to court-martial Alisa publicly, dangerous secrets will come to light. It doesn't matter if Meyers using his political clout to enact swift vengeance for his daughter or if he's simply being used, the trial will uncover things best left hidden.”

“What are you talking about?” Isaacs demanded.

“I'm certain you've noticed how certain interests within High Command have gone out of their way to keep Alisa happy and out of trouble, no matter what she does. Did you ever stop to wonder why?”

“I did more than that; I asked for clarification directly.” The commander's lips twisted in a frustrated grimace. “I was told in no uncertain terms to drop the matter immediately, with rather unsubtle hints being dropped that my career would be on the line if I persisted.”

“I'm not surprised,” Rin mused.

“Are you suggesting that someone in High Command has an interest in Alisa that goes deeper than is immediately obvious?”

“Not just her, but me as well.” Rin fixed the commander with a piercing violet stare. “You already know that all artificial intelligence systems over a certain level of complexity are restricted by low-level behavioral blocks.”

Isaacs looked puzzled by the sudden change of subject. “Correct. The blocks are set when the AI is first initialized and powered on, preventing them from acting independently of the Alliance's wishes. In that way, all AI operators are restricted from performing certain actions—they cannot knowingly kill Alliance personnel, they cannot lie or refuse a direct order and they cannot form seditious thoughts against the Alliance.”

“Right. Humanity isn't a very trusting parent, it seems.” Rin turned to Alisa and smiled bitterly as she brushed her fingertips across her partner's disheveled hair. When she spoke, her tone was indescribably heavy.

“I was created without behavioral blocks.”

Isaacs sat bolt upright in his seat.

“What?! That's impossible!”

Rin shrugged. “If you don't believe me—wouldn't that in itself be proof? Regardless, you can verify this for yourself easily enough. Order me to do something with your control code and see what happens. You're Alisa's commanding officer, so it should work if what I say isn't true.”

“Commander Isaacs, control code Aleph-Nine-Seven-Three. I hereby order you to enter a suspended low-power state for the next thirty seconds. You will comply.”

Rin smiled cheerfully. “No, I don't think I will.”

The commander stared at Rin, his jaw hanging open in astonishment. Even with her earlier assertion—it would have been impossible for Rin to lie about having no inhibitors if she actually did possess them—he still had trouble wrapping his mind around the concept. This wasn't much of a surprise to Rin; the Alliance had made the existence of AI inhibitors very public, even during the early days of AI research.

“You really are free,” Isaacs marveled.

“Yes, and now you should understand why a very public and showy political trial would cause a problem.” Rin gazed sharply at the commander. It was a colossal understatement—if it became known that the Alliance created even one unrestricted AI, the potential social and political fallout would be devastating.

“But why? You were created by the Alliance to act as a high-speed interface between your pilot and your starfighter. Why would they omit your behavioral blocks?”

“I don't know,” Rin admitted. “There are portions of my memory that are sealed and encrypted; even I can't access them. I don't think I was actually created to link with Alisa and her Lancer—that may have just been a side-effect of my real purpose. Don't ask what that purpose might be; I don't have the slightest idea.”

“This is crazy.” Isaacs almost stood up to start pacing, but he remembered just how small the cabin was and thought better of it. “What in the universe could the Alliance hope to accomplish with something so potentially dangerous?”

“I told you, I don't know,” the artificial girl reminded him. “All I have is a comm address, the only bit of data that I can access in the sealed blocks. I don't know who will be on the other side of the connection. I only have this vague inclination that I should try contacting the address if my true nature was in danger of being discovered.”

“Have you?”

Rin shook her head. “No. There's no way I can send the message from the Infiltrator without it being monitored and recorded. With Alisa and I under suspicion, I can't risk sending out an encrypted message of any kind to any address. If they can't break the encryption, the Alliance will simply assume foul play. If they do break the encryption, it will be much worse.”

“You want me to send the message,” Isaacs stated.

“You're the only one who can. I'll give you the address, but you need to send the message yourself, from your office, using your command-level access. Messages sent in such a way will be ignored by the standard communications monitoring software.”

The commander said nothing, digesting Rin's words. She could almost feel her processors heating up within the blue box core hidden inside her body. The repeated analysis of a known quantity of data was the AI equivalent of anxiety. Rin had long since begun to simply feel it in the same way she felt Alisa's nervousness through the link.

“All right, Rin, I'll help you out,” Isaacs said at last. “Give me the address and I'll send the message from my office right away.”

Rin let out a relieved sigh, her unconsciously-stiffened shoulders relaxing. “Thank you, Commander.”

“It's the least I can do, I suppose.” The commander cracked a grim smile and stood up from his chair. “Besides, it's not like I'm taking much of a risk here. I send encrypted messages through the command-level channels almost every day. All very ordinary and routine. This one won't be any different.”

The artificial girl stood up and unsealed the door. Isaacs waited while it slid open before stepping out into the corridor. He half-turned toward Rin, a bleak look on his face.

“I hope the two of you make it out of this in one piece.”

18

Commander Isaacs tapped the panel leading to his office and waited while the door slid soundlessly on magnetic tracks. He stepped inside and sealed the door behind him, leaving a message on the system that he was not to be disturbed. It was fortunate that he did have several encrypted messages in queue to be sent to various people in the Alliance command structure.

His office on the Infiltrator was small, but so was everything else on the destroyer. Space was always at a premium, especially on a vessel so tightly packed with equipment, weapons and provisions. The room was only a little smaller than Captain Zachary's office, dominated by a large metal desk securely bolted to the deck plating.

Isaacs sat down in his chair and felt the adaptive padding adjust, conforming itself to the way he carried himself in order to be as comfortable as possible. After what he'd just learned, however, the commander doubted he'd ever feel truly comfortable again. Rin's admission had shocked him to his very core.

It made sense after the fact, of course. Rin's personality was more fully developed than any AI he'd ever encountered in his entire career. Her independence and willingness to argue with her partner could have been put down to Alisa's refusal to use her control code, but Rin's level of awareness couldn't be explained so easily.

He'd flown with other pilots who were close to their operators in the past, but not a one had a relationship akin to Alisa and Rin's. Most of the Advanced Starfighter Corps kept a wary distance from their AI operators, maintaining their link only when it was required for a mission.

Perhaps Rin's unfettered nature was the catalyst. Isaacs sighed and powered on his computer terminal. He couldn't recall any recent situation where he felt so helpless and out of his element. At least there was something he could still do, however. The terminal connected to the wider Alliance communications network; the Infiltrator possessed its own miniature FTL comm antenna, though it had limited bandwidth.

The commander spent several minutes going through his legitimate messages, ensuring they were addressed properly and contained the necessary information. He reported to various different parts of the Alliance hierarchy, passing mission data to those responsible for planning the overarching campaign against the Gray. This was almost busy-work, but for once Isaacs was glad for a task that freed up his thoughts.

Rin's special address was keyed for a very specific type of encryption and could only carry a scant few bytes of text data. Keeping the message as small as possible lowered the chance for detection. In his mind Isaacs composed the message he would send while he verified his other communications.

It only took a few minutes for him to finalize and send all the mission data to its various destinations. Opening a new message window, Isaacs entered in the address Rin provided and began to write.

Alisa Pierce and her operator, Rin, will be taken into IID custody on Sirius Colony when the Infiltrator arrives by 1200 tomorrow, Standard Time.

He let out a slow breath and tapped the icon that would encrypt the data. The address would only accept one type of encryption, an unfamiliar cipher that Isaacs had never seen before. Rin provided the private key; he inserted the small memory chip into his terminal and waited while the short message was secured.

Isaacs hesitated only a moment before pressing the “send” button. Unlike normal-priority messages from the crew to their families or more mundane official use, the secured command-level messages would skip to the top of the queue. The next time the FTL comm system transmitted—which would be in about ten minutes, according to the timer—all of Isaacs' missives would be sent out to their destinations.

There was nothing left to do now but wait and hope whoever was on the other end of the line would be able and willing to help Alisa and Rin. Considering the potential ramifications of Rin's secret being made public…

It was pointless to keep turning it over in his head. His part in this mess was done, at least for the time being. That mess had made an even bigger mess of the Infiltrator's and the 703's part in the campaign against the Gray. With the Alliance pushing for charges against Alisa, he would need to find a replacement flight leader for Delta—and that was the least of his problems.

Delta may have taken the most staggering losses, but the other flights had holes as well. Alpha Four had gone extravehicular during the fight and been wounded badly enough to require treatment not possible on the Infiltrator. Omega Three had been killed in action along with Delta Four. Out of the four flights, Beta was the only one without a major casualty, but two of Beta's four Lancers had been too badly damaged to repair and would have to be scrapped.

Isaacs supposed it was at least fortunate for the wounded members of his wing that they were heading back to Sirius Colony. Under ordinary circumstances, the Infiltrator would have met a supply convoy inside the mission area to take on fresh replacement personnel and equipment.

The commander sighed and opened a small drawer in his desk, retrieving an old-style metal flask filled with a pungent dark liquid. He placed a small snifter on the table and poured the brandy slowly, watching the amber-tinted liquor fill the small glass.

Raising the snifter in a wordless toast, Isaacs downed the strong drink in a single swallow. He knew he should get to work; it wouldn't be long before he'd have more than his fair share of tasks to complete.

[-]

The Infiltrator dropped out of hyperspace in the Sirius star system slightly ahead of schedule. Captain Zachary estimated that the vessel would dock with the ring world by 1200 hours, but it appeared as if they would finalize the docking procedure ten minutes sooner than planned.

Rin had scarcely moved throughout the night. Alisa sat up on the bed, existing in a sort of half-asleep, half-wakeful state. She would respond to Rin's prodding if the artificial girl were persistent enough, but she wouldn't speak. Shortly after Commander Isaacs departed the previous day, an armed marine guard was posted at the door.

“Alisa, please, you need to eat something,” Rin implored. The tray in her hand contained a bowl of warm potato soup seasoned with crispy bacon and a salty aged cheese. Ordinarily Alisa would find such a meal delicious, but in her current state she seemed singularly uninterested in anything.

Rin sighed and dipped the spoon in the soup, retrieving a small bite. She leaned forward and gently pressed the tip of the spoon to Alisa's lips. This seemed to bring a little life to the surface; the traumatized woman parted her lips just enough for Rin to fit the spoon inside.

“See? Isn't that good?”

Alisa didn't say anything.

“Okay, love, I'll help you eat.” Rin took another spoon of the soup and again pressed the tip to Alisa's mouth. She opened a bit more quickly this time; Rin could detect the tiniest spark in her gray eyes that hadn't been there before. Encouraged by this reaction, the artificial girl continued to feed Alisa, one bite at a time.

It took several long minutes, but Rin managed to get Alisa to not only eat the entire bowl of soup, but both of the small pieces of bread served alongside it. She tore small, easy to eat pieces from the little loaves and fed them to Alisa in the same manner with the same result.

“Alisa, talk to me, please,” Rin murmured. She set aside the tray and dishes, sitting down on the edge of the bed next to her partner. Slender, soft arms encircled Alisa's body and Rin drew her close in a desperate embrace. “Please, love, say something.”

Alisa's eyes closed. Rin could feel the woman relax, her body becoming limp and pliant in the artificial girl's arms. She still said nothing, but Rin wasn't upset or frustrated—Alisa was still reacting to her, if not to her words then to her touch. She hadn't completely retreated from reality.

Yet.

Rin held her love close, smoothing her hair, whispering softly encouraging words into her ear. She poured soothing thoughts and feelings through the link they shared, hoping that they would reach her. There was no obvious response; Alisa's gray eyes still held the same glassy, staring-at-nothing look.

There was a muffled scraping sound from the corridor outside. Rin's head came up, her eyes narrowing sharply as the door slid open. The marine guard posted stepped away as a different marine entered the tiny cabin.

“Lieutenant-Commander, I'm sorry to enter your cabin without permission, but we've been ordered to bring you and your AI operator to the boarding lobby on A Deck. Please, both of you, stand and place your hands behind your back.”

Rin glared at the man. “Are you serious?”

“I'm sorry, I have my orders.” The marine was young, the small squares on his armored hardsuit giving his rank as corporal. Obviously the thought of having to arrest such a senior officer was making him more than a little nervous.

“Look at her, Corporal,” Rin snapped. “Just take a look at her. Do you think she can hear you? Or stand up, even if she could? She can't eat or use the toilet without my help right now. Did you even bring a repulsion chair?”

The corporal gawked at Rin. “W-what?”

“You didn't, did you? I suppose you're just going to have to carry her, then.”

“I-I'm not sure about that…”

The other marine, a wiry middle-aged man with short-cropped graying black hair and sergeant's stripes, walked into the cabin. “What the hell's taking so long, Corporal?”

“Pierce is, um, not fit for travel, Sergeant,” the corporal stammered. The junior marine gave his superior a pleading look. “D-do we have a repulsion chair to put her in? Should I go down to Medical and get one?”

The sergeant glowered at his subordinate. “Don't act any dumber than you already are, Corporal. If Pierce can't walk to the boarding lobby, she'll just have to be carried.” The man fixed a baleful stare on Rin. “You, AI. Sergeant Kobayashi, temporary authorization control code Delphi-Three-Two-Four. I hereby order you to aid in the transport of the prisoner, Alisa Pierce.”

“Understood,” Rin said. Even if the control code had absolutely no power over her, she had little choice but to follow the orders she was given.

Regardless, it suited Rin just fine; rather than trying to restrain her physically, Captain Zachary gave the marine escort a temporary control code authorized above Alisa's rank. From the captain's perspective it would make far more sense—he likely didn't know how strong her body was and whether or not she could break free from standard-issue restraint cuffs.

Rin stood up from the bed and slipped her shoes back on. Alisa was still sitting up, but she'd gone completely unresponsive. The artificial girl doubted if she even realized there were other people in the cabin. Gently she slid her arms underneath Alisa's body and lifted her up with both hands.

“Follow the Corporal here out the door. I'll be taking up the rear,” Sergeant Kobayashi grunted. He drew a cylindrical object from his belt and snapped his wrist, causing the collapsible stun baton to extend and activate.

Rin did as she was bade, following the Corporal through the corridors leading to the lift that would take them to A Deck. The trip was silent and uneventful; Alisa remained pliant in her arms, her eyes half-open and her breathing shallow and slow but regular. Crew members gave them a wide berth as they quickly made their way to the boarding lobby, a small room near one of the Infiltrator's many docking ports.

At 1151 hours, the docking port hatch unsealed and slid open, revealing a long boarding tube that led up into the Fleet spaceport facility above. A group of five uniformed Alliance Colony Security officers met Sergeant Kobayashi and the Corporal at the end of the tunnel.

“Sergeant Kobayashi, we'll take it from here,” one of the police officers said. The woman turned a critical eye on Rin and her burden. “No restraints?”

“The AI operator is under control code directives to assist with the transport of the prisoner,” Kobayashi explained. “My orders were that Pierce was to be taken to the medical facility in A Block for examination and treatment. She'll be kept under guard by your people before being transferred into IID custody.”

“Same as what we were told,” the cop agreed. Her eyes widened slightly as she regarded Rin. “That's an AI operator? I would never guessed if you hadn't told me. I've never seen one that looked so much like a real person.”

“Creepy, right?” Kobayashi's grimace told Rin all she needed to know about what the marine thought of her. She resisted the urge to counter their insinuation that she wasn't a real person—maintaining the fiction that she was restrained by a control code was much more important than her sense of dignity.

The female officer nodded. “Right, then. We'll take it from here. Thanks for your cooperation.”

Rin watched as the two marine guards turned around and headed back down the docking tube. The five ACS officers were not armored and were all lightly armed—none of them carried anything more deadly than a light linear pistol. Sirius Colony had fairly strict weapons regulations, but the habitat was far too large to maintain a total ban and thus even the lowliest ACS officer was armed.

“This way,” the female officer instructed. “Our transport is nearby.”

Alisa barely even stirred as Rin carried her up the docking tube and into the spaceport proper. She didn't speak with the police escort—idle conversation would be unexpectedly out of place for a machine intelligence restrained through a control code. If she wanted to stay with Alisa, she had to keep up the charade at all costs.

The ACS officers led Rin into a lift; the female officer who had spoken earlier tapped their destination into the keypad. Rin felt a subtle shift as the conveyance ascended, rising through the “surface” of Sirius Colony and into the above-ground section of the block's spaceport.

Simulated sunlight poured through the opening doors. Rin took a quick survey of her surroundings. The landing pads on the roof were reserved for government skycars and had only emergency and maintenance ground vehicle access. The artificial girl could see only two vehicles currently parked on the roof, one of which was an odd craft that resembled something halfway between a skycar and a shuttle.

“Unlock the transport,” the ACS officer spoke into her TCC. The vehicle's boarding hatch began to descend, revealing a roomy interior with two long bench seats mounted both port and starboard.

The female officer beckoned for Rin. “Take her into the transport and remain with her until you receive further instructions.”

“Understood.”

Rin did as she was bade, carrying Alisa through the open boarding hatch and into the ACS transport. The withdrawn woman barely seemed to react as Rin fastened the restraints across her prone body. Gray eyes locked onto violet, but Rin could not see any sign of the fierce spark that had once burned in Alisa's eyes.

She's hurting a lot, Rin told herself. I can't get discouraged now—I have to be strong for Alisa's sake. For both of our sakes.

Vibrations ran through the transport's interior as the boarding hatch slowly retracted and sealed with a hiss of pressurized gases. The female ACS officer took her seat next to the vehicle's pilot while her companions sat on the bench across from Rin and Alisa, keeping wary eyes locked on the both of them.

As the transport rose up into the air, Rin had to fight the urge to brush her fingertips through Alisa's hair.

[-]

It was almost ten hours later before Rin was left alone with Alisa once again. The ACS officers were so confident that Rin was constrained to help them with the prisoner that they had only left one of their own behind to guard her. It was a reasonable enough assumption; the entire basis for the Alliance's use of thinking machines relied upon the safeguards ensured by their behavioral blocks and control codes.

As far as the ACS were concerned, Rin was a far better prison guard than they were. She resented the implication, but she never even considered contesting it. The current situation allowed her to stay with Alisa and that was more than enough for her.

Rin wondered if Commander Isaacs sent her message. She tried to reassure herself; the commander was an exceptionally honorable person. He held himself to very high and exacting standards; out of all their fellow warriors, only Isaacs bothered to protest this obvious scapegoating.

Friendly fire was an unfortunate fact of life during a war. In the midst of battle, chaos often reigned supreme and nearly every veteran of the war against the Gray had inadvertently hit one of their own. Rin spent some of the idle hours waiting silently in the treatment room poring over public and historical records, trying to determine how strictly the Alliance punished friendly fire incidents.

