TAC 04.08.3595 — H-0800 | [Free Space]

  As the Guerrero, a corvette-class oppressor, knifed through the endless expanse of warped space, its four passengers lounged around the vessel's cockpit projection pillar, waiting. Foldable seats, arranged along the compartment's portside wall, rattled emptily as the ship hurtled through infinite darkness.

  Eventually, one of the passengers, sprawled across the tri-plated, cruiser-resistant botryx deck, sat up.

  "You married, boss?"

  Master Sergeant Drin, posted vigilantly over the Guerrero's bridge console, wheeled to regard the speaker examining her in honest curiosity. "What?"

  Sergeant Caelin shrugged, already looking apologetic. "Just wondering. A couple guys back at Thornwick are, but I've never really spoken to someone who's been... you know. In. Both. For years."

  A gruff laugh drew attention to the starboard wall, where Sergeant First Class Maleus pushed off a steel louvre to raise placating palms. "What, a man can't even be surprised anymore?" He shook his head in evident disbelief. "You hooked, Cae?"

  "I'm… considering." Caelin shifted to sit against the underside of a collapsed chair. "Thing is, this job'll probably kill me, and that wouldn't go over well. We've known each other for… damn. We've known each other forever. I just worry, long-term, commitment cons beat pros."

  The final passenger, Sergeant Essai, smirked sardonically. "Cae, that's adorable. I never knew you felt unironic emotion."

  "That's by design," scoffed Caelin before facing Drin. "Boss?"

  She shrugged. "I had a husband. It was… nice, I suppose. For some time. But constant long distance is tough." Drin crossed her arms thoughtfully. "Knowing I had someone to come back to was nice. Less nice when he cheated."

  Caelin and Essai simultaneously winced.

  "He's alive," clarified Maleus, chuckling. "Not even a bruise."

  "You said ‘alive', so I assumed." Essai studied Drin. "The question is why."

  "I expected it. We deploy for months, sometimes years. Besides, he's a man, which means constant war between his… heads. I'd say the bigger one won, but that could be misinterpreted as a compliment." Drin shrugged wistfully. "I made my bed."

  "Oh yeah," snorted Caelin, "all your fault. Appreciate the second guesses."

  Drin smirked as she settled in the pilot's chair. "I didn't mean it like that. Every home needs a hearth, Cae. You've clearly got your spark, so why not?"

  "Cheating?" supplied Essai.

  Maleus barked with laughter, then eyed Caelin. "How's your spark?"

  "Blinding. It's kinda distracting."

  "Stars." The Weaver's grin nearly split his face in half. "Our boy's all grown up."

  "I just—"

  A chime cut Caelin off. The pillar then flared with congealing light that coalesced at the beam bead, which began blinking at per-second intervals.

  Drin snapped upright. "Alright, showtime. Adult faces, everyone."

  Caelin immediately faced Maleus, who rolled his eyes. Essai joined Caelin in snickering while Drin accessed the column's console. As she worked, the others arranged themselves in parade rest around the projector. A few seconds later, the bead flared to cast a bust hologram of SC General Damien Knight.

  All four snapped to attention.

  Knight returned their salute, then greeted, "At ease. Sitrep."

  Drin settled in a wide stance. "Steady green, sir. We altered course, as ordered, and should arrive within thirty-six hours. No hiccups so far."

  "Thank goodness. Warp complications usually only end one way," joked Knight, shaking his head. "Your patience and diligence are appreciated, Shatter. Blackout missions are hell, leaving me no choice but to leave them with the best."

  Drin shrugged. "No applause needed, sir. We do our best work in the dark."

  "Well put," commended Knight before grimacing. "Ready for the lights?"

  Fire Team Shatter straightened. Knight's projection tilted forward as he analyzed an out-of-frame screen. "Eight weeks ago, Analok strike teams hit a Synakan target. It was quick, surgical and very, very quiet. In fact, the stationed PT made AO within perfectly acceptable parameters and still caught headlights. They cut through a triple dozen tusks and hostile elements still cleared with a Xenoli child as loot."

