Chapter 1: The Hub

The transport’s engines flared with cones of blue fire as it coasted through the void, its bulky hull shining in the light of a nearby star. There was nothing but the velvet stars of space surrounding the starship, and without the veil of an atmosphere to dilute their brightness, they shone like a million beacons in every cardinal direction.

A relay buoy slunk into definition across the transport’s starboard side, the building-sized module’s antennae lights standing out against the empty space. Buoy’s like these were designed to act as way signs for ships travelling through interstellar trade routes, their basic communication equipment able to point ships in the right direction, or to call for assistance if the need arose.

As the buoy’s radar dish swiveled to track the passing transport, storing away the ship’s identifier tag in its databanks, the dish turned to the two other starships lagging behind. The first was a frigate-class vessel, smaller than the transport at about two-hundred meters long, but the many weapon barrels bristling along its hull made it a far more intimidating target. Far from streamlined, the frigate was blocky and vaguely shaped like a giant torpedo, its point defence cannons, or PDC’s, turning to track errant meteors that strayed too close. Like the transport, the dark, reflective painting on the hull was broken up in places by blue stripes, the Alliance colours complimented by the nation flag painted below its chin.

The second ship was larger than the transport and frigate combined, but that was only the dozens of cargo containers glued to its hull giving off the impression. The cargo hauler was actually a very narrow metal spine in the shape of an arrow, with an engine module on one end and a cockpit habitat on the other. Despite its size, its crew could be as few as one to five small. It didn’t sport any Alliance colours like the others, since it was corporate-owned vessel.

Travelling through space was as far removed from conveniency as possible, and it took months or years to get from one planet to another, and the Alliance recruits cooped up in the transport had been breathing the same recycled air for over three months. They were itching to get out, which was why when the pilot’s voice crackled over the intercom, nearly the entire crew leapt to their feet in excitement.

“We’re a couple hundred clicks out from our destination,” the pilot said. “Anyone interested in seeing their new home, report to any of the portside windows.”

Every recruit strapped on their magnetic boots so they wouldn’t float off the deck, the group rushing to the closest observation rooms they could find, the eager men struggling for space. The minutes dragged on where nobody could see anything, but eventually, something colorful began to fight back the darkness of the void, the transport angling its vector towards it. It was a patch of nebulae, cosmic clouds of dust and gas brushing back the blackness in a circular patch of vibrant pinks and purples, rich streams of energy weaving through the clouds like veins. Everyone knew this system was home to the Folium Nebula, named so because of its distinct leaf-like shape when viewed from deeper into the Outer Reaches, and made famous because a fierce battle between Alliance and Confederate ships had taken place in there earlier that year.

Contrasting against these rich colours was a shape, the shine of white metal unmistakable. It grew larger as the shuttle closed in, the excited troopers able to pick out more of its features. It was a torus, the band of shining steel surrounding a small habitat that sat in the ring’s epicenter, giving the transfixed onlookers the impression they were gazing on a giant archery target.

The station was gently spinning in a clockwise direction, generating centrifugal force that would generate close to one standard gravity unit, a method humanity commonly used for their habitats and starbases, though calling the torus such generic names would be doing it injustice. The Hub was a ringworld, and it was the biggest artificial construct in all of human space to date.

As they drew close enough to see the Hub’s inner band, the troopers were greeted by the sight of a cityscape. Stretching along the inside surface of the torus were forests of buildings and monuments, amber lights projecting from hundreds of lamps dotted across the thin, urban sprawl. Pockets of greenery helped to break up the stretches of metals, a couple of giant parks taking up significant portions of the habitat’s comparatively limited living area.

The inner face was built like a metropolis, perhaps taking inspiration from the great cities of Earth, but the illusion was easy to break when viewed from this far above. The inner band was boxed in on both sides by giant walls of steel that extended from the hull, forming a barrier around the habitat in the shape of the letter U, with a giant pane of glass bridging the wall’s apex’s. The exterior hull of the station was detailed with armoured plating, satellite dishes and airlock doors bumping its texture all across its surface. Those were there probably to allow maintenance workers to do repairs on the exterior, a job nobody envied.

The transport adjusted its heading, the troopers able to glimpse the Hub’s outer face. More communication dishes and antennae bristled from the thin expanse of metal, their number only matched by the amount of defence guns poking out from the hardpoints arranged systematically down its length. Those arrays of guns weren’t the ringworld’s only means of protection, however. Floating around the station at a relative distance were smaller, dark objects, orbiting the station like bees around a hive.

