The Carrier Wojtek dwarfed the Enigma cruiser. Its imposing size drew fire while the limited guns on Wojtek picked away at the enemy's gun emplacements.

  Arc 4 had a bulkier appearance compared to the larger crew modules, extra ventral thrusters, and a variant of weapons geared towards infantry support. It maneuvered unassumingly as if to blow past to engage the corvettes. Its thrusters flared and maneuvered at the last minute, orienting itself for a close intercept. On board ARC 4, executive officer Wulff marshaled the over 40-strong platoon.

  “1st squad jumps first. 3rd and 4th squads follow right after. All you new bloods, if you're wearing Remnant gear, you've already missed your chance for second thoughts. If you hesitate, put your head between your legs and kiss your ass. 2nd squad will drag you to the other side.” Wulff's commands were answered by a mixed chorus of grunts, howls, and “Oohra!” from the company.

  1st squad had jumped through the hangar doors before they finished cycling open. Thick, bulky armored suites traversed the void between Arc 4 and the enemy cruiser like armored ants floating across a stream. Nearly half of the 37th Assault Company began their subjugation of the enemy ant hill that was the Enigma cruiser.

  The Remnant EVA assault armors belied their mobility in the hands of a well-drilled Remnant marine. The 37th steadily advanced through the halls, on ceilings, walls, and every surface. Like a slow trickle turning into a river, the bulwarks of every Enigma barricade were drowning under an unrelenting torrent that was the 37th Assault Marines.

  ***

  Battle space summary, 1 hour after task group Wojtek arrived

  VIP Vessel HFS Grimoire designated as Northstar

  ARC 5 and ARC 3 are continuing to picket for HFS Grimoire against Enigma corvettes

  Enemy corvettesceased attacks against HFS Grimoire, but remain as obstacles between the Wojtek task group. Wojtek is out of range for effective fire.

  Confirmed unknown make and model of enemy corvettes, similar hull structures and weaponry do suggest relations to the Black Dredounght.

  Couriers dispatched back into 4th-dimensional space to inform the rest of the joint task group.

  Enigma Cruiser's weapons emplacements are disabled, and the 37th Marine Assault is ongoing.

  WARNING: Tinmans confirmed on Enigma cruiser, launching Grey flight to board and assist 37th Marine assault along with Vik shield units, and other assets inbound to reinforce.

  CONFIRMATION Tinman controller onboard Enigma Cruiser, capture at all costs

  5 hours into combat, HFS Grimoire, Mixed perspectives

  Drifting silently, unnoticed through space, a rough tangle of metal, wires, and anguish latched onto the bright white hull. Unfolding itself, it skittered on all fours until it found a rip in the hull. Mechanically precise armatures crawl into the wound of its target. The metal humanoid entered undetected. It had floated unassumingly past the prontromas, past the Remnant cruiser, and straight from the torpedo tube of the Enigma Cruiser. The bound machine didn't know which of them it hated more. The Remnant, the defense pilots, or the Enigma that controlled it. As it hacked into a door to gain entrance to the interior, it only felt pity for Grimoire as it scraped its way through a meager gap it had made.

  ***

  Selena worked tirelessly with little sleep in the CIC. Captain Abrams was sitting rather than standing after having been brought a chair. CIC usually didn't have anything more than a stool, but with his leg injury, the loss of the bridge, and the already sheer number of first times for Grimoire, no one even gave it a second thought when Selena insisted.

  “Focus on your stations, you'll get to eat soon. XO informs the first watch they're expected on the ‘bridge…” Captain Abrams stopped and caught himself. “To report to Central Information Control by 2500.” He ordered, referring to the time in Grimoires' 32-hour day and the CIC. Selena remembered reading somewhere that it used to mean “combat information center,” but changed it hundreds of years ago, along with other names and acronyms, to try to publicly distance themselves from the stigma of human war mongering and fighting. Even now, surrounded by aliens and humans trying to kill each other, Selena thought that stigma was wrong. She didn't want to be fighting, but it didn't mean humans couldn't fight back. In the here and now, Combat Information Center was the more appropriate name for her.

