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RSI.com AREMIS POST: DAY 627: THE JOURNEY ENDS

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DAY 627: THE JOURNEY ENDS

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DAY 627: THE JOURNEY ENDS

2947.12.12 SET

by Sean Nazawa

The final part in a series following a class of recruits moving through the Navy’s training system.

A business executive has been abducted while in transit from a trade conference in the Xi’an Empire. Advocacy investigators were able to identify and track the kidnappers back to an abandoned comm relay. Intel suggested that they had hollowed out the interior, pressurized sections and transformed it into a small hideout. From a strategic perspective, the hideout was a nightmare: complete visibility against any approach, homemade proximity mines, and multiple bulkheads inside that could quickly be triggered to lock down and trap agents. The Advocacy has turned to the Navy for assistance in rescuing the hostage. A flight of Avengers were deployed to resolve the situation. They were currently keeping a wide berth of the relay, their trajectory insinuating that they were simply passing by.

A harrowing circumstance, for certain, as this type of scenario could easily prove deadly for everyone involved.

Thankfully, it’s not real.

This staged event is the final test that this group of Naval recruits will face before graduation. Although they don’t know this, their performance in this exercise will be reviewed by the Navy and even the Marines to determine where these recruits will be assigned. Intended to be as close to a real world operation as possible, the military have spared no expense in orchestrating the illusion.

The ‘outlaws’ are members of the Navy’s 208th Squadron, recently redeployed from active service on the Vanduul front, and many of them are enjoying this bit of entertainment. Bravo Flight leader Commander Harold Rifke spent the days before the exercise coming up with extensive backstories for the other pilots and capturing fake ransom demand vids that he’s been sending sporadically to Divisional Officer Edward Aino, the conductor of this simulated chaos, to forward on to the recruits.

I’m standing with Aino onboard a C&C ship, overseeing the entire wargame play out. Analysts and comms officers coordinate both sides of the engagement. The outlaw chatter is considerably more colorful; the 208th are really getting into their roles.

I watch the recruits’ ships disappear from the hologlobe. Under acting squadron leader Toulo Chalke’s orders, they’re breaking towards the comm relay. Aino listens intently as they relay their positions to each other. He shakes his head and takes a sip of sujin tea.

“Tell Rifke to hack their comms,” he yells over to the comms officer coordinating the outlaw channel, then glances at me. “They shouldn’t give away their positions.”

Over the course of the exercise Aino will continue to throw what he calls ‘surgical handicaps’ against the recruits. He wants them off-balance, to be the underdog.

I pick out the specific recruits among their brief clipped exchanges:

Callum Weaver is confidently adjusting the approach vectors of his flightmates. This scrawny kid from Aremis has really come into his own since beginning flight training and now acts as the number two for Chalke.

The acting squadron leader is a bit of a celebrity around the Forges. Even though his father is Beo Chalke, legendary sataball player for Jata SC, and his mother is Valina Razari, award-winning star of Tears of Time and Last Stand of Lidenvald (to name a few), to the recruits he’s just ‘Paladin.’ The nickname born from an incident that occurred three months ago where Chalke jumped in to help several recruits who were being bullied in the commissary.

“Sir, Rifke’s moved two flights to their position. He says they aren’t there.”

Aino grins.

Suddenly the outlaw comm channel explodes. The five ships that stayed back to guard the relay start calling out targets. The recruits drop the pretense and transition into combat updates. I hear Lyssa Vale, the brawler of the recruits, immediately mixing it up with the outlaw pilots.

Talkative on the comms, Vale is one of the most dedicated recruits I’ve seen. She is constantly pushing herself to a ridiculously high standard, putting hour after hour into sims, perpetually drilling herself and whoever she can loop into her training regimen. It seems to be paying off though; she’s ferocious in a fight.

The outlaws at the relay hold their ground as long as they can until virtual laser fire from the recruits finally take them down. With Vale providing cover, Weaver exits his ship and leads a pair of pilots into the relay to secure the hostage. They hope to finish their risky EVA before Rifke and two flights of outlaws race back.

The rest of the exercise is a single protracted brawl. The recruits do their best, but eventually the seasoned combat pilots of the 208th turn the tide. Weaver’s the last holdout, but he gets taken out just after he gets the hostage back to his ship.

Seven outlaws remain, the hostage is dead and the entire recruit squadron has been eliminated.