Fleets of Alliance ships stood vigilantly over the megastation, formed up in arrowhead formations as they patrolled the system, some of them standing guard over the railgun platforms – stationary defence systems that were built like giant tires, with artillery guns projecting from the top and bottom faces. There were plenty of frigates to be seen, a few carriers, and even a battlecruiser, its six-hundred-meter-long hull camouflaged against the canvas of space. Using them as a frame of reference, one could gauge the true size of the Hub, and even if ten of the battlecruisers were lined up nose-to nose, they would only just be able to match the Hub’s diameter.

The transport broke off from its two escorts, the frigate and cargo hauler navigating to their own separate docking lanes. It was always busy on the Hub, as it was a major trading post in all the Outer Reaches, the antsy recruits having to wait a few hours before the Hub granted the transport permission to start offloading its crew.

Once they were cleared, several shuttles mated to the transport’s exterior began to take off, the first shuttle pulling in closer to the torus, presenting its flank to the station as it drew closer.

The pilot of the craft matched speed with the Hub’s spin, making it seem like neither they nor the station was moving. The torus’ outer surface was broken up in places by hangar bay airlock doors, some large enough to allow even frigates to drydock.

“We’ll be transferring to the station’s gravity in two minutes,” the pilot advised. “Strap in, boys, you’ll have plenty of time to gawk when you’re outta here.”

The troopers settled into their crash couches, securing their harnesses over their chests. They’d all been crowding around the portholes for a better look, all save for one of their number, who was already strapped into his seat, the sounds of snoring slipping out from his tucked chin.

There were smaller pressure doors in place for shuttles such as theirs, the pilot pulling them closer to one such entrance, the face of the torus rising into view like a giant wall. Once the shuttle matched the station’s velocity, the pilot reversed into the airlock, the doors closing up behind them.

The interior of the hangar was just large enough for the shuttle to fit a landing pad with built-in rails centering the space, lit by florescent strips on the ceiling. The shuttle touched down with a heavy bounce, the landing skids snapping into the rails on the deck. Once the airlock was pressurized, the wall at the rear of the hangar opened up, the rails bringing the shuttle through the new opening.

When the pilot gave them the all clear, the soldiers were already halfway out of their harnesses, eager to feel the pull of gravity after a long absence. Except for the sleeping trooper, of course, who hadn’t stirred even when the shuttle had bounced on its landing gear. The sound of the engines powering down filled the compartment, chased by hydraulic whines as the landing ramp at the back began to open up.

The troopers covered their eyes as white light shone through the crack, a slight breeze causing the loose straps of their packs to flicker. The men at the front of the aisle began to march down the ramp, the rest following suit, their boots thudding against the steel.

The last two soldiers at the back cleared off, the troop compartment going quiet. Stretching his shoulders, the pilot removed his flight helmet, eager to get out and stretch his legs himself.

As he ducked through the port separating the cockpit from the bay, his head turned to the side, and he noted he wasn’t as alone as he thought. The sleeping soldier was still lounging inside his ship, his hands folded over his gently rising chest.

“There’s always one…” the pilot muttered, moving over and kicking the man in the leg. “Hey, sleeping beauty!”

The soldier chortled, but remained in stubborn sleep. Sighing, the pilot read off the name on his uniform.

“Private… Cadell? Cadell, up and at them, come on.”

With a snort, the lazy Private shook his head, straining against his harness as he blinked his eyes open. Wiping a hand over his face groggily, he opened his mouth in a yawn, regarding the pilot innocently.

“Oh, mornin’ Sir,” he greeted, his drawl suggesting he was from the old Americas, or perhaps the rural colonies of Manildra or Port Allen. “We there yet?”

“It’s three o’clock local time,” the pilot grumbled, pointing a gloved finger. “Rest of the fresh meat’s already out in the hangar. Get your ass moving, boot, being late for role call looks very bad on your report and mine.”

That seemed to get the Private’s attention, Cadell shooting so fast out of his seat he forgot that he was strapped down, the harness pulling him right back into his seat. Cadell grinned sheepishly, then undid the clamps, the pilot shaking his head as he got to his feet on the second attempt.

Cadell reached for the compartment next to his seat, hauling out his duffel bag, heavy with the few essentials he’d been allowed to bring from home. He’d been issued a weapon at boot camp, but for whatever reason neither he or the other new guys had been allowed to bring it with them. He wasn’t about to complain, though, the less he had to lug around, the better.

Shouldering his pack, he hurried down the ramp after his companions, his eyes going wide with excitement as he got his first look at the interior of the Hub. The hangar was crescent-shaped, wider than it was deeper, the steel walls curving out of view to the left and right. There were walkways snaking along the cathedral-like ceiling, leading towards other ships docked in the landing aisles adjacent to his shuttle. Most were other transports like his, but he could see a fighter corvette in the distance, its long, angular shape standing at over ten meters tall.