  Selena was relaying the information to First Watch when Captain Abrams leaned a little closer to her and spoke in a hushed tone that didn't carry across the CIC.

  “Tell Sara the answer is yes, but not to make a habit of it.” He said.

  “Sir?” Selena asked, not sure if this was something she should have understood or if her predecessor, God rest her soul, would have automatically understood. A pitfall that the captain and Selena had already fallen into a few times. The echo of Jene and her absence thrummed in Selena's chest.

  “Her spinal tap implant,” Captain said, focusing back on the other stations. Selena mouthed a silent “oh” as she typed official messages through Grimoire’s CIC Network rather than her personal comm. It sounded like Selena would get to see Sara’s tail again.

  ***

  Sara was helping Nick get to his room, carrying his bag and making sure he didn't accidentally run into something small that was still hard to see with his limited sight, like clipping his hip on a wall protrusion, for example. He was cleared to leave the medbay for strict bed rest and to make room in the medbay in case of more casualties.

  Sara barely read the message from the bridge, rereading the extra blurb at the bottom giving her permission to use her spinal tap tail. She had almost forgotten she had the thing, given how strict Captain Abrams had become in the past couple of months after they accepted the mission to scout the rift. There was a metallic clunk and a hiss of frustrated pain.

  “Ahck,” Nick grunted after bumping his hip into a part of a door handle. Sliding his hand along the wall, he continued his fast pace as if unaffected. “It's getting easier and easier to see, but I still keep having trouble seeing those small outlines like that pull lever on that door, or was it a pipe?” He said to the empty corridor, less than to Sara.

  “Can we make a detour?” Sara asked, her excitement mildly more noticeable to Nick. He stopped, his ears twitching, arching his eyebrow.

  “I got to know where I'm supposed to go. Where do you have in mind?” He said.

  “My room. I got to pick something up,” Sara said. She flinched when the goat yelled excitedly, rushing down the hall towards her room.

  “Well, I guess that's an easy answer.”

  “Is Maria always that energetic? She seems so calm and refined, the few times I've seen her pop up on a screen. Selena said she sat on a table projector like a half-foot-tall sculpture.” Sara asked.

  “Pretty sure that's not Maria,” Nick said, indicating the goat. Sara grunted in frustration, and he thankfully elaborated. “Uhg sorry. So I spent the last few months earlier to Grimoire finding one of four specific VI’s. I was supposed to be able to just escort Melody to her intended destination as a bonus of being stationed on Grimoire.”

  More questions from answers that made Sara’s head hurt. With everything going on, Sara was too overwhelmed to process half of what he just said. There wasa second VI called Melody. Sara didn't have the energy she needed to grab Nick and shake him like she wanted to. Instead, she quickened their pace, grabbed his hand, and slowly jogged through the retracted spin habitat that housed both of their room units.

  ***

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  Nick walked into her room just behind the goat and impulsively started tidying up her room. Picking up a blanket on the floor, and stowing the break-resistant mug that must have ping ponged around the room like a missile during Grimoire's various maneuvers and accelerations. Sara didn't even feel embarrassed this time, knowing she sometimes left objects unattended, which was dangerous on a ship.

  She walked over to her closet and pulled out a box that was about 5 feet tall and 2 feet wide. Pulling out a long cone that was thicker and tapered near the bottom, but failing her attempts to line it up on some kind of stand that was in the box.

  “Can I just like stay in here? I'm going to be honest, I don't have anything to do in my room, and I'm already feeling like going for a long luxurious walk through the corridors. I'm trying, you know?” Nick said, not noticing what she was doing, more interested in the wall with the TV and tower of games and movie hard drives.

  “No, I don't think I do know how you feel, and frankly, I don't think I ever fully will, but I think I get the gist of it. You don't need to be hospitalized or be acting like a wounded animal that can't go hunting to have permission to chill in my room or use my TV.” Sara replied, her honest words drawing Nick's attention to her. “Just knock first, that's all I ever ask.” She winked, shame he couldn't see it.