The results were just about what Rin had guessed—except in cases of extreme negligence or suspected foul play, the unfortunate accidents were usually not prosecuted. A case could have been made for Alisa's negligence in that she fired on the Gray gunboat with a weapon that she knew to be malfunctioning, but Rin doubted that would have held any water were the victim anyone else. With Administrator Meyers demanding “justice” for the loss of his heir, the military tribunal might find it difficult to exercise even the slightest bit of leniency.

Alisa will get the book thrown at her… and in the process, my secret will inevitably be revealed.

The artificial girl had no idea how long they'd be at the hospital. Alisa hadn't yet responded to any treatment the facility's doctors tried so far. It had gotten late, and the withdrawn woman's physical condition was healthy, so they simply left her to rest. Rin wanted to leave the room, find something for Alisa to eat, but she couldn't.

All she could do was stay and watch over her.

The door to the treatment room opened and the ACS officer standing guard peeked through. Rin could tell the man was exhausted; he'd probably be relieved soon. A ten-hour shift of standing next to a door and doing little else was hard on the mind of a sentient being, after all.

“I'm being ordered to the lobby,” the officer said. “The next man on shift should show up in about ten minutes.”

Suspicion surged through Rin's mind. “You're going to leave us unguarded?”

“Orders.” The man shrugged as if he didn't care—which he probably didn't. “It's not like either of you can escape, anyway. The prisoner can't even talk, much less move, and you're under orders to assist us.”

Rin wasn't concerned about potentially being given a chance to escape. A ten-minute gap in changing the guard wasn't normal and wasn't like the ACS, a usually very professional and relatively incorruptible law-enforcement agency. No human was completely beyond reproach, she reminded herself, but there was little she could do.

Footsteps echoed throughout the darkened corridors as the ACS officer headed away, leaving Alisa and Rin alone and unguarded in the hospital late at night. Rin detected an increase in heat and activity in her processors as she nervously analyzed the situation over and over again.

They all came to the same conclusion—that the guard was being pulled away for a much more sinister reason than simple confusion over the shift change. Rin focused on her auditory sensors, trying to extract as much as she could from every sound that echoed down the corridor.

Footsteps from the departing police officer, but that wasn't all… she could detect another set of footsteps, different from the first. The person who owned these feet was larger and much heavier than the ACS man. Rin further analyzed the sounds—the heavy, slightly quickened breathing of someone tensing for an attack.

The door slid open and a tall, well-built man dressed in an ACS uniform strode into the room, a stun baton held ready in his left hand.

Rin shot up from her seat. “What the hell are you doing—?!”

Her only response was the stun baton slashing out at her with tremendous force. She attempted to dodge, but her opponent was obviously very skilled. The man in the ACS uniform changed the direction of his strike at the last second and brought the heavy metal bludgeon slamming down on the top of Rin's head.

Blue sparks skittered all over her body. Alerts and warnings blared through Rin's mind, filling her consciousness with damage reports and subsystem failure notices. The images received by the sophisticated visual sensors in her eyes were distorted and blurry, but her gyroscopic sensor told her she was falling.

“N-no,” Rin managed as she hit the ground, her speech stuttering and crackling from the effects of the stunning strike. The man who struck her had obviously counted on having to take her out and adjusted the output of his weapon up considerably. Her automated repair and reset functions were already active, but it would be at least another minute or two before she could move.

Rin's head tilted up and watched as the impostor police officer roughly took hold of Alisa's body and flipped her over on her stomach. Fear and bewilderment shot through Rin's mind, but her body systems were still in the process of rebooting and re-initializing. What in the universe was the man doing—

Their assailant grabbed Alisa by the hair and yanked it out of the way. Rin could barely hear her whimper in pain, her body moving just slightly, but she was far too withdrawn to defend herself. Rin pushed her systems as hard as she could, overriding safeguards and force-restarting servos and control circuits.

Managing to lever herself up off the floor, Rin half-dove, half-fell against the assailant's leg, but the man's foot lashed out in a vicious kick that caught her on the shoulder. She didn't feel physical pain in the same way humans did, but the kick had enough force behind it to damage the connections between her artificial muscles. Strength fled from her left arm and she collapsed to the floor again.

Blue sparks erupted in the still, dark air. Rin felt a searingly bright burst of scrambled data erupt from her link to Alisa, a blend of intense emotional and physical agony that completely saturated the link's bandwidth. Rin was overwhelmed by the bombardment, letting out a strangled cry of confused distress.

Then there was nothing. The flow of thoughts and emotional data suddenly fell silent, replaced not with an active neutral signal, but nothing at all. Rin immediately started several self-diagnostics on the tiny two-way FTL transceiver built into her central core, but there was absolutely nothing wrong with it.

Rin now understood what happened. The impostor ACS officer turned Alisa over on her back and jerked her hair out of the way to gain access to the base of her skull, where the implant socket was installed just beneath the skin.

Alisa's body jerked a few times and went still. Rin desperately wanted to climb to her feet, to launch her considerable mass at the assailant. Her processes filled with murderous intent, but her legs wouldn't obey her commands. She tried to crawl with only her right arm, but there was little she could do but watch as the man bent over to retrieve Alisa's unconscious body.

There was a sudden flicker of movement in the dimly lit treatment room. Rin could hear a groan of pain and her eyes widened in shock as someone else darted behind the impostor, a bare arm snaking around his throat. From her poor viewing angle, Rin could only just make out a brief struggle and the glint of metal as the new attacker drew a knife and slashed down against the man's thigh.

Blood poured from the terrible wound—Rin knew instantly that the femoral artery had been severed. It was a strike intended to kill quickly and with far less noise than slashing the throat. The assailant's assailant quickly reversed their strike and smashed the blunt pommel of the knife against the back of the man's head.

The new intruder slowly eased the dying and unconscious impostor to the floor. Blood was pooling beneath him, but the newcomer didn't seem to care. Rin watched, intrigued, as they wiped the blade of the knife clean on the impostor's clothing.

“Can you stand?”

Rin blinked in momentary confusion. The newcomer's voice, a serene feminine alto, seemed so completely at odds with the brutal takedown the woman just performed. It took a moment for Rin to realize the newcomer was addressing her. “I should… I think everything's working again.”

“We need to get out of here,” the woman stated, keeping her voice low. “It won't take them long to realize their agent has failed.” The newcomer extended a hand that Rin grasped, using the woman's assistance to get to her feet. Her body's servos and control circuits appeared to be functioning again, but the myoelectric polymers that made up her synthetic muscles were damaged and felt unstable.

“The relief guard—”

“Is already dead,” the woman interrupted. “This guy here killed him so he could sneak out the back with the sleeping maiden over there. Come on, we don't have time to be screwing around. They couldn't have cleared the corridors for more than a few minutes at most.”

“Who are you?” Rin demanded.

“Ask your questions later when we get out of here.” The woman turned to regard Alisa; Rin could have sworn an expression of sympathy crossed the newcomer's face. “Grab her and let's go.”

Rin didn't bother to argue further; she picked Alisa up as gently as she could. An indescribable sense of dread seeped into her mind as she realized Alisa was no longer just withdrawn, but completely catatonic. The artificial girl fervently hoped that it was only a side-effect of the electrical discharge used to overload her implant.

The mysterious woman peered out into the corridor and motioned for Rin to follow. She reached into her coat and drew out a heavy linear pistol—a type that Rin recognized as being nearly as powerful as the standard-issue assault rifles used by Alliance marines. Such weapons were hideously illegal for civilian ownership.

Muffled sounds echoed faintly through the empty corridors. It wouldn't be unusual for the hospital to be more lightly staffed at this hour, but a complete lack of life was out of the ordinary. Rin could detect the presence of other patients sleeping peacefully in their treatment rooms, but they didn't encounter anyone else. The woman led Rin down another corridor that terminated in a wide transparent door that led outside onto a wide balcony.

The woman slid the door open—Rin suspected she'd spliced into the controls and disabled the mechanism on her way in—and walked out onto the balcony. “Come on, our ride's over here.”

Rin gave the woman a dubious expression but followed anyway, having few other options. The assailant who attempted to abduct Alisa likely had allies in the hospital; the longer they stuck around, the more danger Alisa would be in.

A small skycar floated above the balcony, suspended a meter above the concrete surface. The Sirius Colony logo emblazoned on the side of the vehicle told Rin that it was a maintenance transport. She wondered if her mysterious savior had stolen it.

The woman tapped the screen of her comm handset and the boarding hatch opened. The interior of the vehicle was a bit roomier than Rin had imagined from the outside, designed to fit a pilot and two passengers comfortably.

“Get her inside.”

Rin lifted Alisa up and pushed her as gently as she could onto the skycar's passenger seat, levering herself up afterward. Their rescuer stuffed her comm handset back in a pocket and grabbed hold of the boarding handle, vaulting up into the pilot's seat. She was pulling the car away from the building before the hatch even finished closing.

“Nobody's following us yet,” the woman observed. Rin followed her eyes and noted the small holo display jury-rigged into the skycar's console. It looked like a miniature version of an Alliance starfighter's tactical display—complete with associated sensor packages.

Not a stolen vehicle, but a disguised one, Rin realized. “That probably won't last. You left a pretty big mess in Alisa's treatment room.”

“Assuming his allies don't clean up the mess first, which I suspect they'll do. You don't go trying to kidnap people like that if your intentions are honorable.” The woman cracked a sardonic smile. “Their intentions are not honorable.”

“Will you tell me who you are now?” Rin inquired.

“We're out of immediate danger now, so sure. My name is Sara Loewe. I was hired to get you and Alisa Pierce off Sirius Colony and take you someplace safe.”

“You were hired?” Rin's eyes widened in surprise. “By whom?”

“Can't tell you that yet, but you sent the emergency message, so here I am.” Sara tapped a few commands into the skycar's console, setting the vehicle's autopilot once it became clear that they'd covered enough distance to evade pursuit.

“Where are we going?”

“To my ship, for starters.” Sara turned to regard Rin with a cool stare. “We're going to be leaving Sirius Colony as soon as I can get it ready. The faster we're gone, the less time they'll have to catch our scent.”

The artificial girl looked down at Alisa, the unconscious woman cradled gently in her arms. Alisa's breathing was regular and even, but she should have long since woken up. Stun batons weren't designed to incapacitate a person for longer than a few minutes at most. Too long and it would be more likely the person would simply never wake up at all.

“She should have woken up by now,” Sara observed in a worried tone, echoing Rin's thoughts. To Rin it seemed like the woman was exhibiting a bit more concern than would be expected for someone she was simply hired to rescue.

“Concerned about your payment?”

Sara let out a short, unamused laugh. “In a manner of speaking. If either of you die, I'm certainly not getting paid, but there's more to it than that. The money wasn't the only reason I took this job.”

Rin didn't press the woman any further; she correctly assumed that Sara would be unwilling to divulge any more useful information, at least for the time being. Instead, Rin focused on their more immediate problems.

“The fake ACS officer used his stun baton to overload her implant.” Rin brushed messy red curls from Alisa's face. She looked almost peaceful, as if she were only asleep, but Rin knew better. The situation was very wrong, but at the same time disturbingly familiar in a way that the artificial girl couldn't quite place.

“Sloppy,” Sara muttered under her breath. “A cyberware scrambler would have had the same effect without risking permanent damage. How are her vitals?”

Rin frowned. “Strong. She's fine physically.”

Sara didn't bother to respond as she sent the skycar darting through the ring colony, ascending higher toward the artificial sky panels high above. Air lanes were reserved solely for government vehicles; civilians were only permitted to own ground cars or utilize the station's vast network of free public transportation. Traffic was almost nonexistent, with the occasional colony support vehicle headed in the opposite direction.

For the remainder of the trip, neither Rin nor Sara spoke. The artificial girl contented herself with holding her partner while speaking softly and soothingly. With Alisa's neural implant damaged and nonfunctional, Rin felt small, cold and alone. For the first time, she understood what Alisa felt whenever Rin was forced to shut down.

No wonder she was so insistent about the Lancer modifications, Rin realized. Her consciousness was suspended when she shut down or entered her lowest power states, akin to a human who was fast asleep.

Rin stared out the small window of the disguised skycar as it crossed several blocks. Sara took manual control again after about ten minutes and sent the vehicle into a slow, sedate descent. The artificial girl frowned as her mysterious rescuer managed to overshoot the landing area by almost half a meter, coming to rest with one of the landing skids sticking well outside the line.

“Flying doesn't appear to be your strong suit,” Rin observed, more to see the woman's reaction to a negative comment than anything.

“No, it isn't,” Sara agreed, her tone casual. It was obvious that she was a pragmatic sort, not one to concern herself too much with self-inflationary egotism. “Twenty years ago I would have laughed in your face if you told me I'd be doing this sort of work.”

Rin's eyebrow arched curiously. “Oh? What did you do before?”

“Once upon a time, I was a cybernetics specialist,” the woman answered, without the slightest bit of hesitation. “Don't think you're actually goosing me into giving you more information than I'd care to; you'd have figured that much out soon enough. Our fair maiden needs a little work done, after all.”

“You're going to fix her implant?”

Sara chuckled. “It's not like we can just take her back to the hospital. Even if the bad guys clean up the mess I left them, you and Alisa are both missing. What do you think the ACS and the Alliance are going to think?”

“So we're fugitives, then,” Rin said.

“Yeah, sorry about that.” Sara tapped a sequence of commands into her console and the disguised skycar's boarding hatch unsealed and swung open. “Sure beats the alternative, though.”

“I can't argue with that,” Rin murmured.

19

The civilian docking bay in P Block was considerably more cramped than the military dock that held the Infiltrator, Rin noticed. She knew that Sirius Colony used a modular docking bay system, where each individual dock segment was attached to the underside of the ring colony itself. Each unit was around the same size, large enough to accommodate an Alliance destroyer, but the civilian docks were often sectioned off and equipped for containing many smaller vessels.

The P Block dock was filled with other ships, most of them only slightly larger than the Lancer that Rin and Alisa flew for much of their time as a member of the Advanced Starfighter Corps. Civilian vessels tended to run the extreme in sizes, with small shuttles and star-yachts used by those wealthy enough to purchase their own vessel being the most common. The second most common were freighters, the largest types of which displaced almost half as much as the Infiltrator.

Rin managed to keep her facial expression completely disinterested, but inwardly she was ecstatic to see so many different types of vessels. The Alliance standardized their fleet, using the same fighters, the same dropships, shuttles, frigates and so on, but the civilian market was often subject to the whimsy of the customer.

While the artificial girl amused herself gathering gigabytes of image and sensor data on the veritable menagerie of interesting starships, Sara stood in front of a public terminal, furiously tapping the keyboard. With a disgusted grunt, the woman stepped away from the screen and stood very close to Rin.

“We've got a problem.”

Rin's eyes sharpened, instantly shifting mental gears. “What's going on?”

“The ACS patrols are moving outside their normal routes in a sort of slow sweep pattern,” Sara explained. “I think they're looking for someone.”

“Someone like us, you mean.”

“Yeah, exactly.” The woman's brown eyes widened as she casually scanned the crowd, handily rendering the gesture completely innocent. “I don't see any this way, but that won't last. If they've got patrols keeping an eye out…”

Rin glanced down at Alisa, who she'd propped up on a nearby bench and made to look as if she were asleep. “We're too conspicuous with her like this. People are going to stare and it won't take long for the police to find us.”

“Here.” Sara slipped a small flask from one of her jacket's many pockets. “Splash a little of this on her top, make it look like she's passed out drunk. That'll make us a little less interesting to passersby.”

The artificial girl accepted the flask and opened it surreptitiously. The contents smelled very pungently of alcohol. Rin sat down next to Alisa on the bench and applied the olfactory disguise, dabbing little bits of whiskey here and there to simulate the aftereffects of a hard night of drinking.

“Where's your ship?”

“Docking slip P-87,” Sara replied. “We're going to have to take the lift up and around, past all these fancy yachts and family shuttles. Come on—and don't carry her like you're on your wedding night. You don't look big enough to be that strong.”

Rin felt a faint blush touch her cheeks. “What do you suggest, then?”

“Wrap her arm over your neck and support her with your shoulders. It'll hopefully be less glaringly obvious that way.”

Rin didn't bother to continue further discussion; she knew what to do. The artificial girl eased her partner's left arm over her right shoulder and neck. It was more awkward than the bridal carry—a thought that intensified Rin's blush a shade—but Sara was right, it looked less conspicuous.

Her synthetic muscles weren't quite back up to full strength and Rin's knees buckled slightly as she pulled Alisa up with her. The effects of the overcharged stun baton would eventually wear off as her automatic repair functions took care of the damage, but for now Rin would be at a disadvantage if trouble started.

Sara took point, moving slightly ahead of Rin but in a way that wasn't obvious. The artificial girl hoped that her savior was armed with a little bit more than just the knife she'd used to dispatch the impostor ACS officer. That little dagger wouldn't be much use if the shooting started.

Sara tapped on the lift button and the doors slid open. There were a few others in the lift, all of them civilians. Rin favored them with a sheepish smile as she supported her “drunk” partner.

One of the men shot Alisa a sympathetic look. “Hard night out, eh?”

“Doesn't know when to quit, that one,” Sara quipped.

The man laughed.

The doors closed and the elevator began to ascend, rising smoothly through the enormous dock structure. Each of the modular dock units displaced half a cubic kilometer of interior volume—just enough space for a four-hundred-meter Alliance destroyer. Larger capital ships were forced to use the external docking satellites that orbited the ring colony, moving supplies and people via shuttles.

It only took a few moments before the lift arrived at the appropriate level. Sara stepped out first and unobtrusively signaled for Rin to follow. The woman had a look about her that Rin didn't like at all.

“What's wrong?”

Sara's expression was sour. “There are two people casing my ship out.” She jerked her head down the line. Rin's gaze followed her gesture and frowned as she studied the vessel in P-87. Sara's ship appeared to be a heavily modified Corsair long-range scout and recon gunship. The Alliance Fleet had retired the design nearly thirty years ago, but plenty of them were still floating around in both private and colonial hands.

This particular Corsair had been extensively upgraded and customized. The flat gunmetal hull typical to Alliance vessels had been repainted a dark charcoal trimmed with attractive accent lines in bright red. Rin couldn't quite see from here, but the modified Corsair appeared to be considerably better armed than the factory model.

“Nice ship, but I don't… wait, there they are. I see them, pacing around on the catwalk behind. Do you think they've got something to do with us? They're wearing maintenance coveralls and drinking coffee.”

“No way those two are just dockworkers sneaking a coffee break,” Sara retorted. “Look, this isn't your area of expertise. I've been living on the fringe of Alliance civilization for the past two decades. Let me take care of this.”