The sounds of heavy machinery created a riotous tumult over the hangar deck, the floorspace crowded with as many machines as there were people, engineers clad in high visibility fatigues rushing back and forth. A pair of engineers walked by carrying a thick fuel hose in their hands, Cadell turning his head to watch as they approached the shuttle, connecting it to a port on the side of the ship. The cable was as thick around as an oil barrel, connected to a giant fluid silo deeper inside the cavernous bay.

Cadell peeked around the shuttle’s bulk, noting that the nose of the craft was aimed at a giant airlock door, as were the other ships on the deck. His spine experienced a shiver when he realised just how close they were to the void of space, and that only one of these many airlock’s had to malfunction and the whole bay would be vented. That was why he signed up to be a trooper, fighting in atmo was a lot less terrifying than the prospect of being sucked out into vacuum.

“Troopers, stand to!” a gruff voice shouted, snapping Cadell out of his thoughts. He turned to see a Staff Seargent marching towards them from across the hangar, the polished badge on his collar giving away his rank. “Don’t just stand and gawk like a bunch of pigeons. Front and center on the double!”

The startled group he’d rode in with scurried to form ranks, Cadell ducking over to join the rear row, standing to attention. The Seargent produced a datapad, starting to list off a series of names, speaking over the rumble of machinery echoing in from either end of the hangar.

Once rolecall was over, the Seargent waved for them to follow. “Everyone’s accounted for, amazing. Welcome to the Hub, troopers, seat of the Alliance and heart of the Outer Reaches. Show of hands who’s been on the Hub before,” the Seargent ordered, striding up and down the ranks.

Nobody lifted an arm, and this seemed to annoy the Seargent. “What about an orbital station?” he pressed, but again, nobody volunteered. “Have any of you left atmo before being transferred? No? Amazing…” He muttered. “Of course I get the greenhorns who are all straight out of a backwater planet. Listen up,” he added. “We’re on a schedule so here’s a quick heads up. Once we get out onto the torus it’s going to be jarring. Some of you are going to take it harder than others,” he said, eyes locking to the man in front of Cadell. “But if the tens of thousands of civvies living on this ring can acclimate, then so can you. Or am I wrong, troopers?”

There was a chorus of firm No Sir’s, but the Seargent remained unimpressed by the show, perhaps expecting a few yellowbellies in the group. Cadell had lived planetside all his life, but surely a station wasn’t all that far removed, was it?

“I’ll be escorting you to the military quadrant,” the Seargent continued. “you’ll be spending the majority of your time aboard there, training and studying to get your Alliance blues. Follow me and stay close, and no wandering off, because I will not go looking for you.”

The Seargent led them across the hangar bay, Cadell and the others hurrying to keep up. There were yellow lanes painted onto the deck, the Seargent urging them to stay between the lines and keep out of the engineer’s way.

At the far wall of the hangar bay were a series of pressure doors, the Seargent leading them through, the racket of the machines cutting off as the automatic doors closed behind them. They were led through a short hallway, where another pressure door stood at the far end, the Seargent pausing just before he walked into the automatic sensors.

“One more tip for you all,” he said. “Don’t look up.”

Some of the others exchanged confused glances, but when the doors parted for the Seargent, they soon got their answers, Cadell’s eyes lighting up as they emerged into the Hub proper.

Cadell had only ever seen pictures of cityscapes, the biggest town on his homeworld had been the urban clusters situated around the spaceport, but the streets of the Hub put them to shame. The torus was a network of tight, interconnecting streets, wending through clusters of buildings two or three storeys tall. The conversations of a thousand voices travelled on the recycled air, the breeze as metallic as the steel that covered every surface.

The structures looked like they were extruded from the hull, made from the same reinforced material, but some of the buildings were more decorated than others. Some had wallpaper textures that resembled brick or marble, others painted over to give the illusion of wood or stonework, windows and verandas draped with awnings to give the dwellings a more homely appearance.

Flanking the cityscape was a giant wall of metal, more akin to a canyon wall face than any manmade structure, hundreds windows and balcony lights dotted about its surface to give the sheer face some detail. It walled off the far side of the torus, maybe one or two hundred meters away, and as Cadell turned around, he saw the station was mirrored, his procession having emerged from the giant wall on this side of the ring.

These two towering faces walled off the torus from the east and west, the Hub cityscape condensed between them. The metropolis stretched away to the left and right, the curve of the ringworld subtle enough one could almost fool themselves into thinking they were planetside. The illusion was broken, however, when Cadell forgot about the Seargent’s warning and his eyes rose above the skyline.

His perception shattered like a dropped glass, his stomach churning as he tracked the artificial horizon. The curve became more pronounced the higher his gaze went, the two walls of the habitat thinning with distance, curving into the sky like some madhouse rollercoaster climb that was kilometers tall. Even the buildings rotated away, making it look like they were laying flat on their sides relative to his position.