Two hours later, the recruits have gathered in Aino’s classroom for their debriefing. The room’s drenched in silence. Lyssa Vale is still wired from the op. Her leg bounces up and down as she glares ahead into space. Weaver aimlessly flips through his mobi. Even Chalke looks disappointed until he finally settles back in his seat and breaks the silence.

“Well, we almost had them.”

“Almost isn’t good enough,” Vale mutters.

“C’mon, Vale, you took out what, six? Seven?” Chalke seems intent on raising the spirits in the room.

The door suddenly opens and Aino strides into the room. He cuts a path to the front, powers up the system and loads all the captures of the exercise. He’s got everything: individual pilot cams, hologlobe recordings, comm chatter. For the next four hours, he walks them through the wargame, step by step. He grills them on each decision, why they made the choices they made, and what they would change in retrospect. There was no chastisements. No judgment on the actions of his recruits. It was purely objective analysis.

The recruits, however, seem locked in the loss.

Aino suddenly stops. He looks over the glum faces of the recruits in the room and shakes his head.

“You all need to grow the [redacted] up,” he mutters, tossing his pointer onto the desk.

That gets everyone’s attention. Aino draws out the pause and sits on the corner of his desk.

“Let me tell you all something. This job? The missions that you’ll fly? Any one of them can be a one-way ticket. It doesn’t matter if it’s the most routine patrol in the world, there’s always a chance that something could go wrong and one of you won’t come home. Now, I know you’re all sitting there, pissed off that you didn’t succeed. Let me let you in on a little secret: you weren’t supposed to. We did everything we could to stack the odds against you. Wilkes, remember your missile pod jam? I did that. Teague, your weapon overheating wasn’t an accident.”

The recruits exchange confused glances.

“You all saw failure, but I’ll tell you what I saw. I saw a squadron, working together, executing orders with precision and excellence. Chalke, you broke an engagement with an easy kill to drop flares and protect Kelso. Vale, you’d pick fights with pilots to get them away from teammates that were in trouble. Hell, feeding us the wrong position over your comms was genius. I thought we were gonna lose the op because of that.”

The recruits chuckle. Weaver gets some pats on the back. Aino smiles at them before he continues. It’s the first time I’ve seen him smile at his recruits.

“You all did good. Yeah, you didn’t succeed. You lost people. But that’s the real lesson here. As a Navy pilot, you’re gonna be in these circumstances a lot. What we’re trying to do is condition you to act rationally in impossible situations. That doesn’t mean you’re always gonna make the right call. The real trick though, you gotta learn how to keep going. I know a lot of pilots, some of the finest pilots I ever flew with, who would rather be the one who gets punched out then have to go on without one of their squadron. You gotta be smarter than that. You gotta do your best. You got to look out not only the people beside you, but also for the civilians you’re protecting. Sometimes it’ll work out. Sometimes it won’t. Either way, you gotta pull yourself together and hit the next mission with a clear head. Now, I wish I could tell you how to do that, but you gotta figure that out for yourself.”

Aino studies the faces of the recruits.

“I’ve trained a lot of pilots, but I’ll tell you, I’ve never seen a class help each other as much as you do. I hope some of you get assigned together, but if you don’t, I hope you take that attitude to wherever you land because you all have something special.”

The room is silent for several moments. Someone gently knocks on the door.

“Come in.”

Rifke pokes his head in.

“Sorry, sir. I didn’t mean to interrupt.”

“It’s all right, commander,” Aino says as he stands and grabs his pointer. “What can we do for you?”

“Well, sir,” Rifke opens the door and steps inside. Some of the other pilots from the 208th are outside. “We were wondering when you were done debriefing these Rorys, if we could treat them to some drinks. Vanduul don’t fight as hard as they did.”

Aino looks at his class. He gives a quick motion with his head for them to go. All the recruits slowly file out of the class to the cheers of the combat pilots outside.

Weaver lingers by the door, then turns back to Aino.

“Thank you, sir.”

“Get the hell out of here.”

Weaver smiles and leaves.

I wait as the door slowly clicks shut. Aino starts to quietly collect his things. I feel I have to say something.

“That was a nice speech, sir.”

“Was it?” Aino finishes packing up, then looks at me. “What I said should have terrified them. The other DOs like to say the Rubicon is the first moment they land on Kilian, but if you ask me, it never stops. Doing this job every day will challenge you to your core. The Navy has been my single greatest pride and has broken me in ways that even I can’t see.” Aino pauses. “But they’ll see. Everybody does.”