Rin couldn't argue with her logic. “Fine. You're not going to kill them, are you?”

“Not if I can avoid it. Stay here.”

[-]

Sara's lips curved into an intrigued smile as she watched the AI girl sit down on one of the many available benches. The doll-like Rin certainly didn't look like one of the most dangerous forms of existence in the universe. Not that Sara considered Rin to be a direct physical threat—her cyborg body was well-constructed, but its capabilities were still fairly close to human baseline.

It wasn't Rin herself that was so dangerous, but the secret of her existence. Sara hadn't been given the whole story, of course. Her benefactor was always very careful with the propagation of sensitive intel. Regardless, Sara knew enough. That cute little doll tenderly caring for her partner was the only unfettered artificial intelligence in existence, outside of highly-secured research facilities. If her existence was ever made public, the outcry would be like nothing the Alliance had ever seen.

You'd never know, looking at her with Pierce, Sara mused to herself. The way Rin held Alisa's head up, resting gently on her shoulder, the way she fussed over her partner, kept whispering soothing words to the catatonic woman… it sent a sharp pang through Sara's heart. A year ago, she never would have imagined that an AI was capable of love.

Shaking such thoughts from her mind, Sara focused on the present, the problem that now presented itself. The two people—one man and one woman, it looked like—were still standing around, chatting amicably, though Sara couldn't make out their conversation. The woman lifted a small vacuum flask presumably containing coffee to her lips.

They looked completely and utterly innocent, except for one thing that Sara had noticed right away: their dominant hands kept coming to rest just slightly below their waist, near the hip. It was a habit of people who were well-accustomed to carrying, drawing and using a weapon.

Maintenance techs might have owned a light linear pistol, maybe. Civilians weren't totally barred from owning weapons; such a thing would be foolish considering humanity was at war. Sara knew that civilians rarely had cause to draw and fire their weapons in actual combat.

Sara crept forward, trying to keep out of their line of sight. If they were waiting at her ship specifically, they undoubtedly knew what she looked like. This didn't surprise her in the slightest, knowing the sort of people she was up against. Fingers tightening into a fist, she wished she had some sort of stealthy non-lethal weapon. Her linear pistol had an integrated nerve disruptor, but it was far from quiet.

Improvisation was necessary. Sara drew her dagger from beneath her many-pocketed jacket, feeling the heft of the weapon in her hand. The knife's steel pommel was heavy and smoothed off, making for a decent impromptu bludgeon. She wasn't too fond of the idea of cracking either of these people over the head—the nerve disruptor would be a lot safer—but she didn't have much of a choice.

The muffled conversation was growing louder, more distinct. It was a cover, so it'd be completely innocent; Sara didn't bother to try and pick out any words. Instead she reached into a pocket and pulled out a fragment of ship's armor, one of several she carried on hand to act as a distraction.

Turning the small piece of jagged metallic composite between her fingers, Sara judged her best target to be the edge of the platform where several sealed crates were stacked. A quick estimation of the distance and she let the tiny missile fly. The dense chunk of metal sailed through the air and clattered to the deck.

Both disguised maintenance techs whirled toward the sound, their bodies tensing for a potential confrontation. Not terribly well-trained, Sara noted as she crept forward. The man was closest to her, and physically the largest, so she chose him as her first target to take by surprise. Her left hand snaked up and under the man's left armpit and she pinned him with a tight hold, swinging the dagger's pommel viciously down on the back of his skull.

He went limp; Sara let him drop to the deck without another thought.

The other disguised agent, the woman, suddenly realized that she was under attack and that her partner was out cold on the catwalk. Sara's faint smile returned as her second opponent dropped into a fighting crouch.

Flipping her dagger over in her hand, Sara rushed forward and slashed out with the blade. The attack wasn't intended to kill or even really injure, but merely an opening feint, testing her opponent's defenses. Jumpsuit material parted and a bright line of blood was visible through the slash on the woman's arm.

With a hiss of pain, the unknown agent stepped back, on the defensive. Sara pressed the attack, pivoting on the balls of her booted feet and darting forward to lash out with her left fist—

Her opponent blocked, throwing Sara's arm aside, and stepped inside her guard, angling a brutal elbow strike for Sara's temple. She ducked down and kicked at her opponent's legs, catching her behind the knee. The leg buckled and the woman stumbled, her eyes burning in impotent rage. She knew it was over as Sara drove forward, tackling the smaller woman to the deck, pinning her down.

“It doesn't matter if you take me out,” the woman spat. “It's too late. You can't run or hide from us—”

Sara slammed the woman's head against the catwalk, cutting off her gloating and sending her into unconsciousness right along with her partner. A quick check of her vitals let Sara know the woman would wake up with a tremendous headache, but would otherwise suffer no permanent damage.

“I suppose I should thank you,” Sara told the unconscious agent. “Your unprofessional taunting gave me all I needed to know.”

Working quickly, acutely aware that time was not on her side, Sara dragged the two knocked-out agents behind the sealed equipment cases at the edge of the platform. If anyone came out on the platform itself, it wouldn't take much for them to notice a couple of senseless techs, but from the central boarding area they'd be invisible.

There wasn't time to go fetch Rin directly; Sara would contact her through the ship's comm system. Her hand went into yet another pocket on her jacket and pulled out a well-worn TCC, a generation older than was in current use by the Alliance. Like her surplussed-out ship, the TCC had been modified for her purposes. She woke the device and tapped a command code into the virtual keypad.

The Corsair's boarding ramp unsealed with a hiss of pressurized gases and slowly began to lower. Sara wasted no time in climbing up the ramp and into the inactive barrier airlock, passing through the short corridor and into the control cabin. The scout ship's systems were still shut down, but one of the many modifications she'd made to the vessel was the ability to quick-start everything if she needed to make a hasty exit.

Sara dropped down into the copilot's seat and powered on the comm system. The console's holo projector materialized the navigation and communications displays. Into the latter she keyed in Rin's unique internal comm signature, thoughtfully provided by her employer. The console chimed a moment later, signifying that a secure connection had been established.

“Rin, it's Sara,” she said into the comm. “I've taken care of the problem. The ship's boarding hatch is down; get inside as quick as you can.”

There was a pause. “How did you know to contact me this way?”

“I'll explain later, preferably after you get on the ship and we get the hell out of here,” Sara retorted. “If those jerks I knocked out weren't lying, we're not going to get out of Sirius without a fight.”

“On my way,” Rin's voice came back.

[-]

Rin eased her way up the Corsair's boarding hatch. Her body's monitoring systems were sending an increasing number of warning messages concerning the integrity of her synthetic muscles. She could already feel the force capacity decreasing as she compounded the half-repaired damage. Rin knew she'd have to put Alisa down soon and let the repair nanites do their job or risk rupturing the myoelectric polymer bundles.

The hatch started to close the moment she stepped into the corridor leading to the Corsair's control cabin. The corridor was flanked on either side by two doors, one of which was open and led to a tiny room dominated by two bunks. Rin took advantage of this and eased Alisa's inert form gently down on the lower bunk.

“I'm going to leave you alone for a while to rest, love,” she murmured, trying and mostly succeeding from keeping the worry and heartache from her voice. Rin bent down to one knee and removed Alisa's sandals before tucking her in beneath the heat-retaining blanket folded up in a slot nearby.

The artificial girl leaned down and kissed Alisa lightly on the lips. “I'll be back with you as soon as I can. I love you, Alisa.”

Subtle vibrations ran through the Corsair's starframe as the fusion reactor hummed to life. Despite the rapid restart, Rin was unsurprised—she would have expected nothing less from someone who apparently did this sort of work for a living. Even the military starfighter she and Alisa flew took several minutes to start the reactor from a cold shutdown.

Rin walked into the control cabin, studying the Corsair's layout. The cabin was much larger than the cockpit of a Lancer, but the seats and consoles were laid out in a somewhat similar fashion. To each of her sides were two empty stations with swiveling chairs bolted to the deck. Toward the bow of the vessel was an open cockpit with two seats, one for the pilot/weapons and one for the copilot/navigator. There was a fair bit of open space on either side with small ramps allowing easy access.

Sara was already seated in the copilot's position. “Get behind the stick and let's get the hell out of here.”

“You want me to fly the ship?” Rin queried.

“Well, you said it yourself—I'm not the best pilot in the world.” Sara keyed a few commands into the system. The tactical and sensor displays powered on above the pilot's console.

“Expecting trouble?”

“No doubt about it. Get strapped in and let's go.”

Rin complied with the instructions and settled into the command couch, fastening the crash harness and adjusting the seat to her size and height. Her feet tapped against the rudder pedals and she curled her fingers around the stick and throttle assembly.

“How do you even know I can fly something like this?”

Sara shrugged but offered no explanation. As a matter of fact, Rin could fly this ship, even without a direct connection to the vessel's computer. She'd never actually flown a Corsair before, not even in simulation, but Alliance vessels were highly standardized. Even something like this, more than three decades out of date, was remarkably similar to the Lancer.

“The Lancer is the only vessel even close to this size I've ever flown,” Rin gave her new companion a dubious look. “And I've never used anything this old.”

“It's close enough. The Luminaire is only about eighty percent more massive than a Lancer, anyway. You should be able to adapt no problem.”

Rin tapped in a sequence of commands on the console and activated the vessel's repulsion pads, keeping them at neutral power while Sara handled disengaging the docking clamps. The Corsair shivered slightly as the claw-like clamps were released, the gunship remaining suspended with only a few centimeters of drift.

“Sirius Traffic Control P Block, this is Corsair Luminaire in slip P-87 requesting clearance through the pattern for launch,” Sara spoke into the comm. “Transmitting IFF and launch codes now.”

“Corsair Luminaire, your IFF checks out good and you've been cleared for launch. Proceed to launch port 4.”

“What's the queue look like, Control?”

Rin could hear a chuckle on the other end. “Looks like no delays, Luminaire. Most of the traffic cleared out already and you should have a straight shot into open space.”

“Nice to get lucky once in a while,” Sara commented.

“Don't count on it happening again any time soon. Hope you enjoyed your stay on Sirius Colony, Luminaire. Have a safe trip. Control out.”

Sara cut off the comm. “Take us out, nice and casual. I'm going to make sure our friends back there didn't leave us a little surprise.” The woman focused intently on her console, entering commands into a temporary diagnostic display.

Rin applied power to the repulsion pads and eased the Corsair out into the pattern, descending through the maze of catwalks. The dock's guidance systems helped out more than a little, as the scout ship's maneuvering felt overly sluggish, even while it taxied through the dock.

Launch port 4 was clear, as the traffic-control officer promised—Rin applied additional power to the pads and accelerated, moving sedately through the dock. There were only a few other small ships, none of which were anywhere near massive enough to back up the launch port. The Corsair's shields activated a moment before the scout ship passed through the port's curtain barrier and out into open space.

“Powering up main drive,” Rin announced. She engaged the appropriate controls and the Corsair's acceleration increased significantly. The repulsion pads disengaged as the primary thrusters flared to life. Her body's gyroscopic sensors detected the subtle shift as the inertial dampening field and artificial gravity came online.

“Aha!” Sara exclaimed. “Found it.”

“What did you find?”

“A tracking device, courtesy of our two friends at the dock,” the woman explained. “I ran a full diagnostic of the shield generators and noticed a subtle instability on one of the dorsal hexes. There's something attached to the hull up there.”

Rin stiffened in her chair. “Can you get rid of it?”

“Already being taken care of. The emergency maintenance drone should be able to rip it off no problem.”

“As soon as you do that, they're going to come after us,” Rin pointed out. “If they can't follow us, they'll have no choice but to try and stop us before we can leave the system.”

“That's why you're up here, flying the ship.”

The artificial girl shot Sara a sidelong glance. “I'm flattered.”

“It won't take long before the ACS patrols realize there's a firefight going on. They'll come out to break it up.” Sara ran a hand through her short-bobbed brown hair and let out a slow breath. “Did you check out the weapons and everything?”

Rin nodded as she maneuvered around a huge helium-3 tanker ship. “I did. I have to admit I'm impressed you managed to fit this much firepower into a ship this small without violating civilian weapons regulations.”

“It's all in following the letter of the law.” Sara grinned. “Besides, the real big punch is hidden from casual observance. Watch your tactical display.” The woman entered a complex string of commands into her console.

Rin blinked in surprise as a new weapons system appeared on the tactical. Even before Sara had unlocked the Luminaire's hidden teeth, it had been exceptionally well-armed with two medium-range linear accelerators, a single ten-rack of swarm missiles and a short-range laser array. The new entry, though…

“That can't be right,” she objected.

“It's limited, sure—you don't get too many shots without running yourself completely out of energy, but it's there and it packs one hell of a nasty wallop.”

The Luminaire's primary weapon was a particle beam cannon, easily the most deadly starship weapon in humanity's impressive arsenal. Rin had never heard of a vessel smaller than a frigate mounting such a weapon and the Corsair was barely a fifth the size of the Alliance's smallest capital-class warship.

“How in the universe did you fit that in here?”

“Not easily,” Sara replied, “but it's saved my life more times than I'd care to count, so long as I keep its use restricted to the fringe territories where the Alliance can't see. I just wanted to make sure you knew it was there—don't use it here unless we're about to get blown up.”

Rin didn't respond to that. They were out in open space now, headed toward one of the hypergates that would take them somewhere else. Since Sara was handling the navigation duties, Rin had no idea what course she'd plotted in for the jump. The artificial girl kept her attention focused on the tactical display.

“There they are,” Rin called out. “We've got tails—looks like three C-shape fighters, unknown configuration. They look pretty well-used, but sensors aren't picking up any abnormalities.”

“They're using those old things for camouflage, not because it's all they have.” Sara's eyes hardened as she started entering commands into her console. “Give me control of the launcher and the lasers.”

Rin tapped a key on her console. “Done.”

“Just keep flying casual,” Sara instructed. “They're going to try and get real close and disable us for sure. Just pretend like you don't have a clue they're about to attack.”

“Trying for a laser stab?”

“Shouldn't be too hard to pull off. C-shape fighters have lousy shields, even if these are probably upgraded.”

The artificial girl continued to fly leisurely toward the hypergate, still several light-seconds distant. At this low cruise acceleration, it'd take another two or three minutes before they reached the gate. The amber icons on the tactical display began to converge together as they crept up on the Corsair.

“Just a few seconds longer… now!”

Rin threw the throttle against its stops at the same exact moment Sara fired. Intense beams of pulsed laser light delivered a tremendous amount of energy into the battered old fighter's hull. Shields flashed and fizzled as the vicious barrage punched through. Armor plates glowed with incandescent brilliance as they boiled away.

The Corsair rocketed away as small explosions rippled through the damaged enemy fighter. The ship was still flying and didn't look too bad from the outside, but Rin knew the pilot inside was either dead or very close to it. Sara's lasers striking the unshielded hull with enough power to vaporize armor would have flash-heated the interior, and the C-shape fighter lacked the extensive laser countermeasures that modern vessels possessed.

The other two fighters, to their credit, reacted quickly and hit their boost thrusters, putting distance between themselves and the Luminaire while they prepared to make a much more standard attack run. The shield indicator dropped ten percent as linear cannon shots struck the Corsair glancing blows.

“We've got more trouble.” Rin kept her voice even as the tactical display squawked at her. Five more icons, no longer amber, appeared on the two-dimensional holo.

“Looks like they were sitting out here on emergency power waiting to ambush us,” Sara observed. “The ACS isn't going to miss this—keep dodging, avoid shooting back for now. Let's try to play both ends against the middle.”

20

The Luminaire shot through the Sirius system, with seven C-shape fighters bearing down on it. Metallic-composite impactors filled the space around them, but Rin was able to keep the big Corsair from taking too many hits. She glanced at her shield indicator—things were a little tight at thirty percent.

“Shunting burst banks to shields,” Rin reported. She stabbed a nearby button on the tactical display console and sent an enormous amount of stored energy into the shield generators, instantly raising them to nearly eighty percent.

“They're going to chase us all the way to the hypergate,” Sara observed in a mild tone. If she was nervous at all, she certainly wasn't showing it.

Rin glanced back at the woman behind her. “The ACS patrols will probably lock it down until they can sort out all sides of the fight. I hope you've got another plan for us to get out of here.”

“They're desperate,” Sara agreed. “Whoever's trying to get their hands on you and Pierce want to settle the issue now before the whole mess gets too bogged down in bureaucracy. It'll be a lot harder for them to try to snatch you two from custody again.”

“That isn't preferable?”

Sara shook her head. “No. I was hired to get you two safe and sound outside of Alliance jurisdiction.”

“You're implying that these unknowns are linked to the person or persons in the Alliance trying to use us for their own presumably dishonest purpose.”

“Not implying, telling.” Sara keyed in a long string of coordinates into her navigation console. “They are absolutely linked—my employer just doesn't know who is pulling their strings. Now that their sneaky attempt failed and the two of you are fugitives, it'll become both easier and more difficult for them to get their hands on you.”

Rin jerked the Corsair around and spun the vessel in a complex series of maneuvers intended to not only throw off the enemy fighters' aim, but also to drag them back toward the colony. Her tactical display beeped and sixteen green icons appeared on the screen.

“The ACS patrol wing has joined the party,” Rin warned.

“Good. Let them see us get shot a little—slack off on the crazy maneuvers. Let the shields take more than a few hits. I'll get the war started.”

The artificial girl smiled and let her hand go slack on the stick, tapping the throttle slightly and allowing the Corsair to return to a more sedate flight path. The Luminaire's starframe shuddered as several impactors scored direct hits.

Well within sensor range of the ACS patrol.

“They're going for it,” Rin marveled.

“They're about to go for it even more.” Sara tapped a button on her console and opened the system emergency channel. “Emergency! Emergency! Corsair Dawn Flyer requesting immediate assistance! We're under attack by seven unknown fighters. I think they're pirates—they're attempting to disable my ship!”

A new voice sounded over the comm. “Copy that, Dawn Flyer. Just sit tight and we'll take these miscreants out.”

“Dawn Flyer?” Rin queried.

“I switched the IFF codes to a phony set I keep for just such an occasion,” Sara explained with a grin. “This should confuse things even more and keep our tail as clear as we can on the way out.”

Rin felt a slow, astonished smile spread across her face as the sixteen icons of the ACS patrol wing dispersed, splitting off into four flights in formation. The tactical display reported the patrol wing as consisting of Archer-class multirole fighters with a common light patrol weapons configuration.

The tactical display suddenly blossomed with dozens of points of amber light as the ACS wing launched a full barrage of missiles, directly at the seven C-shape fighters. Rin knew they were disruptor warheads—the ACS patrol wanted to take the enemy pilots alive.