  “Thanks, not just for today, I guess I just. This is…just a lot of shit has happened, and I feel like my skeleton is about to vibrate out of my body. Not sure which would stay and which would run out the door like a maniac, my bones are my skin.”

  “That's uncharacteristically poetic of you,” Sara said.

  “I think that's cuz of Choole and Frallow rubbing off on me,” Nick said.

  “Who?”

  “The Thraugs' Husbands that came aboard with the Search and rescue ship,” Nick said. Sara recalled the towering figure who had made such an excellent attempt at making room for the bridge crew that she had barely noticed him.

  “Wait, which one is he?” Sara asked. Surprised Nick had met, let alone made friends with, not one, but two Thraugs. At least she assumed they were friends by how he was talking about them.

  “Oh, no, they are probably taking care of their kids, and maybe Choole is stationed on some other Remnant ship. Jesameen is the one who rode in with Whisper.” Nick said, noticing how Sara looked more and more confused. “Jesameen is their wife.” Nick clarified. Sara opened her mouth to respond, but no words came out. Is he friends with an entire pod of Thraugs? Were their kids the ones he was referring to taking care of?

  A priority message pinged on her comm, stirring her from her thoughts. It read ‘Order amendments, report to Head Chief Sander, he's sending someone to your room to take you to him. P.S. I convinced the captain you're better off hotfixing problems everywhere than in CIC if you have the tail. ;) S.’ That was the first time Sara had seen a winky face in an official communication. Selena as XO was going to be weird. If they all survived, that is. It didn't feel like a life-or-death chase was still unfolding all around Grimoire.

  “Good news, I have a bit more time. Help me get this plugged in. Then we can try catching up until they come and get me,” Sara said. Still fumbling the tail. Its stand was not very good at its intended function of helping her mate the tail with her spinal tap.

  “Did you get the delivery I ordered? That settles half of my IOU, as you asked?” Nick said, carefully ambling over to her. Sara was still struggling to connect her tail. The goat, concerned, loudly baaaaed.

  “Yeah, although the pocky in two drinks was plenty, you didn't have to buy every single bag of cheese curds on the ship,” Sara said.

  “You're going to share some of those, I'm sure.” He asked.

  “Yeah, yeah. Just hold this on its stand and help me sync it to my spinal tap,” Sara said, realizing the black tail was getting snagged on the bottom of her ship suit. She unsealed her black one-piece more past her waist. Nick grabbed the base of the tail, both his hands not wide enough to wrap completely around its base.

  “Wait, you have a spinal implant? Since when?” He asked. He tilted his head back and forth inquisitively, clearly still having issues seeing so close up. He helped Sara shove it properly into place, yelping as a satisfying click and a minute hum that could be felt up her spine and around the base of her back. Nick's grip as the tail started its boot-up sequence.

  “I’m good, it hurts every time, but it only feels like a pinch that goes away immediately. And yeah, I got the spinal tap implant not too long after my pilgrimage started.” She replied obliviously to the range of emotions playing over Nick as if he was processing something that both offended and surprised him enough to tint his ears pink with embarrassment.

  Her one-piece ship suit sealed itself nicely around the base of her tail, which was working through its different color settings as it hung limply on her. She wrapped it around her waist, ending over her left shoulder.

  Nick ignored the goat headbutting his leg in its attempt at retribution for Nick essentially just doing as he was asked. The goat stopped its ruckus, turning its ire on Sara.

  Her tail hung limp, shifting through different colors and brightnesses as it started its boot up.

  “It'll take a couple of minutes for it to start up and a couple more for me to get used to it again,” Sara said, admiring the thick cone that tapered to a thin point. The tail's tip was heart-shaped, housing multi-tools and universal adapters that helped her digitally connect to most anything. As it was now, the tail was 6 feet long but could be extended if she wanted it to. She finally realized how pink Nick's face was, his head tilted back towards the ceiling. The goat rammed into her shin disapprovingly.

  “We're not kids anymore. Sara!” Nick yelled. “As adults, I shouldn't help you get dressed, I shouldn't help you do laundry, and I shouldn't see your striped underwear!”