* * * * * * * * *

The class of 2947 graduation ceremony is held in the late summer on Macarthur and features over two thousand graduates in a variety of capacities. The flight academy alone is responsible for over two hundred. Aino surprised me and arranged for me to sit with the rest of the Divisional Officers for the ceremony.

I can see Arley Finn and Yen Hardigan, the two DOs from that first day on the tarmac that introduced me to the intense journey that Naval recruits faced. As I watch the proceedings commence, I can’t help but reflect on the variety of people I’d met on this incredible journey. All committed to the core tenets of the Navy and protect people like me.

The entire graduating class stands and repeats the same Oath that has been uttered by every Navy member for centuries:

Hear and witness that I do solemnly pledge, mind and body, that I will serve and protect the United Empire of Earth against all who would seek to harm it and its people.

That I will faithfully discharge the duties asked of me, and when called upon, I will defend the Empire with my life.

That I will be the sword and the shield. That I will not falter nor fail, but fight and win.

That I swear to do all in my power to act as a guardian of freedom and justice, as a champion of honor and valor, and as a true and proud member of the UEE Navy.

I finally spot Weaver, Chalke, Vale and the rest of my friends all clustered in the crowd, relishing each word of the Oath. And when they finish, their journey (and mine, I suppose) is over.

They are official members of the UEE Navy.

I talk briefly with Callum Weaver after graduation, just a brief conversation while he waits to receive his first posting, but I ask him about that first day on the freezing tarmac of Kilian. When confronted by DO Hardigan, Callum said that he was joining to “not feel helpless.”

“So,” I ask. “Do you still feel that way?”

This scrawny kid from Plantock River, only a couple hours from my house here on Aremis, who survived the horrors of the Vanduul attack, thinks about it for a few moments.

“I don’t think that feeling ever goes away … but now I know I’m not alone.”