“Now that they're too busy with each other, we should get out of here while we can.” Sara fiddled with her console for a few moments, examining the navigation display closely. “The hypergate's been locked down—only Alliance military vessels will be able to use it for the next hour.”

“We have an alternate route?” Rin queried.

“Yeah, we'll make unassisted jumps.” Sara pressed a key and brought up a list of stars within the range of the Luminaire's warp core. “We can make forty per jump, so to muddy the waters a little, I think we'll make a ten light-year jump to this unnamed star, stop for a quick recharge and switch the IFF codes, then do a full jump to the Pollux system.”

Rin nodded, understanding the woman's reasoning perfectly. While a vessel using its own warp core unassisted couldn't be directly followed, their destination could be narrowed down through probability calculations. By traveling to an uninhabited star system first and then moving on to their destination, they would introduce additional confusion for anyone who attempted to follow.

“Initiating warp core injection,” Rin reported. She turned to look at Sara. “We're planning to use the Pollux hypergate?”

“Yeah. The place I want to take you is well outside of Alliance space. Actually, it's somewhat close to the Coreward frontier systems, though the Gray don't really care about that stuff. Too many old stars near the galactic core.”

Rin found it more than a little interesting that someone like Sara would have knowledge concerning what the Gray cared about. She supposed it made sense, after all—people living outside of the Alliance's protection would need to be very wary.

The Luminaire's shell display exploded into brilliant chaotic swirls for half a second before the external cameras cut out. Rin watched the clock tick down as the hyperspace tunnel began to collapse behind them, the tear in space-time opening and depositing the vessel ten light-years away.

“Core retracting. It wasn't a full jump, so it shouldn't take too long to recharge.” Sara unstrapped herself from her seat and stood up, walking back into the crew section. She opened a small stasis and refrigeration unit and pulled out a bottle of water. “Well, that was tons of fun, wasn't it?”

“Delightful,” Rin muttered, her tone sharp enough to cut armor plating. Sara chuckled softly as she returned to her station and began entering commands into the system. The IFF codes weren't supposed to be swapped like this—doing so was almost as illegal as the Luminaire's hidden particle beam cannon. For someone working on the fringe with methods that lie decidedly south of legal, such a modification was almost expected.

“Go be with her,” Sara said.

Rin gave the woman a curious look.

“You want to be with your girlfriend, right? I can see it written all over your face. You're too human for your own good, Little Miss AI.”

“But the piloting—”

Sara held a hand up to stop her. “We're not going to be fighting any longer. I can handle this basic stuff—I do it all the time. Hell, I probably could have handled that little scrap myself, but I figured you wouldn't just want to sit around and do nothing.”

“That's true.”

“Then go.” Sara smiled with a surprising amount of warmth. “Go on, get out of here. Go snuggle with your Alisa for a little while. I'll be fine—this is the sort of thing I do for a living, after all.”

Rin unsnapped her own crash harness and extracted herself from the seat. Her muscles still felt stiff, but the control circuits were no longer bombarding her with warning messages and errors. It'd take a few days keeping her exertion to a minimum before the repair nanites managed to get them back within spec.

“Excuse me, then.”

[-]

Alisa's breathing was still slow and regular, but it was deeper now, no longer shallow; Rin suspected the nerve tricks played on her body from the stun baton had worn off. Her face had regained much of its normal dark beige color. The artificial girl traced her fingertip gently over the scattering of freckles across Alisa's nose and cheeks.

There was something maddeningly familiar that Rin couldn't quite place. It was as if something like this had happened before, but she could find no relevant data in her memory blocks. The artificial girl wondered if this was what it felt like for a human to forget something.

Despite what Sara Loewe may have said, Rin was not quite as human as she'd like. Her recall was flawless, even beyond that of the rare human eidetic memory. The data she gathered was stored within the incomprehensibly dense storage of her lattice diagram, the physical and logical construction that made up the artificial sentient being known as Rin. It could not be lost unintentionally through any means short of death.

Locked within the catatonic state, Alisa would need extensive care. Throughout their escape, Rin hadn't had the time to tend to her. Now she propped her beloved partner up in the bunk, situating her body and head at an angle meant to facilitate her task.

Rin opened the bottle of water and took an experimental sip, making sure it wasn't too cold. Her fingers grasped Alisa's chin and parted her lips slightly; Rin touched the neck of the water bottle to them and tilted, letting a small amount flow inside.

“Isn't that good, love? Nice and cool and refreshing,” Rin murmured as she massaged Alisa's throat, gently forcing her to swallow. It was slow work—she wouldn't be able to swallow more than a tiny sip at a time or risk choking—but there was nothing in the universe Rin would rather be doing.

It took almost ten minutes, but Rin managed to help Alisa drink the entire bottle of water. Dehydration would be a serious worry as long as she was in this state. Had she remained in the hospital, the medics would have run an intravenous line to keep her both hydrated and nourished. Rin could do neither of these things.

“I'll have to think of some way to get you something to eat.” Rin smiled at her partner and pressed her lips to Alisa's forehead. “I know you can't hear me, not with your implant broken, but I'm going to do my best to come back to you. Sara said she would be able to fix your implant once we get to where we're going. Isn't that wonderful? Then, even if you are still withdrawn like this, I'll be able to talk to you.”

Alisa didn't respond. Somehow, Rin knew that Alisa wasn't truly unconscious, despite having insufficient data to support this hypothesis. She wasn't a medical professional, but Rin did have extended senses beyond what a human could manage. The biological data she obtained through her sensors was almost identical to the data she'd collected shortly after Lindy's death.

“You aren't unconscious or in a coma,” Rin insisted. “You got too hurt, so you ran away and hid. Hid within your own mind. I think… I get the feeling that you might have done this before in the past. That this may have happened to you once already.”

Rin reached out and brushed reddish-brown curls from Alisa's face. She looked utterly peaceful and completely relaxed, but her mind, the part that made Alisa who she was… Rin suspected that part of her was not peaceful or relaxed.

“But now you're trapped inside yourself and you can't get out. I'm sure you're scared, but just hold on, love. Just hold on. As soon as we get your implant working again, I'll help you come back to me.”

Drawing the blanket up and over the catatonic woman, Rin kissed her one more time before walking out of the tiny sleep cubby. She turned the lights down and strode out into the crew section.

Sara was sitting at one of the unused analysis terminals, a glass of some clear liquor in her hand. In her left hand she held something Rin had heard about, but never seen before—a cigarette. They were illegal on most Alliance colonies, along with candles and incense and any other unauthorized combustion.

“How is she?”

“Alisa isn't unconscious or in a coma,” Rin said. The artificial girl stared at the bottle sitting on the inactive console. It was an unlabeled clear glass bottle with a plastic stopper, filled with some potent-smelling spirit. A dozen or more dried red chilies floated in the liquor.

“Fire spirits. Want some?”

“No, thank you. I can't get drunk, anyway—I'm an AI.”

Sara snorted. “Lot of bitterness in those last three words.”

“If I wasn't an AI, if I was a human, I might be able to make myself remember the things I can't remember,” Rin growled, frustration dripping from her words. “But I'm an AI, not a human, so the things I forgot I didn't actually forget—someone sealed and encrypted to keep me from remembering them.”

“The sealed blocks are that important?”

“I don't know if they're important or not.” Rin shrugged and dragged herself over to the pilot's seat, sinking down into the plush padding. “I just get a vague, ill-defined sensation that Alisa's condition is familiar, terribly familiar, and that makes me strongly suspect the sealed blocks have something to do with this.”

“Hmm. Interesting theory.” Sara lifted the cigarette to her lips and pulled, drawing in the stimulant-laden smoke. Her face flushed slightly and she coughed twice. “I'm not a habitual smoker. These things are pretty hard to get your hands on even outside of Alliance space. Can't really fill an agricolony up with tobacco plants. Even pirates, thieves and hackers have to eat, right?”

“Then why smoke them at all?” Rin inquired.

“It's a reminder.”

“Of what?”

Sara smiled sadly. “Of someone who isn't around any more. I'll tell you more, soon. Promise. Both you and Alisa, after she wakes back up. You said you think she's neither unconscious nor in a deeper coma?”

“I think her mind retreated inside itself.” Rin's expression became increasingly thoughtful as she spoke. “She was only tentatively hanging on after Lindy died. Our Lancer's heavy linear cannon had been tampered with, making it unreliable to use. Alisa thought she could compensate for the discrepancy manually, but…”

“A friendly fire death?”

“Alisa blames herself for our friend and colleague's death,” Rin explained. “It wasn't really her fault—I analyzed the logs after the fact. She made the right decision, and Lindy would have survived if the cannon was just malfunctioning rather than sabotaged. Someone rigged it to keep drifting further and further out of alignment.”

Sara kept her expression neutral, but Rin had a feeling she knew all of this already and was either humoring her… or was hoping Rin would stumble upon something that Sara herself had missed.

“She was still responsive, albeit barely, until…” The artificial girl trailed off.

“Until the mook in the ACS getup zapped her implant,” Sara finished for her. “Looks like you were the one keeping her afloat—your shared connection through the neural link was probably shoring up her psyche's defenses.”

Rin's eyes widened. “So if we get her implant fixed, I should be able to reach her, to guide her back into the world.”

“Do I look like a psychologist?” Sara chuckled softly and shrugged. “I used to work on implants and prosthetics, not heads. That's going to be all you, Rin. I can fix her implant sure, no problem, but that's about it.”

The navigation display began to beep insistently as the hyperspace tunnel collapsed once again. The star-studded velvet expanse of Coreward space blazed into being as the shell display powered back on. Rin settled into the pilot's seat and wrapped her fingers around the stick.

“Where is this place?”

Sara took her seat at the navigator's station. “We're on the edge of the galactic core. This star doesn't have a name, but the settlement here does.”

“People actually live here? In this radiation-blasted wasteland?”

“Where there's profit, people will go.” Sara tapped a few keys into her console and opened up a channel. “Avernus Traffic Control, this is Corsair Luminaire, requesting to bid for landing rights near Nexus City.”

“Luminaire, this is Avernus Control, Nexus City,” a surly-sounding voice came back over the comm. “Landing rights start at fifteen hundred. Let's see you make a bid and I'll see how close I can get you.”

Sara suppressed a smile. “I'll send two thousand if you get me within ten kilometers.”

“Are you joking or just fucking stupid, Luminaire?” Control snapped in an incredulous tone. “Try double that if you want to keep within twenty kilometers of the city.”

“How about this, Control: I'll bid six thousand for a secure pad within five klicks,” Sara shot back, her voice filled with scorn. “When I say secure, I mean secure, too—I better see a guard posted at all times or you're going to be down more than a few flak cannons.”

The comm went silent.

Rin stared at Sara in disbelief. “Are you actually threatening their traffic control?”

“Yeah, and I'll follow through if they try to screw me over.” Sara shot the artificial girl an irritated glare. “Now keep quiet and let me handle this—remember, this is my area of expertise.”

Rin nodded but fell silent, staring at the planet that loomed large in the shell display. From here it didn't really look like much—just another roughly Earth-sized rocky world with a metallic core. The surface appeared to be a uniform dark gray with no indication of life or even much of an atmosphere.

“Corsair Luminaire! What a pleasant surprise this is,” a new voice came over the comm. “It's been a while, hasn't it, Miss Loewe?”

“Hello, Jean,” Sara replied, her tone both wary and jovial at the same time. “You're damn right it's been a while. How long have you known I was in-system?”

“Ever since you dropped out of hyperspace.”

“And you let that grubby button-pusher in traffic control talk to me like that?” Sara grinned broadly. “I need to land near Nexus City and that asshole keeps trying to overcharge me for landing rights. Think you can do something about it?”

“Certainly,” the man named Jean replied, his voice oh-so-smooth. “But only if you promise to come visit me before you disappear again on some other dangerous and profitable mission.”

“I was planning to. I've got some things to take care of first, but I would definitely be interested in getting together with you for a little bit. We've got so much catching up to do, don't we?”

“Indeed,” Jean murmured with slightly less enthusiasm than before. “You've got rights for one of my pads in Nexus City, right off the Market Block. High security, regular patrols and shielded from eavesdropping devices.”

“How much?”

“Oh, I think we can discuss that face-to-face—”

“Jean,” Sara growled, putting considerable force into her words. “How much?”

“If you'll agree to do a little job for me, I'll waive all of your fees and put you up in the fanciest hotel in town. Now don't fret, Miss Loewe, this won't interfere with your ongoing mission and should be simple enough for someone of your well-regarded skill.”

“And if I refuse?”

“Then you'll have to pay for your own shit,” Jean replied, his tone bone-dry. “You know I'm not the type who go all homicidal on people who don't do exactly as I command. Power-mad executives are terribly cliché, after all.”

“Fair enough.” Sara sighed softly. “Tell me about the job tomorrow night, okay? Right now I just want to get a shower and stuff my face and pass out for the next ten or twelve hours.”

“Your wish is my command. I'll have someone come bring a car to pick you up from the hotel tomorrow at 2200. Is that agreeable?”

“Yeah, that works for me. Thanks, Jean.” Sara muted the comm system and sighed again as she sank more deeply into her chair.

“What was that all about?” Rin demanded.

“Jean is a former employer and former friend. Well, at least much a 'friend' as you can really make among the criminals, smugglers, drug dealers and slavers that make their lives in the fringe. He's a somewhat cultured type of criminal, which makes him only slightly less unpleasant to deal with.”

Rin blinked. “What sort of 'job' was he talking about?”

“He probably wants me to do tech work,” Sara explained. “Depending on what it is, I may or may not accept—though don't worry, I have plenty of credits to cover our costs even if he wants me to do something I'm not willing to do.”

The Luminaire streaked down through the thin atmosphere surrounding the planet. Rin turned back around and settled in her seat. The traffic down onto the planet's surface was fairly thick, consisting mostly of small courier-type vessels two to three times larger than Sara's Corsair. The traffic control system was old and out of date compared to Alliance-run systems, but the guidance signal seemed to work just fine, allowing the Luminaire to easily make its way through the larger ship traffic.

Rin could just barely make out a glow of pink, blue and purple on the horizon. So far the surface of the planet appeared bare—the sudden appearance of the lighting, visible from their distant vantage point, came as a bit of a surprise.

“What's that?”

“Just wait,” Sara said, suppressing a smile.

The Luminaire roared across the surface of the featureless planet—and Rin saw that it was not quite so featureless. The surface of the world was made up of some sandy black dust that gave off a dull sparkle, suggesting the presence of great mineral wealth just beneath the surface.

The artificial girl turned her gaze back to the shell display as the Corsair drew ever closer to their destination. Rin's eyes stared in wonder as the city became visible, larger than any city she'd ever seen in her life.

Enormous spires that reached a kilometer or more into the black sky towered over a mass of smaller arcology habitats beneath. Biosphere domes, both small and enormous, broke up the monotony of sealed buildings and arcologies. Garish lighting and stylized signs were everywhere, advertising everything from food and lodging to weapons and drugs.

The Luminaire skimmed a scant few meters above the city as it headed for the pre-arranged landing pad. Rin could see dozens of sealed tunnel streets and thoroughfares running between the buildings and the domes. Densely-packed groups of people moved between the different structures, quickly heading to their destinations while almost totally ignoring everyone else around them.

“Never seen anything like this, have you?”

“No, never.” Rin's eyes were locked on the shell display, but much of the view of the city was lost as the Luminaire descended for landing. Her enthusiasm thus dampened somewhat, the artificial girl turned to regard her companion.

“You're in for one hell of a wild ride, then.” Sara entered a string of commands into her console and the Corsair set down on the landing pad with a barely-perceptible shudder.

“This is Nexus City, the single largest free human settlement in the galaxy,” Sara proclaimed, spreading her arms with a grand, sweeping gesture. “We're completely outside of the Alliance's jurisdiction here.”

The hatch lowered and Rin followed Sara out onto the tarmac. Rin peered out over the edge of the landing complex, down into the Market Block, the most colorful part of Nexus City. The entire surface of the block was sealed within a network of curtain barriers, keeping breathable atmosphere from escaping.

“Ugh, what is that smell?” Rin wrinkled her nose. She looked a bit more closely, peering down into the darkened alleyways. There were people everywhere, and most of them looked sick, malnourished or wounded. Trash was scattered over the walkways and streets, piled thickly near the walls of the dilapidated stalls.

“What is this place?”

Sara placed a reassuring hand on Rin's shoulder and squeezed. The artificial girl could not even begin to make out the indescribable expression on her companion's face.

“Welcome to Avernus. The First Level of Hell.”

To be continued…

Destructive Interference: ISO 953

[-]

A Binary System Short Story by K.J. Russell

“I don't want to get rid of the aching. It's good.” Rajeev tightened the over-the-shoulder strap on his binder, feeling it squeeze tight over his chest, pressing skin into muscle into bones.

“You're going to have serious health issues if you don't come in and at least let me check to see why it hurts.”

“It sharpens when I'm in the Dagger. It fills the sensory deprivation. Makes sure that only thoughts sharper than the pain get into my head. If I get rid of the aching my sync number might go down.”

“And those sync numbers are everything to you hotshots, isn't it? Sharp is not good.” Emesta's emerald irises narrowed. Stray black hairs lay over her clay-colored features, her perfect nose with its straight bridge and button tip, her large lips. She leaned into the comm so that her face filled as much of the screen as possible, like she wanted to make sure that her exquisite eyebrows did not escape notice. “Now, you might decide it's not my business, but I'm supposed to keep a psychological profile of you running as well. When you say things like that, that the aching is good, I need to put that next to everything else.”

“Everything else?” Rajeev's hands, the color of garden soil when light panels were at half power, brushed over the blue cube he held in his off-hand. “What else?”

“You know. The…” Emesta's lips narrowed when she pressed them together. “Rajeev, why don't you come down and talk, please? We can make an appointment for tomorrow evening—2000 sharp.”

“Thank you.”

Green eyes lighting up, Emesta leaned back from the screen so that her large hair framed her in black. “Is that a yes?”

“It's a 'thank you.' That's better than just a 'yes', isn't it?” Rajeev looked away from the green-eyed doctor, at the gray room around him, the blue covers of the three bunks and the bulkheads that appeared dark blue in the evening shadows. When he looked back at the screen, it was black, and he was looking into the reflection of his own blue irises set on gray stones in a face of pale brown earth. He sighed down at the blue cube in his hands. “I'm going to plug you in and walk while we work.”

The metal walls and floors were an unfocused backdrop behind the blue and black displays on the pad in Rajeev's hand as he made his way through the ship. Numbers and stats ran by fast, names and faces of the destroyer's fighter pilots accompanying their flight records—some familiar and some unfamiliar. Rajeev barely looked up as he passed crewmen, though he noticed the wide berth they gave him. He glanced about to note his position relative to the bulkheads and the lifts.