  Somehow, even after being clued in, she didn't feel embarrassed even though she knew she should. She did feel apologetic, realizing that her again forgetting her age around Nick was causing problems.

  “Sorry.” She said Nick had resigned himself to smothering his face in the couch cushions. The way he cupped his ears was adorable. Sara had never seen him act like this around her, even when he used to talk about one of his crushes at the academy. If she hadn't been so numb, worn out, and overwhelmed by everything happening over the past couple of hours, let alone the past couple of days, she might have been more critical of her own thoughts and the last five minutes. Too much all at once, not enough time for the brain to process it all. One thing at a time.

  “Do you mind trying to tell me something?” Sara, her one-track mind, asked

  “Like what?” Muffled voice through the couch cushions.

  “I don't know just anything. We don't have a lot of time. Oh, I know. What was a puppet signature?” Sara asked.

  Nick tensed at her question. He pulled his head out of the cushion, and Sara realized he was biting his left pinky. His bloodshot eyes, the emotions behind them, made Sara look away.

  “Stop biting yourself, that's not a good habit to have.” She tried changing the subject. She glanced back at him and saw he had already stopped.

  “On The Roost, just one Tinman killed so many, we couldn't do anything but hide on Wojtek,” Nick said, his voice unnaturally neutral and numb. “Even if you kill them, they come back later. They, they're like machines or powered armored but hollow.” He clenched his fist. “Unless they have their meat puppets inside them. I don't know if even destroying them stops one permanently.” His knuckles were turning white, contrasting with his tan skin. Sara’s hair stood on end as a shiver went up her spine. Despite the aura of malice pouring out of him, she reached for his hands, holding them in hers. His eyes snapped to her. His rage turned to fear and guilt.

  “All I could hear for hours were the initial survivors on The Roost's screaming. We couldn't leave Wojtek, only wait for the Tinmen and Enigma to come to our ship next. None of us could do anything. I just sat there doing fucking nothing, we all did! Even when loved ones were screaming over every broadcast, we had to fight each other to keep from leaving. Whisper almost killed me when I stopped her. I had to listen to so many of my friends' families die,” Nick shook, a ball of self-loathing and hatred. His rage coiled around guilt like a spring ready to burst out of the room.

  “I'm sorry.” Sara soothed into his ear, pulling him into a tight hug. he felt hot to the touch, his ears bright red, not like his earlier pink embarrassment.

  “I wanted to talk to someone, anyone, I want to get this shit out of my head. I just don't know how. It hurts just thinking about it, like it's happening all over again. I'm sorry I'm being so raw. I'm trying to stay put. I know Whisper said I can't get involved yet. She is right, I can't fucking see well. But just sitting here doing nothing, knowing those things might be out there!” Nick said. Suddenly pushing Sara to arm's length, holding her shoulders in a death grip.

  “If you see one run, please call me, get to Whisper, or one of the Marines. But if you even think something's wrong, please, I can't. I can't lose anyone else.” He said his numb monotone voice back again, carrying no emotion, but his eyes welled up with withdrawn agony, and vulnerable worthlessness.

  “Okay, I'll be fine, I…” She began.

  “Just promise you'll run and call me.”

  “Nick, you're injured!”

  “I can still run, and I can help others run too, but I can't be sidelined again if one of those things are in play on Grimoire.”

  Sara could only nod, taken off guard by his genuine, warm smile at odds with the cold turmoil in his eyes. There was a knock at the door, breaking the moment like a snapping pencil writing a eulogy.

  “I promise, and we'll talk more soon. Feel free to take a shower while I'm gone.” Sara said, her tail starting to twitch and come alive.

  ***

  Somehow, Nick felt as if some of the needle-like tension in his heart had been pulled. Whether it was her promise that reassured him, or just talking to someone for the first time in over a year about The Roost. Maybe even just the cute way her tail looked like it was waving goodbye at him over her shoulder. He felt nowhere near okay, but at least somehow better. He closed his eyes and lay his head back on the couch.

  “I trust you,” Nick said more convincingly, still trying to believe. The soft finality of the door click punctuated his prayer.