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      “Please tell me your ex hasn’t drunk himself out of a job with the Navy.”
      “Barry? Of course not, why?”
      “Because I just figured out who killed your father.”
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      “I got word during the meeting” — he took a seat beside her at the table, voice pitched low — “that they should be making the jump to Nexus soon.”
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      “A comfortable position to hold in your seat, Riebeld. Your commission is based on the contract value. I barely turned a profit on that job for years. I did it willingly, with the expected reward of windfall profits when traffic to Haven surges.”
      “I get that,” he said. “I really do. But at some point we have to call it a loss and focus on the next thing, right?”
      “Then suppose that we let the Tyrol job go, and Greely and Navy SysCom see what they want to see from bou­tique contractors. I can already imagine anti-establishment politicians pushing for more outsourced work. Hell, they will probably promise contracts to buy votes in their home systems.”
      She watched him squirm. It wasn’t like him to wrestle with his conscience. Frankly, she was disappointed to learn that he’d found one.
      “If Rhedd Alert won’t withdraw willingly,” she said, “then they will have to fail the hard way. Prep the ships, Rie­beld. We have done very well together, you and I. You should know that I won’t back away from what is mine.” He seemed to appreciate her sincerity, but Brock wanted to hear the cocksure salesman say it. “Are we clear?”
      “Yes, ma’am,” Riebeld swallowed and stood. “Perfectly clear.”
      “Any luck?” Walt pulled up Barry’s record in his mobiGlas and hit connect.
      Dell sat at the hangar console trying to reach Gavin and the team. Her brow furrowed in a grimace and she shook her head.
      “Damn. Okay, keep trying.”
      Barry connected. The accountant wore his uniform. He was on duty, wherever he was, and his projected face looked genuinely mournful. “Hey,” he said, “long time no see, man. Listen, I can’t tell you how sad I am about Boomer.”
      “Thanks.” Barry had known Dell and Boomer for most his life. He’d probably been torn between attending the service and allowing the family to grieve in privacy. Regardless, commiseration would have to wait. “We need your help, Barry. Please tell me that you have access to the propos­als for the Tyrol contract.”
      “Of course I do. And who’s we? Are you back with Dell and Gavin?”
      “I am,” he felt Dell’s eyes on him when he said it. “Anyway, we need a favor. I need to know the ship models and con­figurations proposed by the incumbent.”
      “Morgan Brock’s outfit, sure. No can do on the ship data, though. That information is all confidential. Only the price proposals are available for public review, and those only during the protest period.”
      “Come on, Barry. We’re not talking trade secrets here. I could figure this out with a fly-by of their hangar in Kilian. I just don’t have time for that. I need to know what ships those guys fly.”
      Barry breathed out a heavy sigh, “Hold on. But I can’t send you the proposals, okay? You guys are already on thin ice with this contract as is.”
      “Tell me about it. And thanks, I owe you huge for this.”
      Walt waited, throat dry. He scratched at a chipped edge on his worn mobiGlas with a fingernail.
      “All right,” Barry read from something off-screen, “it looks like they’re flying a variety of Hornets. Specifically, F7As. I can send you a list of the proposed hardpoints, and I hap­pen to know that Brock herself flies a Super Hornet.”
      The mobiGlas shook on Walt’s wrist. His face felt hot, and he forced his jaw to relax. “Barry, if you have any pull with the Navy, get some ships to Tyrol. It’s been Brock this whole time. She’s been setting us up to fail. And she’s the bitch that OK’d Boomer.”
      “I’m going, Walt. That’s final.”
      Walt rubbed at his eyes with the flat part of his fingers. How did Gavin ever win an argument her? Forbidding her involvement was a lost cause. Maybe he could reason with her. “Listen. When’s the last time you were even in a cockpit?”
      “I know this ship. I was practically born in these things.”
      “Dell —”
      She threw his helmet at him. He caught it awkwardly, and she had shed her coveralls and was wriggling into her flight suit before he could finish his thought. She stared at him with hard eyes and said, “Suit up if you don’t want to get left behind.”
      Dell was as implacable as gravity. Fine. It was her funeral, and he realized there was no way his brother had ever won an argument with her.
      They finished prepping in silence. Walt pulled the chocks on her Avenger when she climbed up into the cockpit. He gave the hulking muzzle of the Tarantula an appreciative pat. “You have ammo for this bad boy?”
      “I have a little.”
      “Good,” he smiled. “Let’s hope Brock isn’t ready to handle reinforcements.”
      Walt mulled that thought over. It was true that Gavin had split their team in each fight, but Rhedd Alert had never sent in reserves. Each engagement had been a fair and straightforward fight. Brock wasn’t likely to know anything about their resources, however limited, beyond the escort team. That could work to their advantage.
      In fact, “Hey, Dell. Hop out for a tick, will you?”
      “Like hell I will.” The look she shot down at him was pure challenge. “I said I’m going and that’s that.”