  Drin blinked incredulously. Maleus, unable to help himself, squawked, "Sorry, sir, did you just say Xenoli child?"

  "I did."

  "Ah." Maleus swallowed. "Rezz."

  Knight pursed his lips. "However bad you think this is, it can get worse. Therefore, they cannot be allowed to keep her, and absolutely cannot kill her. I shouldn't have to explain the scale of catastrophe if we don't overtake this. In other words, consider this the most important mission of your lives. Officially, Shatter's being sent as range safeties to Fire Teams Blackstar, Quantum and Orion, who've been deployed on Nibenia, and 'tasked'," Knight mimed quotations, "with apprehending Baraka Az'Sharog."

  "Unofficially?" queried Drin.

  "I want a pulse-check on Bulgan, so we sent his team enough rope to either lash credibility or hang themselves. The FTs spectate and autopsy. You, on the other hand, will turn Galdan Brok inside out. They're Vaminax's dominant tech firm, and one of their sites designed some software in Analok's ships. I need you to map the operation and, if possible, settle Bulgan's audit. Track the chip trails in case any point to the throne."

  Drin scowled. "Forgive my candour, sir, but that's grim. Real grim."

  "No doubt," concurred Knight, "but the most likely outcome, even now, is rug burn. Bulgan's head, despite its volume, deflates quick. Finding dirt and the kid should be more than enough to twist his arm and put this whole mess behind us. Grievous, permanent escalation only really happens if he pushes for it. Or, of course, we lose the runt."

  "Affirmative." Drin's jaw was tight. "Outstanding specs?"

  "Fine print's in the OPORD. EW is ten days, which is about as much as we were able to force without raising alarms."

  Drin replied, "Affirmative."

  "This, as I'm sure you've all realized, outranks proxies. Use the line to keep me abreast and unburned while staying alert." He offered a salute. "Blood and steel, Shatter. Victoria per Valentiam."

  The call cut, collapsing the hologram and dimming the bead. Caelin's eyes, wide as saucers, wheeled to find Drin, who'd shifted to access the bridge console. "How the hell did we catch this scorching bomb?!"

  Support creative writers by reading their stories on Royal Road, not stolen versions.

  Maleus expelled a heavy breath. "How's the reading?"

  "Rough." Drin's face scrunched to scan the screen. "We're liaised. Callsign Nyl."

  "For?" asked Essai, stretching to unfold a chair.

  "Tech support." She rolled her eyes. "OPECS require specificity beyond our ability."

  "Lovely," replied Caelin, deflating. "Time to find an even surface to die on."

  The team spent the next thirty-six hours identifying mission parameters and operational constraints for role assignment. Maleus, as Shatter's fastest and stealthiest Scion, would spearhead recon, with Essai's Duellist focalization slotting her in immediate ballistic support. That left Caelin and Drin to shoulder screening local authorities and keep the truth of their deployment concealed.

  Drin, however, quickly grew frustrated. While her team wasn't incapable of subterfuge, ‘Shatter' wasn't an arbitrary title. Her squad's specialty lay in devastating hot drops, where the full breadth of their A-rank firepower could be leveraged to excise Republic irritants from areas of interest.

  Explicit, incisive wetwork. And Vaminax, while not undoable, forced uncomfortable adjustments.

  Adjustments, following Knight's ominous projections, no one bothered questioning.

  When the Guerrero finally braked out of warp, FT Shatter sat decked in sleek combat kits doubling as skintight sub-Summons. Sections within the bodysuits had been deceptively inflated with collapsible composite, as if to imply reinforcement. The ruse would be pointless against informed authorities, but ignorant hostiles could absolutely mistake them for average Terrans.

  The grey bubble comprising the Yorgan farm world ballooned onto the viewscreen, filling it with the dark, globulous masses of floating clouds. Docking stations gliding through deliberate atmospheric orbits trundled through slow, meandering rotations as Shatter's corvette decelerated to synchronize with the planet's roll.

  Four seconds later, warning red exploded across the console display as border patrol spooked and demanded identification. Drin complied evenly, then calmly dismissed the guard's attempts at repulsion.