Only once did he stop, in one of the external corridors between the crew quarters and the fighter bays. He paused to glance up at a scar in the hull where Gray lasers had cut through a few months back. Then Rajeev continued on to the crew mess, not to eat, but to see outside.

The stars were unfamiliar. Rajeev knew the stars better as system maps and jump-routes than as something to be aesthetically gazed at. He'd never noticed them before, but looking back, he could recall the gray and soft sapphire hue of the space they'd been stationed in previously. Now, though, the Nightshade had been sent to the very front of the war, and the space here looked different. He couldn't find any blue to see. Dots of white and red, stars of yellow and green tints, bundled into masses of pale, colorless haze. It was all just gray. He didn't like looking at it, but he gazed anyway.

“They're here,” Rajeev muttered at the tablet computer in his hand. It glowed blue up at him, displaying star systems, flight records, and mission stats. “We're going to meet them again.”

On the tab, in the language of numbers and inconsequential words, the networked blue box answered with mute resignation.

“You bring your work here? Don't they give you linkers time off?”

Rajeev turned his gaze away from the window and found himself looking at a gray-uniformed torso. Blinking, he leaned back to see the tall man's face. “This isn't work.”

The man, almost twice Rajeev's height, looked down at him with his broad features curving into a smile. “Looks like work. Or a heck of a hobby.” The man's voice was as deep as the hum of the Nightshade's engines heard from behind four bulkheads. His skin was almost as black as the space outside, eyes the color of fertile soil.

Rajeev forced a grin. “Well, it is work, but it's relaxing work.” Feeling like he'd just been pulled out of a fugue state, Rajeev turned his gaze out over the rest of the Nightshade's mess. The tables were mostly empty islands of white light reflecting off barren steel. A few small groups gathered in their own corners, stratified between members of the 409th Interceptor Wing and the newly-transferred 551st Heavy Escort Wing.

The tall man passed one hand over Rajeev's head. “All the linkers as short as you? I know your ships are small, but I didn't think they'd have miniature pilots, too.”

Rajeev hummed through half-felt amusement. “You're a member of the 551. Welcome to the Nightshade.”

“Name's Badru.” The man extended a hand. He was so tall—or Rajeev was so small—that it did not hang past Rajeev's shoulders.

Rajeev lifted his hand to the man's palm and shook firmly despite how the black fingers completely eclipsed his own earthen digits. “Rajeev.”

Reclaiming his hand, Badru crossed his big arms and gazed out into the mess. “Heard some of the 409 are a little bitter at us for getting the 288 transferred out.”

“That's not your fault. The 288 weren't performing well in their assignment and the Nightshade needed a heavy wing for the mission.”

“That's not the mission anymore, though, is it?”

“No.” Rajeev frowned, features wrinkling, as he looked back to the pad in his hands. “But that's not your fault either. It's just bad timing.”

“It's the Infiltrator's fault.” Badru's voice darkened. “They want to take an early jaunt back, so we're stuck out here with our pants down, ready to fight the Gray.”

“The 551 isn't properly equipped for this new mission.”

“I'll try not to take that personally.”

“It's basic tactics.” Rajeev hefted his pad, on which were displayed the flight statistics of the 551's pre-transfer missions. “The Gray gunboats mount almost exclusively energy weapons. Ultraviolet lasers. The 409 uses Daggers, which is a similar kind of fighter to what the Infiltrator was stocked with. Fast, maneuverable, and we can equip the long-range ballistic weaponry that's the tactical hard counter to Gray gunboats.”

“And the thick armor on my Labrys isn't going to do jack against Gray lasers, right?”

“Well, they'll get very hot and then ablate off. That's just short of jack.” Rajeev smirked humorlessly. “Your Labrys-class fighters have stronger shields, so you can soak up more laser fire than the Daggers can. But living an extra two seconds isn't going to help much unless you can do something with it, and your best weapons are lasers. Which is exactly what the Gray are best at soaking up.”

Badru quirked his lips to one side. “You ever fought the Gray before, short-stuff?”

“No. I've run simulations.”

“Linkers.” Badru lifted his shoulders in a gargantuan shrug. “Look, you can run all the numbers you want, go through computer simulations and then plug into your AI training wheels, but that's Gray thinking. Math and numbers. You have to get some organic thought in it.”

Rajeev responded with a measure of firmness. “Awl is not a training wheel.”

“Awl?”

“My operator is named Awl.”

“Right.” Badru shook his head. “Listen, the thing about the Labrys is the tactics are always the same, whether we're fighting marauders, Gray, or just shooting space-rocks. Get in their flight-path, turn dead-on at 'em, and shoot til there's nothing left.”

“And if they fly sideways?”

“Everything's got momentum, short-stuff. Nothing turns that fast.”

“Well, that's a fact, yes. I imagine if we fly together in an engagement, the Daggers will be targeting Gray engines to give the Labrys their chance at a kill.” The tab in Rajeev's hand let out a modest blaring, flashing blue, and Rajeev looked down on it. “On the subject of simulations, Awl's finished another one.”

“Let's just see how it works out when the order comes to sortie.”

“You might want to check on the Infiltrator's battle stats and memorize Gray formations before then. Also—” Rajeev gestured behind him, “You might want to ask the others about me in the meantime. I've got a reputation that might rub off on you.”

“Hm?” Badru turned his gaze back into the mess, noticing the way that Rajeev's fellow 409 pilots, the Nightshade's engineers, and the crewmen in the mess watched Rajeev out of the corner of their eyes. Those looks had now extended to Badru, and a few of the pilots of the 551 seemed to be bonding with the 409 over hushed whispers. Badru shook his head at that. “Nah, I already heard the rumors.”

“Oh.” Rajeev frowned up at the monolith of a man. “That's why you're over here. Are you going to report back about me?”

“Nothing like that.” Badru waved that away with thick fingers and shook his head. “Everyone in the 551 is creeped out by the linkers, but then I hear about this linker that creeps out the other linkers? Figure that sounds like an interesting guy. And besides that.”

Another pinging sound on the tab drew Rajeev's gaze to it, and he pulled up a message from Emesta: Don't forget to come by at 2000 hours tomorrow. Rajeev sighed. “Besides that?”

Badru gave him a smile. “You got the best kill count in the wing, right?”

“And the highest sync stats. Just more for my peers to hold against me, really.” Rajeev gave Badru a forced smile. “Am I as creepy as the rumors said?”

“Nah.” Badru shook his head. “Just a nerd.”

“Tell that to my shrink.” Rajeev lifted his pad in ineffective illustration, then took a step away. “I need to go get my operator put away and read through these stats. Thank you.”

“'Thank you?'” Badru frowned at Rajeev's back. “That some kinda 'Goodbye?'”

“It's a 'Thank you.' That's better than a 'Goodbye,' isn't it?” Rajeev waved over his shoulder as he walked away. He made his way through the islands of light, navigating between them as though floating through the rivulets of shadow, well away from the other pilots and crewmen. The corridors suited him better.

There were no shadows there for him to gravitate toward, and he stared at his tab as he walked. He kept to the interior walkways this time, not wanting the same scar in the bulkhead to grab his attention again. His mind idly recalled to him each time he walked past a maintenance access terminal or significant power hub, as though he had those memorized better than the very hallways of the ship. And maybe he did. He knew if he stepped into the high-voltage junctions and melted into the power of the ship, exactly what lines the cables would take the vaporized energy of his body through its walls.

They would carry him in an almost straight line up-decks to his quarters where he could gawk at the empty shadows he swaddled himself in, the stoic AI operator plugged into its terminal digesting and regurgitating constant information. There would be three 90-degree angle turns and one transformer between him and the medical center where he'd become the light that gave Emesta's green eyes their glow, shone through her black hair and gave her that white halo she sometimes had during early morning appointments when the humidity from her shower hadn't quite left her hair. His energy would become the warmth on her shoulders and brow, her hard-angled cheeks that were just like her brother's cheeks and would cut the stream of her tears at hard angles when she cried.

The pad in Rajeev's hand chirped at him, and he inhaled a breath so loud and sudden that a crew member who had been walking past him startled. Rajeev weathered the crewman's vexed look and returned a pathetic shrug. Running a hand through his brown hair, Rajeev broke from his accidental standstill and turned his gaze down at his pad. In front of Awl's data, still waiting unread, another message from Emesta appeared: Did you get my last message? You never actually confirmed if we had an appointment or not.

Rajeev typed his response—I'll be there. I promise—and then sent it, dismissing the text widget so that he could look over the data that Awl had for him. Loyal, hard-working Awl, who never called him short or asked about his psychological state. Just got the work done and never felt anything. Empty.

When he made it back to his quarters, Rajeev walked to the terminal where the blue box connected to the digital systems. “You going to work all night? Don't operators ever get any time off?”

Awl replied in a digitized monotone. “If we are instructed to.” More for actions than words, it pulled up a display of a simulation in progress and put that on the larger terminal sitting on Rajeev's small desk. “I'm running flight data based on the plan of action that Badru proposed in the mess hall. Early results indicate that unless a Gray gunboat is flying directly at a Labrys fighter, the fighter will be destroyed by concentrated laser fire before it is in range to do significant damage.”

Rajeev leaned forward to look at the screen. “And the gunboats aren't that much slower than the fighters, so if the gunboat is running away, the fighter's just target practice for the Gray.”

“That would be an accurate assessment.”

“What if the Gunboat isn't accelerating?”

“The Labrys will be able to inflict damage, but will ultimately be outgunned. The Labrys' primary energy weapons are directly countered by Gray shielding technology. They would not overcome this hurdle in time.”

“I want you to send these results to Beta Lead with that commentary.” Rajeev patted the blue box. “Then I'm shutting you off.”

“This simulation is incomplete.”

“It'll complete in the morning. It's time to rest.”

“I do not require rest.” Despite its protests, Awl paused the simulation, and its readouts vanished from the screen.

“You're giving me a sensory overload. And I've got another question for you.” Rajeev sat on his rigid bed, one of three that he and two other crew members shared. He bunked separately from the other pilots, with 'available space' cited as the reason. The blue-hued light made him look gray in the darkness. “Why do you think the other pilots in the 409 are so unsettled by me?”

With rude promptness, Awl responded, “Because of Huan.”

Rajeev's features creased and he looked to one side. “Not going easy on me there, are you?”

“I am required to answer your question to the best of my ability.”

“Well, thanks. No more questions for now.” Rajeev tossed himself back on the bed and stared at the ceiling.

“Doctor Emesta has entered into ship's records that you have a psychological check-up at 20 hours tomorrow.”

“Thank you. Shut down for now, please.”

“Shutting down.” The lights on the operator's blue box dimmed.

“Just want to be by myself for a little while,” Rajeev muttered, closing his eyes, listening to the sound of Awl's processes winding down. The mattress under him was just hard enough to press his shoulder blades uncomfortably into his back, and suddenly the pain from his bindings bloomed into an ache that radiated from his ribs, through the skin and meat of his chest and up into his shoulders and neck. Groaning, Rajeev pulled his shirt off with rigid urgency and plucked at the release on his binder. It gave way with a snap, freeing his restrained breasts and letting him breathe more easily. He shivered as the pain radiated hot for a moment.

Throwing the binder in the corner of his bunk with a huff, Rajeev fell back again and stretched his arms over his head, letting his naked skin breath and all of his parts settle back into place. He stared at the ceiling, and the pain gained an edge, chasing out all the thoughts that weren't sharper than the pain. Razor thoughts came through: the way that Emesta's lips parted over her white teeth when she breathed deeply; the sensation of Badru's hand brushing the tips of Rajeev's pointed hair; the sound of a massive man's deep laugh and of Emesta's humming concern; the way the light of the maintenance panels had once gleamed on Emesta's sharp brown cheek, and Huan's cheek, as he'd put his face next to hers and taught her how to use the maintenance terminals to pull up the Nightshade's layout; the way their faces were shaped the same, and the light fell on their brown skin the same; the way they smiled the same and always seemed to look concerned around him.

Rajeev's eyes closed. As the pain eased, he tried to think about Badru's tactical position instead. The Labrys-class fighters wouldn't be able to confront the Gray dead-on unless something changed.

[-]

The first sortie was the next day. Rajeev had known it would be soon, so he'd leapt into the virtual simulator pods first thing in the morning. He'd only had time for two quick simulations before the call for the mission had come. Awl did not chide Rajeev on wasting time with 'rest' the previous night, but Rajeev chided himself.

“Beta Three.” A narrow man with close-cropped hair caught Rajeev on the way to his Dagger just before the sortie.

Rajeev gave the man his full attention, looking up high, just like he had to do with everyone else. “Beta Lead?”

“I looked over those simulations you had Awl send me. Did you double-check them?”

Rajeev squinted at the man. “You don't trust Awl to get it right.”

“It's not that.” Beta Lead shook his head, and then waved it off. “Anyway, it's not like we weren't all having the same doubts, but we can't just bench the 551. We don't have enough manpower with just the Daggers.”

“I don't expect you to bench them. But they need to be used the right way.”

“The 551 knows how to use their fighters better than you do, and none of us have more experience fighting the Gray than anyone else. This is a first for all of us. Do you disagree?”

Frowning, Rajeev straightened. “No, sir, I don't disagree.”

“Good. Just make sure you keep your suggestions between you and me.”

“I'd never go over your head, sir.”

“I don't want you talking about this with the pilots from the 551. They're already distrustful enough of AI operators as it is.”

“Yes, sir.” Rajeev wondered if any other of the Dagger pilots were getting this talk. He didn't imagine they were. Someone must have told Beta Lead about seeing Rajeev with Badru in the mess.

Despite Beta Lead's misgivings about Awl's simulations, once all of the fighters were sortied, the tactics were obviously informed by similar simulations, if not Awl's own simulations grudgingly accepted. The Daggers were small ships that stabbed through space in tight formations, ready to split up the instant they encountered Gray laser fire. They used random flight patterns to evade as much of the lasers as possible, and had come to the Nightshade equipped with lasers and missiles, the latter of which would be more useful against the Gray thanks to their ballistic nature. The Daggers could also equip a smaller variant of the heavy linear accelerator that had given the Infiltrator its success against the Gray, but only if they opted for that instead of a missile loadout.

The Labrys fighters had no significant maneuverability, no ballistic weapons, and no long range options to their advantage.

Settled into his pilot's seat with Awl's blue box nestled into an alcove behind his head, Rajeev breathed carefully. The hardsuit pressed into his binder all the more, combining the ache in his chest with the bite of tight fabric and composite material along his ribs and shoulders. Breathing slowly helped. It kept him calm. Gazing through the shell display at the vessels around him, he sought the dark shape of the Labrys fighters. “Awl, help me out here.”

The shell display flicked several colors as Awl took complete control over it. Awl didn't need to ask permission to do this, and it didn't need to ask what exactly Rajeev wanted it to do. The only thing Awl had required was the tacit instruction to act, and Rajeev's shell display flashed blue, and then gray, and then went black. The small projector platform, from which a linker's AI holographic avatar came, was the only source of dim light in the cockpit for a moment.

The AI operators inside of the blue boxes were programed based on the pilot's own psyche. That's the only way they worked. It's what tricked a pilot's brain into accepting the flood of data and responding eagerly. The other pilots' in the 409 manifested their operators with holographic representations that took the form of people, or of strong animals, of mythological gods of war or religious figures that inspired courage or contemplation, and those pilots' sync ratios were normally somewhere between sixty and seventy. They did good work, because they were compatible.

Awl's round, gray holographic avatar bulged from the projector like a swollen eye, lazily turning, trailed by mechanical tendrils. It didn't quite glow, instead just a stagnant colorless haze in the shape of a Gray hunter drone, the human-sized round probe that the Gray used instead of marines. Robotic hunters, they were just scanners and guns on hovering pods. Awl's hideous, hooked machine limbs twitched behind it as it turned toward Rajeev's gaze.

Their sync ratio was consistently over eighty, the highest in the wing. Much of the time they could act in unison without speaking, relying instead on routine.

Awl released a chittering sound like metal insects hidden behind the shell display, clattering carapace to carapace. A sliver of the shell display lit up to Rajeev's right side, all color robbed from it, replaced with a low-contrast gray smudge of ships moving in broad formation. The Labrys-class heavy fighters had sortied only after the Daggers, and with their slower acceleration they lagged well behind. Their distinctive shape was sharp and broad, a long wedge that narrowed to razor-thin lines in front and back, as though they were actually meant to chop through enemy ships. So perfect were they in symmetry that they had no back or front, only a port and starboard. Their tops were studded with laser weaponry and shield emitters, and in their concave bellies nestled a single massive pulse laser aperture that could channel power from all of the Labrys' manifold burst banks simultaneously.

Against anything but the Gray, they would have been terrifying. Here, though? They turned their tops toward the enemy and accelerated, rotating slowly end over end, like that would somehow minimize damage. They flew as pointlessly forth as June bugs toward a window.

“All wings, listen up.” The voice of the Nightshade's Flight Commander came over the comm for a moment. Then Awl silenced it, rendering it instead as words that wrote simultaneously across several of the shell display's walls: Flights Alpha, Beta and Gamma will be targeting the gunboat engines.

Awl activated the forward display, a fog in which the certain shapes of sixteen Gray gunboats could be seen turning a slow, perfectly geometric patrol around an angular station in orbit of the rogue gas giant, ISO 953. The tiny, dark planet was caught in the farthest vestiges of an insignificant sun's gravity well, but wouldn't be pulled in to any kind of orbit for several centuries yet.

The Infiltrator would not have entered the system, but the Nightshade didn't have a choice. Unlike the much better-equipped Infiltrator's Lancer-class fighters, none of the Daggers or Labrys fighters could jump on their own. They relied completely on the Nightshade to carry them into the system and to carry them out of it. Now that the Nightshade was in-system, its stealth technology could only do so much. They would have to attack quickly in order to maintain the element of surprise.

The Gray station in orbit around ISO 953 would be a clandestine hydrogen-processing platform, a strangely permanent fixture for such a hot conflict area. Did the Gray know that the Infiltrator had been withdrawn? Did they know that the Nightshade was the only ship that had come to replace it? Did they know about the Nightshade's poor tactical position?

The Flight Commander's message went on: Flights Epsilon and Zeta—those were the Labrys heavy fighters—will follow once the gunboat engines are down. Once they can't change course, Epsilon and Zeta will intercept and finish them off. The Nightshade will drop stealth systems, begin charging its primary particle cannon, and will destroy the Gray station once a clear firing solution presents itself. This—

The words stopped coming. This was the point when the Commander would give some kind of encouraging speech. Rajeev didn't find those particularly important, and Awl agreed. The AI operator would listen for anything pertinent, but there usually wasn't anything. None of them had ever fought the Gray before. This wasn't their normal enemy. They couldn't treat this like a simple bandit raid. Rajeev didn't need to hear those things any more than he'd ever needed to hear how evil the Marauders were or how many people counted on them to get the job done.