      “Oh, no. I’ve already lost that fight. But you and your cannon here got me thinking about those pirates in Oberon. Tell me, did we ever find a buyer for that old Idris hull?”
      “No. It’s buoyed in storage outside the station, why?”
      Dell looked at him skeptically and he grinned. “We’re going to introduce these military-types to
      some ol’ smugglers’ tricks.”
      Gavin held the team at the edge of the jump gate between Min and Nexus. “All right gang, listen up. You know the drill and what might be waiting for us on the other side. Jazza, I want you and Rahul up on point for this jump. I’ll bring Cassiopeia over after you and the rest of the team are in. Anyone not ready to jump?”
      His team was silent as they arranged themselves into position with professional precision. The pilot aboard Cassiopeia sounded the ready and Gavin sent Jazza through. The others were hard on her heels, and Gavin felt the always-peculiar drop through the mouth of the jump gate.
      Light and sound stretched, dragging him across the inter­space. Another drop, a moment’s disorientation, and then Nexus resolved around him.
      Without warning, Mei’s fighter flashed past his forward screen. Incandescent laser fire slashed along the ghost grey and fire-alarm red ship, crippling Mei’s shields and shearing away sections of armored hull. Mei fired back at a trio of maddeningly familiar Hornets in a tight triangular formation.
      Jazza barked orders. “Mei. Rahul. Flank Gavin and get Cassiopeia out of here. Gavin, you copy that? You have the package.”
      He shook his head, willing the post-jump disorientation away. He didn’t remember bringing up his shields, but they flashed on his HUD and his weapon systems were armed.
      “Copy that.” Gavin switched to the transport channel, “Cassiopeia. Let’s get you folks out of here.”
      The crew onboard the UEE transport didn’t need any more encouragement. Gavin accelerated to keep pace with the larger ship as two Rhedd Alert fighters dropped into posi­tion above and below him. Together, they raced toward the jump gate to Tyrol.
      The Hornets wheeled and dropped toward them from one side. Gavin’s HUD lit up with alerts as Jazza sent a pair of rockets dangerously close over his head to blast into one of the attacking ships. Her ship screamed by overhead, but the Hornets stayed in pursuit of the fleeing transport.
      Alarms sounded. They needed more firepower on the Hornets to give Cassiopeia time to get clear. He yelled a course heading, and Cassiopeia dove with Mei and Rahul on either flank.
      Gavin pulled up, turned and fired to pull the attention of the attackers. He spun, taking the brunt of their return fire on his stronger starboard shields.
      The impact shook the Cutlass violently, and his shield integ­rity bar sagged into the red. Gavin turned, took another wild shot with his lasers, and accelerated away from Cassiopeia with the Hornets in close pursuit.
      Navsat data for the jump into Nexus crept onto the edge of Walt’s HUD. Several seconds and thousands of kilometers later, the first of the embattled starships winked onto the display. His brother and the Rhedd Alert team were hard-pressed.
      Walt watched Brock and her crew circle and strike, corralling the Rhedd Alert ships. Gavin tried to lead the attackers away, but Brock wouldn’t bite. By keeping the fight centered on the UEE transport, she essentially held the transport hostage.
      Time to even the odds.
      Jazza tore into one of the Hornets. Walt saw the enemy fighter’s superior shields absorb the impact. He marked that Hornet as his target, preparing to strike before its defenses recharged.
      He killed his primary drive and spun end to end, slash­ing backward through the melee like a blazing comet. His targeting system locked onto the enemy Hornet, and his heavy Broadsword blasted bullets into it.
      Mei’s battered fighter dove through the streaming wreck­age, but the Super Hornet, presumably Brock, waited for her on the other side. A blast from her neutron cannon tore through the Rhedd Alert ship. Mei ejected safely, but their team was down a ship.
      “Gods,” Gavin’s voice was frantic. “Get the hell out of here, Walt. Form up with the transport and get them away from the fight.”
      Walt ignored him. He came around for another pass and triggered his mic to an open-area channel. “The game’s up, Brock.”
      His words cut across the thrust and wheel of close com­bat, and for a moment the fighters on all sides flew in quiet patterns above the fleeing Cassiopeia.
      “You know,” Walt said, “if you wanted us to believe you were after the transport, you should have saved your big guns for Cassiopeia instead of overkilling our friend.”
      “I suppose I should be disappointed that you have found me out,” Brock’s voice was a pinched sneer, and every bit as cold and hard as Gavin had described. “On the other hand, I’m glad you’ve shared this with me. I might have been content disabling the majority of your so-called fleet. Now, it seems that I will have to be more thorough.”
      She fired, he dodged, and the fight was on again in earnest. Walt switched his comms to Rhedd Alert’s squad channel. “Brock was never after Cassiopeia, Gav. She’s been after us.”
      “Maybe I’m a little distracted by all the missiles and the neutron cannon, but I’m failing to see how that is at all relevant right now.”