  It took over an hour for a supervisor to connect, and shortly thereafter, the Guerrero punched through the atmosphere. Naturally, a flanking section of local javelin-class talons escorted them the entire way, and nearly close enough to trade paint.

  The party eventually slowed over a sprawling terrestrial station before maneuvering to ground in designated landing zones. Once docked, the Guerrero was magnetically rooted via clamp anchors, then surrounded by a nervy crescent of armed soldiers.

  Shatter unlatched and descended for the ramp, where Drin warned, "Do not engage. Whatsoever. Vanish and regroup, if need be. Understood?"

  "Affirmative," chorused the squad.

  "Gerr, pop the hatch."

  The deck shuddered as the hermetic compartment depressurized. Damp, chilly air suffused the cabin. Caelin squinted as harsh light shafted in behind it, illuminating the hard, stone runway and spiring control towers. The military detachment responsible for their reception tensed vigilantly, bolters primed as the Scions plodded out of their craft.

  A commanding officer watched them clear the ramp before raising his hand for 'halt'. He then barked assertively, still gesturing for patience, before a hidden speaker from somewhere on his uniform robotically enunciated, "You are not allowed to be on this planet. Leave at once."

  "No," retorted Drin. "You possess neither the seniority nor the clearance to entertain a meaningful discussion. Either summon or direct us to a ranking officer."

  The Yorgan scowled as her words translated, then snarled, "Jen Vaminax does not entertain Terrans. Depart."

  "Summon that officer." Drin let hazy energy manifest across her body, freezing the leader and his team. "Please."

  Ten minutes later, Shatter entered a plush, velvety office furnished with multicoloured furs, vivid busts and partial skeletons. Drin located the actual workstation near the back, where a Yorgan sat parked behind an old, blocky Board model.

  "Ah, Fire Team Shatter. Welcome to Kudded." The officer uncoiled to an impressive eight feet of height and glided across the room with alarming grace. He wore, by Yorgan standards, a surprisingly conservative outfit with tasteful patterning. The telltale artificial pelts and bonework were present, but in reserved capacity along his shoulders, collar and belt. "We only just received word of your arrival. I apologize for my subordinate's misguided... fervour."

  Drin inclined diplomatically. "No problem. Factional friction is an unpleasant but manageable constant in our line of work. I understand you've been briefed?"

  The Yorgan nodded and, in his almost aristocratically accented Terran, responded, "I have. My name is Shatuluk Oz'Dula, and I serve as Overseer of Dyzall Station. Unfortunately, your accommodation request in downtown Jizhoun is not yet ready. I assume you brought supplies?"

  "Yes," confirmed Drin. "But we'll need hardware to interface with local networks, a terrestrial vehicle and a reliable source of food and water. Otherwise, we keep quiet. You'll barely even remember us."

  Dula nodded. "Of course. However, until your lodgings are ready, feel free to make use of the station's guest suites or your personal vessel in the interim." He crossed a pair of beefy arms. "Additionally, I will likely liaise as primary contact throughout your sojourn, due to our… specialized divisions often preferring to monitor from a distance."

  "Understood," replied Drin. "We look forward to working with you, Overseer."

  Dula frowned skeptically. "And what, precisely, does that ‘work' entail?"

  "The brief didn't say?" asked Drin.

  "Partly. Your unit resides in relief of sister squads sent to apprehend an arms dealer no one has seen in over two decades. However, the notion that Terrans would pinpoint her whereabouts before us, in our own system, is preposterous. This is, understandably, quite suspect, and I wish to know the details."

  Drin made a show of pursing her lips. "Alright, look. I'm not supposed to tell you this, but we're trappers, too. Tech caught intel that Command's interpreted as someone zipping around on appropriated Navy tech, which, from route-patterning extrapolation, screams Sharog. Nothing dramatic, but we're on quiet overwatch while our counterparts press primary AO."

  "Area of Operation, yes? I see." Dula paused to consider Drin's subdued admission, then said, "Very well. Please refrain from antagonizing my men. I assume you've all completed preemptive diplomatic training and expect it to show. Instigation will not only be answered with force, but catalogued and reported. Questions?"