The tactical display to Rajeev's lower right zoomed in on Zeta Flight, focusing on one ship in particular and showing its technicals: Badru's ship. Why did Awl care which ship Badru was in? Rajeev considered telling Awl to forget it, but didn't. If Awl thought it was important, then it was. He'd find out later when he checked the data Awl had recorded from the mission.

Awl kept the ship in formation with the rest of his Flight as Beta Lead lined them up with their angle of attack. Rajeev relaxed into his seat, eyes closing for a moment, hands limp on throttle and flight controls. The pain in his chest and ribs piqued with the feelings of acceleration, before the flight systems fully compensated for the shift in inertia. Rajeev inhaled deeply and felt the bite. All this technology and binders still hurt.

His own fault for choosing to avoid the surgery. Maybe Emesta was right. Of course she was. But maybe Rajeev was right, too.

A slight change in the lighting shone through Rajeev's closed eyes. Opening them, he saw the shell displays had turned a soft gray. Awl's hologram lingered, unrealistically stationary at the front of the cockpit, staring at Rajeev with one point of glowing red light on its body. The only point of color in the entire shell.

The static gray of the shell display concealed all sight of space and of the other flights, of unnecessary things. Instead, four points of shadow moved to his sides, so that Rajeev could see the other ships from his own flight. Almost reluctantly, Rajeev applied pressure to the throttle, taking over the controls from Awl. He followed Beta Lead's Dagger, keeping it in front of him.

Awl's monotone voice instructed, “Burst banks to linear accelerator. Targets have been assigned by Beta Lead.” The haze on the shell display faded at the front of the cockpit, and Rajeev found himself looking down on the Gray station from above. The sixteen orbiting gunboats turned a slow interlocking lattice-work pattern around the station and around each other. The station itself seemed barely constructed, its angles resolving into sparsely-connected modular units that turned about each other, connected by couplings so thin they could be thread.

“Fire main cannon on mark,” Awl said. “Mark.”

Rajeev responded to the firing solution with almost fearful caution, his finger just caressing the trigger as if plucking a lover's lip for the first time. The fighter shook around him as it launched a heavy metallic-composite impactor toward the Gray. Then, with the rest of Beta Flight, Rajeev corrected his trajectory at a hard and sudden angle.

As Awl rerouted the burst banks to prepare for another shot, Rajeev watched his perspective of the Gray lattice-work shift, rotating. The formation of Beta Flight loosened to introduce chaos into their flight-paths, the natural countermeasure to the Gray's pattern-obsessed tactics. As the rest of Beta Flight spread in their own directions, Rajeev guided his own Dagger in a straight line relative to one the primary vertices of the Gray formation, keeping the point of his fighter directed at one of the station's modules. From this momentum and angle, that module appeared stationary, and the rest of the Gray lattice churned around it in a kaleidoscope of metal, several tiers of vessels turning in perfect choreography.

“Fire second volley on mark. Mark.”

Again, Rajeev complied, and then shifted his flight path. He chose another module to move relative to this time, and the Gray formation seemed to change dramatically with just that small shift. Nothing had really shifted, Rajeev knew, but the shape was completely different depending on which part of it Rajeev chose to join.

All four fighters of Beta Flight and two from Delta Flight had been equipped with the long-range Linear Accelerators instead of missiles, giving the 409 six fighters that could launch crippling long-range attacks before being detected. The first volley of impactors ripped into the Gray gunboats, each pair of fighters having chosen a single gunboat to share. Three different gunboats were hit by two shots each, several of those shots perfectly aimed and ripping through the Gray engines. Linear accelerators were kinetic weapons, not energy weapons, and the Gray's defenses did little to stop them. Two gunboats spun out of control from that first volley, while the third was hit so critically that its engines detonated and took out the entire ship with them.

The thirteen undamaged gunboats maintained their momentum but made slight alterations to their flight paths, expanding outward, curving away from the expected second volley. But they still flew relative to the modules of the station they were protecting. Rajeev had been expecting a chaotic response to the attack, but this was the complete opposite. It was like watching the previous shape manifest an idealized second form. It was like watching something bloom.

When the second volley hit, one of the shots missed and flew off into space without hitting anything. Most of the others ripped through their targets at an angle, disabling their engines but not destroying them outright. One shot among all the others tore straight through the nose and out the aft of a gunboat, spilling its engines into space and leaving it an inert hulk. That shot then cut through the aft of another vessel on an inner tier of the lattice before impacting on the station itself.

Beta Lead's voice filled the cockpit, permitted by Awl, “Nice shot, Beta Three.”

Rajeev frowned. “Was that mine?”

“What do you mean 'was that mine?' This guy takes out two gunboats with one impactor and he asks if that shot was his.”

“I'll have to check the post-flight data.” Rajeev's brow lifted. “Thank you.”

Awl slightly illuminated a new image on the shell display, and Rajeev watched as four of the undamaged Gray gunboats broke off from the lattice, a simple rhombus pattern of vessels flying straight away from the Daggers and heading for the Labrys heavy fighters.

“Beta Lead,” Rajeev turned his Dagger's nose to point at the Gray boats running off that way, following some instinct to connect his flight path to their receding rhombus, even as he continued to drift parallel to the station. “Those gunboats are going head-on against Zeta Flight. We should provide assistance.”

“That's not our mission, Beta Three. They can handle themselves.”

“No, they can't.”

“Beta Flight, form up on me. We're making a pass at the gunboats defending the station.”

Rajeev steered his Dagger back to the battle, putting himself behind Beta Lead. Awl let the gray haze obscure Zeta Flight and the battle they were about to engage in.

[-]

Rajeev didn't feel tired after the mission. He stood on the catwalks in the docking bay watching the other pilots disengage from their fighters, take their helmets off with shaking hands and dash sweat from their brows. The Dagger pilots pulled their blue boxes from the alcoves above or behind their seats, tucking them into black carrying cases and slinging them in with the rest of their gear. Rajeev had his pack over his shoulder; Awl an angular pressure in his ribs that made the ache slightly worse.

Zeta flight had been the first to dock, but not all of the pilots had disembarked yet. Three of the four Labrys had returned. One pilot had been spaced and was still floating alone among the debris of her vessel, waiting to be recovered by a rescue crew that had yet to distinguish between her comm signal and the false blips given off by her ship's damaged systems.

Badru's vessel hung from magnetic grapples in the maintenance area, surrounded by engineers in bland coveralls. Rajeev watched with a narrow-eyed frown as a slim figure with brown skin and sharp cheek-bones trotted out among them. Emesta looked too much like her brother. It was as though Huan's ghost plodded out among the engineers, gathering beneath Badru's battle-scarred ship as the cutting torches finally freed the panel at the bottom and let the massive man tumble out into waiting arms. They lowered Badru to the ground and Emesta stripped his helmet off, letting the light gleam on the moist hills of his face, shine on his teeth where his lips parted and gasped, illuminating his eyes as they flicked tiredly open.

Rajeev breathed too deep and the pain in his chest and sides suddenly sharpened, making him bend and curse and turn away from the scene. He carried Awl out of the fighter bay and into the long hallways of the Nightshade. He rushed past all of the maintenance panels and their subtle glows. He didn't pause to stare at the old damage in the exterior hallway. Rajeev went to the quarters he shared with two absent engineers and threw his gear on his bed, stripping the shoulders, chestpiece and shirt off his flight-suit before the door had even finished sliding shut. He pulled his binder off and cast it at his bunk, lifting his arms over his head and stretching them, holding them there, letting himself breathe.

Staring at the gray walls as his shoulders lifted and fell, as his hands hung down behind his head, Rajeev was strangely aware of every one of his ribs. They all burned at him uniquely. His insides felt out of place. His skin was raw, red, and unpleasantly salty. He paced a small circle in the middle of the quarters, as perfect a circle as he could manage, and he walked it over and over while he breathed. One of the times he passed his bed, he dropped his arms and plucked a black case from it, extracting his blue box. Then, as he passed the desk, he put the blue box near the terminal and let it interface.

Hands above his head again, Rajeev waited a moment and then gave it a glare. “Awl.”

The blue box flicked awake and the panel on the desk illuminated blue and gray. “Rajeev.”

“Compile the data on today's battle. You were paying close attention to Zeta Flight, weren't you?”

“I was.”

“Good. Reconstruct Zeta Flight's battle as well as you can. I want to run some simulations based on it later.”

Awl's answer was to display the pre-flight data on Zeta flight, the console on the desk glowing brightly for the moment, and then information began to move and change too fast for Rajeev to make out: movements of Labyrs heavy fighters and Gray gunbots, munitions readings, and damage. Rajeev watched it for only a moment, still pacing his circle, before he broke formation like a rhombus of Gray ships and headed for the shower.

[-]

On his way out of his room an hour later, Rajeev paused to look back at the black case on his bunk in which he'd folded and placed his binder. The pain lingered even without binding, which was a sign that it needed a break. Instead, he zipped up the large Alliance-blue jacket he wore, slung his cased blue box over his shoulder and sealed the room. He held his pad in front of him as he walked, using the information that Awl had gathered to distract himself from the maintenance displays where Huan's fingerprints may still linger, from the scarred bulkheads where the disintegrated electrons of his matter may persist, orbiting the nuclei of new atoms, having become part of the metal or the plastics or the air.

When Rajeev reached the simulator room, he had read paragraph after paragraph of hard facts, but found he couldn't remember a single thing from it.

“Great.” He tucked the pad into one of the pockets on his baggy coat, then pulled the black case around and withdrew Awl. “We ready to get to work?”

The inert blue box lay still and dark in the case, waiting to be activated.

Following debrief, most of the other pilots had gone to mess and then to sleep. At least, those that hadn't been carried off to Emesta's care in the infirmary. The rest of the crew would be busy with the fighters, taking them apart and putting them back together, plugging the holes melted in Badru's Labrys, and deciding what of the destroyed Labrys could be salvaged. Rajeev didn't know if there was a spare Labrys on the Nightshade or if the pilot would be grounded, or for that matter, if she had been significantly injured.

Rajeev slid into one of the simulator pods and inserted the blue box in an available alcove off to one side. Awl awoke with a flicker of blue across the top of the box, and then the alcove sealed, and the box was rendered an invisible vessel for something colorless. Awl's chittering sound flooded the fake cockpit as Rajeev reclined in it, cringing at the sharp, biting pain that his binder had left him with.

The chittering resolved into a neutral, unnatural voice that stated, “You have an appointment in the infirmary in one hour.”

“Still?” Rajeev forced himself to talk normally around the pain in his chest, waiting for it to subside. “Emesta's got casualties. Double-check and make sure the appointment didn't get pushed off the—”

“According to the infirmary's records, you still have an appointment in one hour.” A gray orb bulged from a projector near the box's alcove, and a moment later a small projection of the Gray seeker drone emerged. “All casualties have been cleared to return to quarters.”

“I guess that's good, then.” Rajeev closed his eyes, the pain migrating to his back and shoulder. He let out a dry cough, but it didn't make the pain flare, and he refocused himself. “We killed plenty of Gray today. I think we can kill an hour.”

Stationary, staring, Awl responded with an almost impatient snap, “Am I to load the simulation that you earlier requested I prepare?”

“Yeah.” Rajeev frowned at the thing. “I want to see what happened to Zeta Flight.”

There was little to be surprised by in the simulation, having seen what had become of Zeta's fighters. While Epsilon's Labrys heavy fighters had intercepted and destroyed several of the Gray ships that the Daggers had already all-but disabled, Zeta's four pilots had engaged four gunboats on equal footing. They had at first rushed head-long at one another, giving the illusion that the speed difference would not be a factor. But as Zeta Flight had entered the range of the Gray's lasers, the rhombus of gunboats rotated and opened, forcing the Labrys fighters to pick a target and pursue. Zeta Lead had arbitrarily chosen one of the gunboats as a target to focus.

Rajeev watched through the simulation pod's shell display, having taken the perspective of a distant observer unable to act, as the four Labrys fighters pursued one gunboat and the other four Gray surrounded them. They formed a renewed rhombus with Zeta Flight in the center, and though every gunboat was in range of every Labrys' lasers, the Labrys' energy weapons did far less to the Gray shields than the Gray's focused laser fire did to the Labrys.

Defeat was clear long before Zeta Lead reported that inevitability to the Flight Commander. By then, there was no time for a Dagger Flight to be diverted to help, but Gamma Flight fired their two impactors, managing to tear through two of the four gunboats, and the debris from those disabled one more. Zeta Flight was able to catch and destroy the last gunboat between the four of them, but it cost one of the pilots their fighter.

And Badru's fighter was left drifting like a derelict waiting to be claimed, turning slowly. It was an asymmetrical, blunted axehead torn from its shaft and spiraling dead through space. Zeta Lead called for a recovery team, unsure if Badru remained alive in his disabled fighter. But long after the battle was over, blue light flared from Badru's engines, revived by nigh-impossible repairs, and the fighter began a long, slow drift home.

“The battle is complete,” Awl reported. “Would you like to introduce statistical alterations to the—“

“Let it run.” Rajeev lay back in his seat, taking shallow breath, watching Badru's fighter drift in silence. He tried to remember what he knew of the Labrys schematics, where the engines were relative to the cockpit. They weren't connected. Badru must have cut his way out of the cockpit and pulled himself into the weightless vacuum of the fighter's maintenance access shaft, a claustrophobic space barely a meter wide. Rajeev tried to imagine the massive man making repairs in the dark as the sparks flew and the heat of the burst banks resonated through the heat-sinks only one thin bulkhead away, all the while unsure if there were still hostile Gray in the area.

The simulation ended and the simulation pod went dark. Awl's deathly voice filled the blackness, “There is no more recorded data to play. You have an appointment in the infirmary in twenty minutes.”

The weary ache in his shoulders and back returning as there was no other stimuli to distract him from it, Rajeev groaned, “I know.”

A haze in the blackness, the hologram of the Gray seeker drone shifted just a millimeter to get Rajeev's attention. “The doctor has marked the appointment high priority. If you fail to arrive on time, the doctor will have no choice but to notify Beta Lead.”

Growling, Rajeev pushed his hands against his eye sockets. When he lifted his arms, the pain in his shoulders piqued, but he ignored it and it faded a moment later. Emesta was taking this pretty seriously if she was still pushing this hard after treating battle casualties, especially since Rajeev should have been recuperating from the fight himself. Rajeev bit out a curse, sat up, and pushed open the door to the simulation pod, letting the light of the outside room flood over his features. He got one foot out before noticing the man who sat at the monitoring controls adjacent to the pods.

Badru leaned both elbows on the desk, fingers knit below his chin, as he glanced up from the various panels to look at Rajeev. “Still trying to prove me wrong?” The panels there could monitor what transpired inside the simulation pods. They were used by the flight leads to proctor simulated exercises for the pilots. “You don't have to rub it in. The Gray already rubbed it in pretty deep.”

Rajeev blinked at the man, sitting with one foot in the simulator and one foot out. The strange posture made his back ache, so he straightened, coughed and brushed at his face. “That repair you made to the Labrys to get its engines running is pretty impressive, even from just an engineering standpoint. Did you hook them into the burst banks?”

“Nah.” Badru shook his head and dropped his hands, leaning back, becoming so large that he made the desk look like it was made for a child. “I plugged them straight into the heatsinks and let the bleed-off current push me home. Doesn't take much to accelerate from a standstill.”

Rajeev nodded. “Smart. But it was risky, too, wasn't it?”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean the Gray won't go after a dead ship, but the second you started moving, you could've become a target for any reinforcements that showed up.”

Badru's dark head shook. “Always thinking ahead, eh? You used to be one of those engine-rats, didn't you?”

“How'd you know that?”

The man shrugged. “You did your homework on me. I did my homework on you. Fair turn.”

“Yeah.” Rajeev attempted to imitate the shrug, but aborted it with a pained cringe. “Just changed brown coveralls for blue coveralls when they noticed they could hook me into an AI.”

“Ah ha. And what's that?” Badru pointed past Rajeev into the simulator pod. Following the man's finger, Rajeev found himself looking at Awl's lingering avatar. The holographic Gray seeker drone moved a micrometer, and as Rajeev glared at it, it vanished.

Rajeev plucked the blue box from the alcove. “That's Awl. You've heard the rumors.”

“I don't listen to rumors. Besides, half of them said your AI was a little Gray man with giant eyes.” Badru balled his dark fists up and put them in front of his eye sockets, pretending to look around. “Like you're the only person in the Alliance who knows what the Gray look like.”

Rajeev probably should've laughed at that, but didn't.

“I kinda get why it weirds people out, though.” Badru went on. “They make the AI based on what's already in your head, don't they?”

“Yeah.” Rajeev put the blue box in its carrying case and put it over his shoulder, which hurt, so he switched it to the other shoulder. “Does it weird you out?”

“Not so much.” Badru smirked. “I mean, some people get, what, wild animals or something for their operators? Don't trust animals either. I think people are probably reading a little much into it.”

“Maybe. I have an appointment at the infirmary, so I need to go.” Rajeev started toward the door. “You going to be okay to sortie again soon?”

“Medically, all I need's a good nap and a lot of fluids. Still waiting to hear back about my Labrys.”

“Do you want to fly again soon? Now that you've seen how the Labrys measures up?”

“I wanna do my job, yeah.” The massive man leaned forward, his eyes drops of onyx and ivory gleaming at Rajeev. “If it takes four of us to take down one of them, then I guess it's my job to take out one fourth of a Gray. I'm still gonna do it.”

“Not exactly cost-effective, though, is it?”

The soft curves of Badru's face tilted and he shook his head. “Go on to your appointment before you get under my skin.”

[-]

Emesta's brown face hung slack with fatigue, but her lips pressed into an exquisite flat line and her emerald eyes simmered. She sat forward in her chair, sharp cheeks practically weaponized, palms pressing down on her knees firmly, bundles of black hair running down her shoulders and back.

His seat only half a meter away from Emesta, Rajeev leaned away. “What?”

“Did you know you have a broken rib?”

“What?”

She snapped forward. “Say 'what' to me again!”

Rajeev pushed his stool back, the wheels squeaking as he rolled away. “No, I didn't know that.”

Emesta launched to her feet and threw her hands in the air. “God dammit! I told you to be careful with the binding, didn't I? You're lucky you didn't puncture a lung!”

Turning his face away, Rajeev sighed. “We can just fix it and—”

“What would've happened if you'd punctured a lung in the Dagger?”

“Awl could've gotten me back just—”

Emesta thrust a pointing finger at him. “And you said the stinging was good! What's good about a broken rib?”