      “We’re no match for the tech in her ships. If she goes after the transport, they’re toast.” He rolled into position next to Gavin. Together, they nosed down to strafe at a Hornet from above.
      “Great,” Gavin said, “then why did you tip her off?”
      Walt suppressed a wicked grin. “Because,” he said, “she can’t afford to let any of us get away, either.”
      “If you have any brilliant ideas, spit ’em out. I’m all ears.”
      “Run with me.” For all Walt knew, Brock could hear every word they were saying. She would tear them apart if they stayed. He had to get Gavin to follow him. “Run with me, Gavin.”
      “Damn it, Walt! If you came to help, then help. I’ve got a pilot down, and I’m not leaving her here to get OK’d like Boom­er.”
      “This ain’t about doing the easy thing, Gav. Someone I truly admire once told me that this game is all about trust. So ask yourself . . . do you trust me?”
      Gavin growled his name then, dragging out the word in a bitter, internal struggle. The weight of it made Walt’s throat constrict. Despite all of their arguments, Boomer’s death and his own desertion when things got hard — in spite of all of that — his brother still wanted to trust him.
      “Trust me, Gavin.”
      Brock and her wingman swept low, diving to corral Cassiopeia and its escorts. Jazza redirected them with a blazing torrent of laser fire and got rocked by the neutron cannon in return. The shields around her battered Cutlass flashed, dimmed and then failed.
      Walt gritted his teeth. It was now or never.
      “Jazz,” Gavin’s voice sounded hard and sharp, “rally with Cassiopeia and make a break for it.”
      Walt pumped his fist and accelerated back the way he’d come in.
      “Walt,” Gavin sounded angry enough to eat nails, but he followed, “I’m on your six. Let’s go, people! Move like you’ve got a purpose.”
      Walt pulled up a set of coordinate presets and streaked away with Gavin close behind him. The two remaining Hor­nets split, with Brock falling in behind Gavin to give pursuit. Even together he and Gavin didn’t have much chance of getting past her superior shields. Instead, he set a straight course for the waypoint marked at the edge of his display. When incoming fire from Brock drove them off course, he corrected to put them directly back in line with the mark.
      Brock was gaining. Gavin’s icon flashed on his display. She was close enough to hit reliably with her repeaters. As they approached the preset coordinates, Walt spotted a rippling distortion of winking starlight. Correcting his course slightly, he headed straight for it. Gavin and Brock were hard behind him.
      “Come on,” Walt whispered, “stay close.”
      On the squad display, he saw Gavin’s shield integrity dropped yet again. Brock was scoring more frequent hits.
      “A little farther.”
      Walt focused on the rippling of starlight ahead, a dark patch of space that swallowed Nexus’ star. He made a slight course correction and Gavin matched it. Together, they continued their breakneck flight from Brock’s deadly onslaught.
      The small patch of dark space grew as the three ships streaked forward. Walt opened the squad channel on his mic and shouted, “Now!”
      On his HUD, a new ship flared onto the display. It appeared to materialize nearly on top of them as Dell’s Avenger dropped from her hiding place inside the blackened hull of the derelict Idris.
      Walt punched his thrusters. The lift pressed him into his seat as he pushed up and over their trap. He heard Dell shouting over the squad channel, and he turned, straining to see behind him. Bright flashes from Brock’s muzzles accompanied a horrible pounding thunder. Dell had left her mic open and it sounded like the massive gun was threat­ening to tear her ship apart.
      “Heads up, Gav!”
      Dell’s voice hit Gavin like a physical blow.
      He saw his brother climb and suddenly disappear behind an empty, starless expanse. Then Boomer’s Avenger materi­alized from within that blackness, and Gavin knew that his wife was inside the cockpit. She was with him, out in the black where veteran pilots outgunned them.
      His body reacted where his mind could not. He shoved down, hard. Thrusters strained as he instinctively tried to avoid colliding with her. A brilliant pulse like flashes of light­ning accompanied a jarring thunder of sound.
      Gavin forced his battered ship to turn. The Cutlass shud­dered from the stress, and Gavin was pressed into the side of the cockpit as the nose of his ship came around.
      He saw the first heavy round strike Brock. The combined force of the shell and her momentum shredded her for­ward shields. Then round after round tore through the nose of Brock’s ship until the air ignited inside.
      “Dell” — the flaming Hornet tumbled toward his wife like an enormous hatchet — “look out!”
      Brock ejected.
      Dell thrust to one side, but the Hornet chopped into the hull where she had hidden. The explosion sent ships and debris spinning apart in all directions.
      “Dell!”
      He swept around to intercept her spinning ship. Walt beat him there. Thrusters firing in tightly controlled move­ments, Walt caught her Avenger, slowed it and stopped the spin.
      Gavin rolled to put himself cockpit to cockpit with his wife.
      “Dell?”
      She sat in stillness at the controls, her head down and turned to one side.
      “Come on, baby. Talk to me.”
      She moved.