  Drin shook her head. "Not at all, though we expect the same in return. Ideally, this whole thing blows over quick and we all move on. Until then, we'll be in touch."

  Shatter moved to vacate and almost reached the door before Dula called, "Sergeant, a word?"

  Maleus immediately braked alongside Drin, only to be blocked by a palm and ordered, "Wait outside. Keep Cae from killing himself."

  "Seriously?" growled Maleus warily before rolling his eyes at Drin's flat scowl. "Fine."

  Drin watched her team step through the sliding doors, then faced Dula. The Yorgan, towering above her not insignificant stature, narrowed his eyes and admitted, "You terrify my officers."

  "There's no reason for that," promised Drin. "Like I said, w—"

  "You are lying, Sergeant." Dula remained unthreateningly propped against a trophy case, arms crossed in casual dismissal as he warned, "Do not take me for a fool, Drin. Sharog is the master of her craft. Twenty years of anonymity destroyed by warp signal delinquency? Please."

  "Look, I don't know what you want me to tell—" started Drin before again being interrupted.

  "Yes, I think you do. That explanation oozes of executive, anti-grunt storytelling. You sang the mandated song, and I am not so arrogant as to think it will change. I have served this station with exceptional distinction for over forty years, Sergeant. I know my damn planet, and to suggest an extrasystemic war criminal was secretly traipsing across it, burning jump tunnels across our atmosphere with pilfered Fleet drives is an insult the likes of which you clearly do not even comprehend."

  Drin scowled as Dula paused to centre himself with a slow, calming breath.

  "But, as I've already clarified, I know you have a job to do, as do I. I won't try to stop or impede you. I'm no greenhorn. I know a futile undertaking when I see one."

  "Then what do you want?"

  "Integrity." Dula clenched his fists, though with something other than aggression. "I know you may not believe me, but my officers are good men. Honest, hardworking men. They live honourable lives and serve both their communities and Empire with sincerity and dignity. The brief chose to omit your ranks, but in the event of notable formidability, I ask to be expeditiously informed of impending catastrophe. I work, every day, with the goal of sending my officers home with money in their pockets and safety in their streets."

  Drin watched the overseer wearily massage his forehead, sighing defeatedly.

  "Your… kind of Terran almost never come here, and certainly never in such… foreboding circumstances. I don't want details. In my experience, excess curiosity punishes more than it rewards." Dula sagged. "However, if there is even a sliver of a chance that I can keep a cub or wife from losing their… I wo— no, we would be in y—"

  Drin raised her hand to interject. "I understand, Overseer. I do, so please believe me when I say our assignment is not one of martial subjugation. So, if, for whatever reason, there is evidence of imminent conflict, you will not only be the first to know, but Shatter will do everything in its power to keep the fight clear of civilians. You have my word."

  Dula snorted tiredly. "And what's that worth?"

  She paused to think. "You got Oshrallian skiffs on this rock?"

  That drew a peal of laughter from the overseer. "That is a very high bar, Sergeant. Very well. Good luck. As promised, I am, within tenable reason, at your disposal."

  "I appreciate that, Overseer. Take care."

  Drin left the office to rejoin her team, who, predictably, had planted themselves outside the door and refused to move.

  Maleus glanced over and, with narrowed eyes, asked, "We good?"

  "Peachy." She stepped towards their surrounding local escort, who'd circled Shatter themselves. "Right?"

  No one replied. Caelin, jovial as ever, muttered, "All things considered, that went pretty well."

  Drin flicked an irate scowl over her shoulder. "Yes. Keep it that way."

  The Sentinel smirked and fell back in step with Essai, who met him with a disapproving expression. Maleus watched Caelin snort with laughter, eliciting a snarl from a particularly irascible member of their grouchy entourage.

  "Easy," chuckled the Weaver. "We're all friends here, yeah?"

  The officer, without any translation device whatsoever, hissed, "No."

  Maleus winced. "Right, right. My bad."