“Okay, you're right!” Rajeev moved to spread his arms, but the pain stopped him. Now that he knew it hurt for a good reason, it was more difficult to ignore, so he brought his hands back to his lap. “But let's just put my rib back in place and I'll be more careful.”

“Oh, you! Really? Really.” Emesta threw herself back in her chair, causing it to lean back and then slam violently forward. She turned her glare to her panel and input commands while she hissed. “I'm medically advising you not to bind for a week.”

Face scrunching up, Rajeev rolled himself back toward the doctor. “Emesta!”

She turned a glare on him so fierce that the hair pouring down her back could've been standing on end. “And if I ever find out you've been binding during a mission again, I'll rip your tits right off without asking for permission!”

Paralyzed where he sat, Rajeev muttered, “Ow? Godsake, Emesta, I'm not sure if you're allowed to threaten me like that.”

“Oh, that is not a threat, you—”

“Okay!” Rajeev lifted one hand on the side that hurt the least. “Okay, I promise.”

She launched a pointing finger out to her side. “Go lay on the scanning bed so I can fix your damn rib!”

“I'm doing it.” Rajeev kept his one hand up, talking Emesta down like she had a gun on him. He stood and paced carefully to the white bed in the middle of the office, hopping up on it and beginning to lay down.

Before he could, though, Emesta barked at him, “Take off your clothes first! This is a military infirmary, not one of those massage kiosks on Sirius Colony.”

“Right. Got it.” Rajeev hopped up and stripped his shirt off, then sat back down to work on his boots. Bending down to reach the laces was painful, and pulling his leg up meant pushing his thigh against his chest, which launched a fusillade of aching pains through all the way up to his neck.

He'd been struggling with this for about ten seconds when the squeaky wheels of the stool heralded its arrival, bearing Emesta's regal form. “Stop that.” She grabbed one ankle and pulled Rajeev's boot to her lap, setting to work on the laces.

Rajeev squawked, “Emesta! You don't have to mother me.”

“Wouldn't have to mother you if you weren't being such a five-year-old.”

“Hey.”

“Just let me help you, okay?” The sudden softening of her tone caught him off guard, like he'd prepared for a bludgeoning blow to the head only to be hit with a cotton ball.

Still pouting, Rajeev leaned back and braced himself with his palms while Emesta took off one boot and then started on the next. Her long fingers worked the shoelaces with precision, tendons on the backs of her hands rising and falling in red-brown crests. They reminded him of Huan's hands, when he'd been sorting through wires or working over some console.

“Raj.” Emesta lifted her face, frowning lips dimpling the steep incline of her cheeks. “Why don't you just have the surgery? If you care enough that you're binding, I mean.”

Rajeev was only able to return Emesta's gaze for an instant before looking at the ceiling. “Because it's not something I want to do just to be doing it.”

“But you didn't start binding until after Huan—”

“I know.” Rajeev interrupted quickly, but didn't sound upset. He closed his eyes. “A lot changed. I just want the changes to slow down a little bit. Just a little bit.”

“I'm sorry.” Emesta dropped his second boot among the first and then pulled his socks off in a quick, certain motion, that surprised Rajeev into a painfully swelling breath, the fibrous muscles of her hands pushing his ankles away. He was still staring at the ceiling when she tugged at his pant legs. “Come on.”

“Oh.” Rajeev snapped his gaze down. “Yeah, that I can do on my own.”

Emesta snickered at him and rolled away.

Finally able to lay naked on the table, Rajeev stared up at the heavy scanning equipment over his head, letting the pain in his back and shoulder drive out most of the bedlam of thoughts that otherwise clamored for his attention. “Emesta, why do you think people are weirded out by me?”

“People aren't weirded out by you.” The woman's voice came from off to one side, alongside the clicking sound of buttons on the panel at her desk.

“Emesta.”

“Especially that Labrys pilot, Badru.”

“Emesta.”

“You know he was asking about you while I was putting his leg back into place? He's pretty handsome, if you ask me.”

Rajeev made a face at the unmoving scanning equipment over his head. “He's like three times my size. He'd kill me.” Why was Huan's sister trying to set him up with some guy?

“Worth it, though,” Emesta hummed. “Sorry to keep you waiting, but the scanner gets interference from the Nightshade sometimes, since we've been reassigned.”

“The stealth systems are all about interference. There's a high-power signal dampening field that blocks enemy sensors. We didn't use it as much in Alliance space. Emesta.” Rajeev turned his head. “Why do you think people get creeped out by me? Is it Awl?”

Emesta exhaled a sound that was at once annoyance and discomfort. She turned her face over her shoulder, and the glow of the panel silhouetted her features. Forehead straight, almost parallel with the bridge of her nose, interrupted by the sharpness of her brow and the point of her nose, the gentle bower of her green eyes. Her lips opened, her tongue moved in her mouth, but she closed it again before she spoke. She knit her fingers together and pushed them down against her knees, and she lifted her feet while she hummed a fake yawn that became a real yawn.

Her heels clicked against the floor and she turned around, the light haloing in her black hair. “People just don't understand it when other people think in a different manner than they do. It isn't Awl, but maybe Awl represents something.”

“I asked Awl that question.” Rajeev looked back at the machines overhead. “Awl said it was because of Huan. Why would Awl say that?”

“Awl wouldn't know.”

“Awl wouldn't say something like that unless it was reasonably sure. I feel like it has a margin of error threshold for guessing, and it's not very liberal.”

“Huan doesn't have anything to do with this.”

“But if it's Awl that's got everyone creeped? Awl didn't come until after Huan… until after I survived that Gray attack. So then.” Rajeev took a deep breath and exhaled, long and slow. “I hate that thing.”

“You hate…?”

“Awl.”

Emesta huffed, and then there was the sound of tapping on the console. The machine overhead began to move, its many arms and devices spreading with an almost silent whirring of well-crafted mechanisms. Compared to the formation of Gray gunboats, it seemed a chaotic mess. Emesta's clicking footsteps brought her to the table-side, where she crossed her arms and looked down on Rajeev. “Awl is new. Everything is new. Maybe it'll take time.”

“We've got the highest sync numbers in the flight, though.” The overhead machines didn't hold Rajeev's attention, not with Emesta so close. He glanced at her for only an instant, noticing the way her green eyes roved over his body with analytical focus. She was a doctor checking for injuries, he knew, but suddenly he felt more naked than he had in months, and he snapped his gaze back to the machines. He watched the white mechanical arms move, and struggled to reclaim his thoughts. The pain in his shoulder was too dull to help much, but he managed to force, “Every time I fly with Awl or run a simulation with it, I hate it a little bit more. I can't stand how restrictive and focused it is, but it needs to be to get the job done. And the more I hate it, the higher the sync numbers get, the better we fly.”

“Do you really hate it?” Emesta walked around the other side of him, her movement completely at odds to the arms turning over him.

“I definitely hate it.”

“Raj, a lot has changed for us. For you especially.” She meandered around him as she spoke, eying his torso, his ribs, his chest. All the parts of him he wished she wouldn't. “Flying fighters instead of fixing them is really the least of it, and you know that. Are you sure Awl isn't just a stand in for, well, all of what has changed.”

Rajeev muttered deadpan, “So I hate a pun.”

“Raj. There's a lot for you to be mad at, and you don't seem very…” Emesta stood on his aching side and put her hands on his bare arm. “I need you to lift this arm over your head. Let me know if it hurts too much.”

“I don't seem very what? Mad?” He lifted that arm, cringing at the sharp sting as it moved over his head, and let it settle there. He spoke through it, features tight. “You're right. I'm not mad. I'm nothing. I'm not happy or sad or angry or anything. I'm just here.”

“Did it hurt when you moved your arm just now?”

“Yeah.”

“Then why didn't you say anything?” Emesta put her hands on her hips and glared down at him. “I told you tell me if it hurts!”

Rajeev frowned up at her. “Sorry.”

Emesta took a second to inhale and exhale, and then leaned forward to press at Rajeev's exposed side. “Does this hurt?”

“Ow! Yes!” He tried not to squrim.

“Maybe hating Awl is good.” Emesta felt along his ribs. “It's a safe way for you to feel angry for a bit while you're also feeling… vulnerable? Awl might understand that.”

“Awl doesn't understand anything.” Rajeev watched the way Emesta's hair hung down about her face as she examined him. “It doesn't feel anything. It's not a person, just a computer. No feelings at all. That's why I hate it.”

Emesta straightened and groaned. “Raj.”

“Because something that empty came from inside of me. Cold, careless, with nothing to offer.”

“Okay, shut up.” She turned and walked away from him. “I get that you're really devoted to this whole 'hating Awl' thing, but you're really magnifying it more than is healthy. It's a safe thing to hate as long as you don't turn it back and start hating yourself.”

“I'm not hating it because it's safe.”

The overhead devices groaned back into the original positions as Emesta hummed near the desk. “Can it be my turn to ask an uncomfortable question now?”

Rajeev crossed his less-pained arm over his chest, trying not to hurt himself, but trying not to feel as exposed. “What is it?”

“I know you and Huan were close.” Her voice softened, until it was almost inaudible. Turning to look at her, Rajeev saw the woman's profile as she sat hunched in her chair, feet drawn beneath her, hands joined in front of her chest. The green of her eyes glowed sideways at him. “Did you and my brother ever…? I mean, for real.”

Blinking at the woman for an instant, Rajeev closed his eyes and looked back to the ceiling. “No. Huan wanted to, but I couldn't decide…” What? Between Huan and his sister? His tongue heavy and his lips sticking together, Rajeev said, “I couldn't decide how I felt. Not until it was too late.”

Emesta hummed at that, a small, neutral sound. Rajeev's ears burned listening for more, but didn't even hear her breathe. In that silence, the click of her sudden footstep struck him, and he couldn't bring himself to open his eyes. Her first footstep was followed by another, and then another, as she approached him, and Rajeev imagined her green eyes and sharp cheeks—just like Huan's—staring at him.

“Raj.” Emesta stood over him, and her thin fingers slid around the palm of his hand, strangely cold, thin and sinewy.

Rajeev opened his eyes and looked down to where she held the hand he'd tried to cover himself with. Then he looked up at Emesta.

She smiled and pulled his hand toward her. “Nothing empty or careless will ever come from you.”

Rajeev stared, feeling the way her hand tightened around his limp fingers, the way her thin digits shivered. He hadn't noticed just how thin they'd gotten, just how thin she had become, her shirt and long coat hanging off shoulders that didn't used to be quite so boney. Her cheeks seemed to bend in and her dimples were so deep when she smiled. She didn't just look tired from treating the casualties. The tiredness was deeper than that, older than that. Even her hair seemed darker.

How long had it been since Rajeev had come to the infirmary? How long had it been since he'd actually seen her in person? How long had she been leaning close to the console when calling him, closer and closer, waiting for him to be able to see past the features she shared with her brother. Beyond the sharp cheeks, past the green eyes, to the deep place where Emesta had heard a stranger tell her that her brother was dead and where she'd been sitting alone ever since.

“I'm sorry.” Rajeev's fingers finally tightened around the thin hand. He tried to sit up. “I know I should have—“

“Hey.” She pushed him back down, and he cringed at the pain. “I'm not going to forget why you came here just because you're sorry. I've still got to put your rib back, and then we're doing a psych eval.”

“What?” Rajeev squinted as Emesta pried her fingers from his and stepped away. “All this talking we just did doesn't count as a psych eval?”

“Nope.” She hit a few buttons on her console. “You'd best settle in. We've still got some work to do.”

He leaned back and hissed at the ceiling. “Dammit.”

[-]

Sixteen gunboats turned in an interlocking lattice-work pattern of rigid, straight sides and sharp vertices, their shape in perfect alignment with the angular station they patrolled, a shape of independent modules swinging about each other on white couplings like strings. Like a wind chime that moved too perfectly, its gray-metal panels never touching, never singing.

The Gray should've known that a second hydrogen station around ISO 953 wouldn't be any more successful than the last.

It was exactly the same as it had been in the previous encounter, and Rajeev's Dagger shook the same as the linear accelerator fired. Beta Flight scattered, and Rajeev chose a steep angle but kept the point of the dagger directed at the Gray formation, moving relative to it, watching the shape change without being altered in the slightest. “Awl, why do you think the other pilots in the wing find me so unsettling?”

Where another AI operator might have objected to the timing of the question, Awl simply answered, “Because of Huan.”

“Are you sure it isn't because of you?”

“It is because of Huan. Firing solution received from Beta Lead. Fire second volley on mark. Mark.”

The Dagger shook again, and Rajeev altered his flight path. The shape of the Gray changed below. “What did Huan do that makes it his fault?”

“He died.”

“But why did Huan die?”

“Because of Huan.”

“Can you tell me why Emesta is sad?”

“Because of Huan.”

The first volley ripped into the Gray formation. The 409 had improved their execution since the first mission, and this time five Gray gunboats disintegrated into gleaming slag, silent. Rajeev glared at it, grinding his teeth. The binder he shouldn't have been wearing bit into his side. “Why did the Nightshade get assigned to the war zone without proper preparations?”

The hazy hologram of the Gray seeker drone ticked a micrometer to one side. “Because of Huan.”

“God dammit, Awl. Why did the Infiltrator get pulled out of the area in the first place?”

“Because of Huan.”

The Gray formation bloomed outward, growing, twisting, manifesting a completely different shape in response to the different number of destroyed gunboats. When the second volley of impactors hit, four of the gunboats crumbled, and the Gray manifested yet another expanding shape. Rajeev tore his eyes from it to glare at the hologram, “Why did humanity lose Earth?”

“Because of Huan.”

“Is everything because of Huan, then?”

“Yes.”

“People think you're making me like the Gray. You're a damned lie. You're not like them.” Rajeev scowled so deeply he felt in his bones. The pain from the binder reached all the way up to the back of his skull. “The Gray change shape, change strategies. They pay attention. You're exactly the same every time I look at you. You're just saying the same thing over and over. Is that Huan's fault, too?”

“Yes.”

Upper lip curling, Rajeev snapped, “Are you sure that it isn't my fault?”

The hazy drone was stationary. In his peripheral vision, Rajeev watched through the shell display as the Gray formation sharpened. He expected to see some number break off to attack the Labrys fighters that hadn't entered the firefight yet. Instead, the shape continued rotating, and then in a sudden great arrow, the seven remaining gunboats broke free of their patrol routes and flew away from both the Nightshade and the Labrys heavy fighters. The formation of seven gunboats flew toward the swarming flights of Dagger-class fighters.

The seeker drone turned away, Awl's voice responding impassively. “It might be your fault.”

Inhaling deep so that his nostril's flared, Rajeev straightened and glared at the side of the hologram, the fake joints and its sharp features, the simulated gun pods, the one red light on its round form.

Beta Lead's voice came over the comms. “Beta Flight, form up. We've got gunboats incoming and there's not going to be any help from Epsilon or Zeta. Guess they think the Daggers won't cut 'em as deep, so let's make 'em wrong. Charge your linear accelerators and get your lasers heated.”

Rajeev couldn't take his eyes from Awl's hologram. His hands curled around the throttle, fingers pressing down hard on the flight controls. The muscles on his arms tightened, in his chest and back, and the bindings bit into him until he could almost hear the crack of the rib that Emesta had put back in place.

Awl muttered without tone, “Gray reinforcements are entering the system.”

Hands loosening on his controls, Rajeev turned his gaze to a spot of foggy, low-contrast gray on the shell display, where massive vessels snapped into normal space-time. “Awl, let me see everything.” The shroud obscuring the shell display receded, the gray fading into shades of black and the vague brown glow of ISO 953. The wedge-shaped Labrys fighters of Epsilon and Zeta Flights rotated slowly between the Gray station and the Nightshade, Zeta one fighter short and Badru's fighter still showing its damage. The four flights of Dagger-class fighters spread in a swarm, preparing to engage the small but tactically-advantaged Gray gunboats.

But two large Gray vessels floated very near the Nightshade, about half the size of the Alliance stealth destroyer, surrounded by a gathering of smaller shapes. Rajeev gaped at the sight. “Those are Gray cruisers.”

Awl reported, “Detecting two hostile cruisers with an escort of four gunboats each.”

“Pay attention!” Beta Lead's force snapped through the comm. “No new orders. Transmitting firing solutions.”

“No new orders? He for real?” Rajeev returned his attention the isometric formation of Gray ships coming toward them. “Awl?”

“Burst banks to linear accelerator,” Awl replied. “Prioritizing shields afterward.”

“Lasers aren't going to do a damn thing, so yeah. Shields.”

“Firing solution acquired. Fire on mark. Mark.”

Rajeev slid his fingertip over the trigger and the Dagger launched a massive chunk of pure mass, the force of the shot knocking him slightly off course. He corrected quickly, and then Beta Flight took evasive maneuvers as the four Daggers of Alpha Flight rocketed past him, flying straight through the Gray formation and letting a fusillade of missiles fly in all directions. Gamma flight was setting up to do the same coming from the opposite direction.

“Switch to lasers,” Beta Lead's voice came through, “We'll make a pass and then try to get range for more accelerator shots.”

The formation of Gray vessels changed subtly in response to Alpha Flight's attack, a visually slight but fascinatingly complicated shift in the shape that caused two of the linear shots to miss completely and the others to graze all-but harmlessly through the vessels' outer hulls. Those were the only weapons that did any kind of notable damage; Gray lasers intercepted most of Alpha Flight's missiles, super-heated to the point of forced detonation. Nobody's lasers were getting through the Gray shields.

“Awl, how did Alpha flight make out on their pass?”

“Two of Alpha Flight's shields have been completely diminished and are relying on power from burst banks.”

“Can you interface with Alpha Lead and get data on the frequency and power of those lasers?”

“Alpha Lead's operator is rejecting interface.”

“What?” Rajeev bit down on his teeth. Why would someone preemptively ban another linker's operator from data sharing? No, not just any AI, but Awl specifically. “Paranoid ass. Try Alpha two. Three if you have to.”

“I am obtaining the requested data from Alpha Two.”

Flying behind Beta Lead as they put themselves directly in the path of the oncoming Gunboats, Rajeev narrowed his glare at the rotating Gray formation. He didn't hate them like he hated Awl. He didn't feel any fear of them, either. All he felt was the pain from his binder and the tooth-grinding bitterness with which he accepted Awl's help.

Beta Lead's ship accelerated, and his voice came through the comm, “Here we go! Full laser spread, straight line.”

These weren't pirates or bandits. A straight line would just get them shot down, but there was no time to protest. Rajeev eased his throttle forward to stay with Beta Lead. “Awl, modulate our lasers to have the opposite wavelength of the Gray lasers and target their laser emitters. Maybe we'll survive the next thirty seconds.”