      With the slow deliberateness of depressurized space, she rolled her head on her shoulders. When she looked up, their eyes met. Dell gave him a slow smile and a thumbs-up. He swallowed hard, and with one hand pressed to his heart, he shut his eyes silently in thanks.
      Gavin spun his Cutlass and thrust over to where Brock floated nearby, his weapons systems still hot. He paused then, looming above her as she had hesitated over Boomer.
      Her comms were still active. “What now, Rhedd?”
      He remembered her from the meeting with Greely. Tall, lean, and crisp. She seemed small now, drifting not more than a meter away from the battle-scarred nose of his Cutlass.
      “Gavin?” Dell’s voice sounded small after the ruckus of the fight.
      Walt eased into view alongside him. His voice was low and calm, “Easy, buddy. We weren’t raised to OK pilots.”
      “She’s not worth it,” Dell said.
      Brock snarled, “Do it already.”
      He had studied Brock’s reports for months. She had more ships and more pilots than he could ever imagine employing. What drove her to harass them and kill one of his crew for this job?
      “I just want to know why,” he asked. “You’ve got other contracts. You’ve probably made more money than any of us will see in our lives. Why come after us?”
      He held Brock’s eye, the lights from the Cutlass reflecting from her visor.
      “Why?” she repeated. “Look around you, Rhedd. There’s no law in these systems. All that matters here is courage to take what you want, and a willingness to sacrifice to keep it.”
      “You want to talk sacrifice?” he said. “That pilot you killed was family.”
      “You put him in harm’s way,” she said, “not me. What little order exists in these systems is what I brought with me. I carved my success from nothing. You independents are thieves. You’re like rodents, nibbling at the edges of others’ success.”
      “I was a thief,” he said, “and a smuggler. But we’re building our own success, and next time you and I meet with the Navy,” Gavin fired his thrusters just enough to punch Brock with the nose of his ship, “it’ll be in a court­room.”
      She spun and tumbled as she flew, growing smaller and smaller until the PRB on his HUD was all he could see.
      A pair of Retaliators with naval designations were moored outside the Rhedd Alert hangar when Gavin and the crew finally limped back to Vista Landing.
      Crew aboard Cassiopeia had insisted on helping with medical care and recovery after the fight. The team scheduled for pick-up at Haven was similarly adamant that Rhedd Alert take care of their own before continuing. Technically, no one had checked with Navy SysCom.
      Did the Navy fire contractors face to face? For all he knew, they did.
      Gavin saw to the staging of their damaged ships while the others hurried the wounded deeper into Vista Landing. When he’d finished, he exchanged a quick nod with Barry Lidst who stood at ease behind Major Greely.
      “Major,” Gavin held out his hand, “I assume someone would have told me already if I was fired.”
      His hand disappeared in the major’s massive paw. “I sup­pose they would have, at that.”
      “Then to what do we owe the honor?” Dell and Walt joined them, and Gavin made introductions.
      “‘I’ first, then ‘we,’ ” Greely repeated, “I like that, Rhedd. I appreciate a man who accepts consequence personally but insists on sharing accolades with his team. Tell me, son. How’d you get Brock?”
      Gavin nudged his wife. With a roguish grin, Dell pulled her arm from around Gavin’s waist and stepped over to pat the Tarantula on her battered Avenger.
      “Nice shooting, miss.”
      Dell shrugged, “Walt pulled my tags, nav beacon and flight recorder before we left. I was sitting dark inside a decoy when the boys flew her right down the barrel.”
      Barry leaned toward Greely and in a completely audible whisper said, “It might be best if we ignore the illegal parts of that.”
      Greely waved him off. “This is what the ’verse needs. Men and women with the courage to slap their name up on the side of a hangar. A chance for responsible civilians to create good, honest jobs with real pay for locals. That an ex-military contractor tried to muck that up . . .”
      Gavin and the team got a good, close look at what angry looked like on a Navy officer. It was the kind of scowl that left an impression.
      “Anyway,” Greely composed himself, “not a soul in the ’verse would blame you for writing us off as a bit of bad business. I’m here to ask that you stick with it.”
      Gavin was reluctant to bring their financial situation up in front of their one paying client, but they were tapped out. Rhedd Alert didn’t have the cred to buy ammo, much less repair their downed fighters. “Actually, sir. I think we may need to find something a little more lucrative than getting shot up by disgruntled incumbents.”
      “About that,” Greely rested his hand on Gavin’s shoulder. He led him to look out one of the large hangar windows at the Retaliators buoyed outside. “My accountant tells me there may be some room to renegotiate certain parts of the Tyrol contract. But that job won’t be enough to keep your team busy now that Brock’s out of the way.”
      Gavin laughed. “On that point, I most certainly hope you are right.”
      “Well . . . I’ve got more work for an outfit like yours. I hope you’ll accept, because you folks have surely earned it. Tell me, Rhedd, are you familiar with the Oberon system?”
      Behind them, Walt dropped his helmet.
      The End
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