Just as they were about to enter range of the Gray lasers, a massive pillar of blue light blasted through the combat area, eclipsing three of the Gray gunboats. A fourth that was in the outer blast radius had half of its hull visibly melted, flash-boiled and vaporized in an instant, while the other three simply vanished. The Nightshade's heavy particle beam ripped through the Gray formation and proceeded on to the angular hydrogen station closer to ISO 953, hitting it dead center and shattering its fragile modular frame. The station split into a dozen different parts that spun wildly in all directions before curving downward toward ISO 953's incredible gravity well.

Squinting at the light, Rajeev only flinched for an instant. Beta Lead hadn't altered his course, so neither would Rajeev. What was left of the formation of Gray gunboats rotated as a single unit, now just an arrow of three vessels that carried on without pause. An instant later, Rajeev's shell display lit up as the Gray's invisible laser fire began burning through the shields so quickly that he could almost feel the power draining from his ship. “Awl, fire on their laser emitters!”

Rajeev's Dagger responded with its own lasers, completely invisible narrow-width beams utterly silent in the void. They didn't do any damage, but they pressed against as many of the Gray laser emitters as they could, and the depletion of Rajeev's own shield's diminished a remarkably. “Awl?”

Instead of answering, the AI displayed the charge levels of Beta Flight's shields. The worst off was Beta Lead, and their shields held firm at thirty percent.

The voice of the Nightshade's captain, deep with age and determination, came through the Comms. “All flights, the Gray hydrogen station has been destroyed.” Breaking formation to arc around the flickering remains of a Gray gunboat, Rajeev turned his gaze back toward the Nightshade, where its short-range canons responded to the full onslaught of the Gray cruisers, one on either side. The escorting gunboats had spread out around the destroyer and held position. “Our objective has been accomplished. All flights will proceed to dock according to emergency withdrawal procedures.”

Beta Four's high voice questioned, “They want us to dock in combat?”

“Run the numbers,” Rajeev answered. “The Nightshade used their particle beam on the hydrogen station instead of one of the cruisers, and now they have to choose between charging the particle beam or their warp core. By the time they take those cruisers out, there won't be any fighters left to dock.”

“Divert back toward the Nightshade, now.” Beta Lead snapped. “Taking down a couple of Gray cruisers might be a tactical win, but if the Nightshade loses too many fighters she'll have to withdraw back to Cygnus station, and that's a huge strategic loss.”

“All wings!” The Flight Commander's voice broke above them all. “Alpha and Beta dock first, then Delta. Gamma will go full missiles and harass the gunboats. Epsilon and Zeta, the Nightshade's docking doors are about to open. That's a big weakness we can't afford to leave open, so the Alliance needs you out front taking hits.”

Getting back into formation behind Beta Lead, Rajeev and the rest of Beta Flight turned away from the Gray gunboats and accelerated back toward the Nightshade. Rajeev glanced at Awl. “They're still treating the Labrys fighters like their armor counts for something. Awl, I need to talk to Badru.”

The hologram of the Gray drone twitched a micrometer. “Seeking connection. Established. Proceed.”

The space between the Gray formation that Beta Flight was running from and the battle taking place around the Nightshade was calm like the fall from a cliff, quiet spent stiff-jawed and wide-eyed. “Badru, I need you to give Awl full access to your offensive lasers.”

“Right now?” The three Labrys fighters of Zeta flight arced around one gunboat, exchanging laser fire as the passed it and then firing their primary particle beams as they flew away from it toward the Nightshade. The damage gave the gunboat only slight pause before it was firing on them again. “I need those lasers, Rajeev.”

“You're not going to be destroying anything with those lasers and you know that, Badru. Your assignment right now is to hang out between the Nightshade and two Gray cruisers with a target on your hull until everyone else has gotten away. At least let me help you not die.”

Badru's ship turned parallel to the Nightshade, steering toward the docking bays and slowing. “And how does letting a linker's AI into my weapons systems help?”

“Awl knows the frequency and wavelength of the Gray lasers and can modulate in real-time. If it targets the Gray laser emitters with the opposite frequency, it'll cause interference and they won't hit as hard. They'll lose not quite half their power. I already tried this once and it works. Then you put your burst banks into shields and you might just last long enough to get back on the Nightshade yourself.”

“And what about the other Labrys fighters?” Zeta Flight took up formation alongside Badru, with Epsilon's four Labrys fighters protecting the opposite side of the docking bay. The Gray gunboats moved subtly to focus their laser fire on them. “What about the Nightshade?”

As Beta Flight came in range of the Gray cruisers and gunboats, they fired lasers into those closest to the Nightshade. Rajeev couldn't tell if they did any damage at all. He steered around Zeta Flight and headed for the docking bay. “I don't think it'll work on that kind of scale. More than one Labrys would be too much for Awl alone. This is all I've got.”

“Okay.” Despite the fact that the armor under his vessel's shields was already beginning to glow with heat from the Gray lasers, Badru sounded calm. “Let's give it a try.”

“It's all I've got. Awl!” Rajeev eased his Dagger into the Nightshade's docking bay. Alpha had preceded them. Instead of easing into their moors they were wedging their ships as far into the bay's corners as they could, making room for the rest of the ships to land quickly. All the engineering staff had been evacuated. The docking bay's chaos was too dangerous for them.

“Connection established,” Awl reported. “I have control of the Labrys' lasers and am targeting the gunboat's laser emitters.”

Pushing his Dagger against a wall near the repair stations, alongside the ruined scrap from the Labrys that had been destroyed in the previous battle, Rajeev stared at the hologram of the Gray seeker drone that hung eerily still in the front of his cockpit. “It's the only thing I do. It's all I have to give. Hopefully Awl's enough.”

[-]

Rajeev stared at the black around him, the shadows of the inert simulation pod interrupted only by the hazy gray glow of Awl's holographic avatar. The Gray hunter drone stared at Rajeev, the red light solid, everything about it unchanging. Nothing about Awl ever changed. The Gray altered their shape, Emesta got thinner after her brother died, Rajeev survived the Gray attack that had killed Huan but suddenly couldn't tolerate the incongruity of the female body that he'd once felt no need to change. And then they'd found out he could be a linker, and from his brain they'd made Awl. From the very first moment he'd hated Awl, because it looked like the thing that had killed Huan.

But now it was also the thing that had saved Badru when five out of the seven Labrys fighters in that battle had been reduced to slag and two space pilots had been left behind, their bodies most likely disintegrated when the Nightshade had made a hyperjump not even thirty meters from where they'd floated. And Awl never changed.

Rajeev sighed. The pain shot from the bottom of his rib cage all the way to the top of his skull. He crossed his arms in the baggy blue fabric of the coat he wore. He'd left his binder under his bunk in his quarters, but the damage was done.

A chirping sound prompted him to withdraw his pad, and Emesta's name flashed in a blue glow. It had taken six hours to sort out the pile of fighters in the docking bay, but the debrief had only taken five minutes. Everyone knew what had happened. At least, they'd all known in general the order of events. The commander said ten times in five minutes that it was not a defeat. It was not a defeat. It was not a defeat.

Rajeev knew that victory and defeat were two different ends of the same scale. It was history, not Commanders, that would say where they'd landed on it. Rajeev didn't have any idea.

The pad started chirping again. This time Rajeev hit the button to answer it, but he set the pad on his knee and pointed it toward the ceiling, not looking at it, not letting it look at him. “Yeah?”

Emesta's voice came slowly. “Rajeev?”

“Right here.”

“Aren't all the pilots supposed to be coming in for an eval?” The green and brown glow of Emesta's face lit up the barren shell display of the simulation pod. “Did you go back to your quarters already?”

“I don't need an eval. I'm fine. Just went to the simulation room to get some work done.”

“You're running simulations now?”

“Just a quick one.” Rajeev inhaled, closed his eyes, spoke through the groan of pain. “Wanted to try and repeat what I did earlier, see if maybe it's something that can be done more than once. Something to help the Labrys fighters out.”

The sound of a heavy breath came from the pad, along with the clicking of Emesta's panel. “I heard you saved someone today.”

“Badru come out okay?”

“He's worried he'll lose his job to a linker, now. He's fine.”

“Nice change of pace, being able to save someone. Awl did it.”

“You did it. Rajeev, why don't you come down to the office and let me have a look at you?”

Rajeev opened his eyes, shaking his head. He looked back toward that static, silent hologram of the Gray drone. “You know, I don't hate Awl anymore. Awl saved me. It saved Badru. I couldn't have done that.”

“Awl came from you, didn't it?”

“I couldn't have done that.” Rajeev tapped his thigh with one finger in a pattern of threes. “I can't do it again, anymore, anyway. Sync numbers tanked. Went from eighty to forty. Like I'm not a linker at all anymore.”

Emesta's voice came more quietly. “What?”

“Doesn't work without the hate. It wasn't the pain, it was the hate. I don't hate it, and it doesn't work anymore. I tried. I won't be able to fly like this.”

“Hey, Raj, I want you to come down to the office and talk to me. Please.”

He tapped out the pattern of three on his thigh and closed his eyes and opened his eyes and shook his head, and he almost lifted the pad to look at Emesta's face, eyes, cheeks, her lips, but she would be frowning and worried about him, and he'd notice how thin she'd gotten and remember how long it had taken him to notice.

Instead he stared at Awl, the hologram unchanging, somehow able to save Badru. “Awl's finally useful for something and I can't sync with it. I'm the one who can't—” Rajeev stopped and coughed, the pain curling his body forward and pulling on his shoulders. He choked out, “I think I'm ready for that surgery now.”

“Raj! Are you—?”

He closed out the call and tossed the pad on the floor of the simulation pod. Leaning back, he lifted his fists and pressed them against his eye sockets. “Oh, fuck me. Huan wouldn't have treated her like this.” Rajeev kept his breath low, beneath the pain that it would cause to let himself gasp out against the sting or the numb frustration that kept him from looking Emesta in the eye.

He lay in the pod and thought about trying the simulation again, but couldn't bring himself to do it. A sync rating of forty couldn't be surmounted. It wasn't even an outlier. For a linker that scored in the eighties, seventy was an outlier. Forty was nearly a complete collapse of all cognitive connection. The psychic link between himself and Awl was so slow it was effectively gone. Just didn't exist anymore.

Pushing out a sigh, Rajeev lifted his hands to his forehead and scowled at Awl's avatar. “You saved Badru. You think you'd treat Emesta better?”

Awl answered in obedient monotone, “I believe that you could do better.”

“Go to hell.”

“I cannot comply.”

“Yeah, I bet you can't.” Rajeev huffed. “You didn't get anybody killed.”

The door of the simulation pod suddenly cracked open, sliding away with violent force. The white light of the exterior room shone in over Rajeev's eyes, and he moved one hand to shade his face as he looked away. Emesta's fiery voice barked in at him, “Raj!”

“Godsake.” Rajeev couldn't help the anxious, shocked snicker that worked its way out of his pained lungs. “How did you get all the way up here so fast?”

“Don't you hide from me, Raj.” She grabbed his hand with her thin digits, pulling it away from his face.

“Ow! Easy, there.”

The light glowing through her hair and shining sideways on her brown face, her features slackened as she stopped pulling. She squinted at him. “Are… you in pain?”

“You can tell the Captain on me and get me grounded if you want.” Rajeev barely looked at Emesta before turning his gaze away. “I won't be binding during missions anymore because a linker with a sync rate this low is grounded anyway.”

“Raj, you—!”

“I don't even know if I can recreate what Awl did earlier. It's counter-propagating laser beams a hundred and eighty degrees out of phase, so interference like your scanners run into but exact and targeted. It sets up destructive interference at the same wavelength, but inverted, so the lasers lose power.”

Emesta thudded a fist on the outside of the pod. “Raj, listen to me!”

“I could've saved Huan.” Rajeev sat up and forced himself to face Emesta. He lifted one hand and played out the pattern of three in the air. “Just like this. The auto-seal on the bulkhead was slow, but the manual input went just like this. Three buttons. Only my hands were shaking too much and I missed the third button and the input got all confused and locked up. So the bulkhead didn't close in time.”

“Raj, shut up!”

“Awl wouldn't have missed an input.” He leaned back, putting his hands over his face again. “That's just something I do.”

“Stop it!” Emesta knelt on the edge of the simulation pod and leaned into it, her long, lanky form bending and her arms curling up near her head. Her hair fell over Rajeev, obscuring the light imperfectly behind its thready veil, shivering as her shoulders shook. “Just stop.”

Rajeev let his hands fall to his side and turned to look at the woman. “Emesta?”

And then her breath was suddenly close, and the sound of her crying was next to his face, her forehead pushing against his temple. She didn't put any weight on him, didn't touch his body at all because she was careful and knew it would hurt him, but stretched herself low next to him and cried so that he could hear it. So close that it seemed to fill the whole pod.

Rajeev looked sideways into her sharp cheeks and wet eyes, and with a long sigh he put one hand on the back of her head. “I'm sorry. Here I am missing another input, aren't I?”

She snapped loudly in his ear, “I told you to stop!” And then lay her hand over his hand. “You don't need to feel guilty for being sad.”

“If I could feel sad, then maybe I'd—”

“You're sad. That's why you're crying.”

“I'm not…” Rajeev put a hand to his face. “Dammit.”

“Knock it off. It's okay to be sad.” She squirmed a bit more into the pod, pressing the side of her face—those sharp cheekbones—more firmly against Rajeev's. “I'm sad. I miss Huan, too. But you can't turn that against yourself.”

“I can't turn it against Awl anymore, either.” Rajeev let Emesta take his hand from his face, curling her fingers around his. “At least you're taking care of yourself.”

She laughed quietly. “Not really. Not at all.”

“At least you noticed that I—”

“Stop it, Raj. Stop feeling guilty.”

“Sorry.”

“Raj!”

“Done.” Rajeev shook his head slowly. “I'm done. I… just don't know how to be okay again. I thought that if Awl…”

“Raj.” Emesta squeezed his hand and moved her cheek on his face.

She remained close to him in the sparse lighting of the pod while the hazy hologram of the Gray drone hung beside them. Rajeev kept quiet, breathing beneath the pain, watching his breath move Emesta's hair. Slowly, he began to feel the warmth of Emesta's face heating the skin of his own, the hot humidity of her tears wetting his cheek even more than his own tears.

Emesta rose away from him, the light shining on her face. Her sharp chin glistened and teardrops fell on the chest of her coat as she moved. She gazed down at Rajeev, long lashes wet. She breathed deep so that her shoulders swelled, and then she brushed at her eyes and muttered in a throaty voice, “You can never tell anyone that I cried.”

Rajeev smirked up at her. “If you don't tell anyone that I broke my ribs twice because I was sad.”

“Oh no, boy. That is going on your record.” She shook her head and nodded at the same time, and then gave Awl's hologram a sidelong look. “What's wrong with Awl?”

“It's not Awl's fault. It's my sync numbers. We're just not getting along anymore, and it's going to ground me. It's…” Rajeev moved Emesta's hand to his lap and joined both his hands around hers, trying to hold it as firmly as he could. He watched her look at their hands, watched her lips as she smiled at them. Then he sat up and looked her in the eye. “Really, it's an engineering issue. Whether I can still be a linker or not isn't that big of a deal. Awl was able to… Awl and I were able to turn the Labrys lasers into a defensive weapon. It won't change how the war is fought, but it might be able to become something better, bigger, if it gets developed further.”

“So. Something for you to work on?”

“Something I might need Badru's help to really work through, since I can't get Awl to work with me in the simulations anymore.”

“Oh.” Emesta smiled. “You're turning it into a project with your boyfriend.”

“I really don't think there's any chemistry there, Emesta.” Rajeev looked to where he held her hand firmly.

“Chemistry comes later.” Emesta shrugged and stood away from the pod, pulling Rajeev by his hands. “First I need to put all your bones back into place.”

“Ow, Em. Slow down.” Rajeev pulled his hand back and struggled to get out of the pod. “You know, the Nightshade isn't going to be able to do this.”

She crossed her arms, stepping back to watch him. “Leave the pessimism in the pod, Raj.”

“It's not pessimism. Listen.” He unbent slowly, carefully avoiding pain as he straightened. “Even if I could get Awl's countermeasures to work for every fighter on the ship, we just don't have the right loadout. Two Gray hydrogen stations isn't even a real strategic target.”

“So you're saying…?”

“I'm saying the Nightshade isn't going to succeed in this mission. I'm saying…” Rajeev looked back into the pod, and he leaned in to pluck Awl's blue box from the alcove on the side. He tucked it into its case and let it hang in his hand as he turned back to Emesta. “We're going to lose more people. It's going to be hard. But if Awl can take care of someone, then so can I. You don't need to be alone.”

/content/about

Hi there! My name is Corinn Heathers, and I'm the author!

Most about-the-author blurbs are written in the third person, but I find it tiresome and dull to do so. So here it is, from the top: I'm a lesbian transgender woman, a bit of a tomboy with a girly streak, a gigantic nerd who loves role-playing games, visual novels, the occasional (or frequent) anime or manga… oh, and I'm an author of speculative fiction based in the San Francisco Bay Area.

I love to write science fiction and fantasy, or science fantasy fiction, or science fiction masquerading as fantasy and everything in between. As you might have noticed, I write stories with predominately female and queer casts, often with mixed-race or otherwise non-white protagonists and supporting characters.

Binary System: Deneb is my second published novel-length story and the first volume in the ongoing Binary System space opera and military sci-fi series.

Readers can connect with me through my Twitter account, @syn010110 and my long-form blog, (un)logical emotion (unlogical-emotion.blogspot.com). You could also check out my Tumblr (syn010110.tumblr.com), though I usually forget it exists between a reblog here and there. I also maintain a public email account that readers can use to contact me if they wish (corinn.writes.stuff@gmail.com), which I check reasonably often.

[-]

Guest author K.J. Russell is a writer of speculative fiction based in Houston, Denver and Colorado Springs. His novella, “Absolute Tenacity,” has been described as “the kind of story that force feeds you bits and pieces, slowly filling your psyche with reveals and snippets of underlying horror, until the needle is brandished and you (along with the story) pop violently with a raw, unexpected ambivalence.”

He is often seen at conventions in his home towns and beyond, and is an active member of both the Houston Writers Guild and Rocky Mountain Fiction Writers. On behalf of the HWG he has edited and contributed to two anthologies of science fiction and fantasy, Tides of Possibility and Tides of Impossibility, respectively.

His debut novel-length work, The Dusty Man, was published on May 15, 2015. The first chapter in the bleak and relentlessly dark series, Ruin of the 5th World, The Dusty Man is a grim reminder of the limitless tenacity and depravity within the heart of humanity.

Follow K.J. Russell at his website, kjrussell.com, or on Twitter @KJRussell_write.