He couldn’t see any ships nearby for reference, but the habitat seemed to stretch on for an impossible distance before curving into the apex of the sky, forming the loop that gave the ringworld its namesake. Craning his head further, he noted that his view to the exact opposite side of the ring was blocked by an odd vessel. It looked more like a traditional orbital station, a giant cylinder that sat in place in the Hub’s epicenter, floating in the sky like a metal sun, adorned with colorful lights and window strips. He wondered what its purpose was.

Looking over his shoulder, it seemed he wasn’t the only one to ignore the Seargent’s warning. Several of the other Private’s had averted their eyes, experiencing waves of dizziness as the bizarre horizon warped their perception. Staring up at the ringworld made one feel as though they should be falling, and with no visible barrier bridging the gap between the two walls, that only added to the discomfort. One of the more unfortunate recruits was hurling up his lunch in a nearby waste bin, the Seargent holding no pity as he laughed it up.

“Don’t worry, groundies, you’ll get used to having your perception screwed eventually,” he said. That must be slang for someone who doesn’t leave their planet often. “Like the young Private here, he’s copping an eyeful like it’s nothing!”

The comment was directed at him, Cadell’s chest swelling with pride. He’d made a good first impression. He wasn’t fully immune to the station’s effects, however. He felt like his centre of gravity was off kilter, and every step he took was like walking in a pair of shoes one size too small. The centrifugal pull of the torus’ rotation was close to one standard AU, but not precisely one, and every occasional step would be affected by a slight wobbling sensation. Hopefully he’d get used to it sooner rather than later.

When the sicklier guys were able to cope, they followed the Seargent away from the wall, dipping into a series of tight walkways lit by the occasional fluorescent lamp post, moving deeper into the city.

The deck below their feet was slanted, subtle enough that one had to really think about it in order to realise a curvature was present. The Seargent soon brought them out into a spacious street, one that was about as far wide as a highway lane. He explained to the ogling troopers that this was simply known as the ‘main’ street, and its path wrapped around almost the entire length of the torus uninterrupted. Cadell could see it wrapping up the artificial horizon, a thin strip of road embedded into the ringworld like a crop circle viewed from an airplane.

The street was crowded with throngs of people, their group merging into the bustling foot traffic, the men and women in civilian clothing parting before them when they recognised them as Alliance personnel. Buildings rose up on either side of the street, shops and galleries and other commercial buildings advertising their wares with giant, neon signs, the chatter of a thousand people creating a busy background noise. Cadell couldn’t take in enough of his surroundings, always peeking over the man in front of him or around the one behind him to observe the goings on of the habitat. This was what he had signed up for. Travelling the Galaxy, seeing new sights – this was so much better than staring at a farmstead all day long.

After a few minutes, the street soon concluded at a security checkpoint, with barbed wire fences bridging off to the left and right, the number of people walking the street dimming until it was mostly Navy personnel wearing Alliance fatigues walking about. Queues were lining up before armed guards, Cadell’s group stopping a short distance away.

“We’ve arrived at the military quadrant,” the Seargent announced. “Some of you might have noticed those coloured lines on the ground there. The red one always leads to the quadrant, don’t forget that. The other colours lead to the different wedges, but you don’t have to worry about them for now. ID’s ready, everyone.”

Cadell wanted to ask what he meant by ‘wedges’, but the Seargent was already walking them up to the security gates, chatting with one of the guards there, so he didn’t have the chance. The guard wore some interesting gear, Cadell had never seen its like before. He wore some familiar ballistic padding on his chest, but he was also packing some ceramic plates on his stomach and back, his arms and legs clad in a suit of black combat armour that looked more like a spacesuit than what infantryman would wear.

He was also carrying a weapon that was wholly unfamiliar. It was a blue, compact rifle made from some sort of plastic, its build nothing like the weapons Cadell had used before. It was strapped over the guard’s shoulder, however, Cadell unable to get much of a better look.

When everyone’s identifications were in order, they were allowed through the gate, Cadell offering the guardsman a nod as he stepped over the perimeter. The military quadrant was much more spartan compared to what they’d just seen of the Hub. The buildings were blocky, uncoloured structures with the barest of furnishings, flanked by training yards full of exercise equipment, and fields of grass that were probably for running laps or sports.

Aside from a few engineers maintaining the machinery, the people around here were all wearing military fatigues. Officers shouting orders as drills were carried out carried on the breeze, Cadell able to hear the occasional gunshot too, there must be firing ranges inside some of the complexes. From the way the quadrant spanned up almost quarter of the way up the ring, this place must be home to tens of thousands of Alliance soldiers. It made boot camp back on his colony look like a backwater.

“Plenty of time for gawking later,” the Seargent said, noting Cadell’s wondering gaze. “This way, everyone, we’ll get you set up with your squads, then we’ll get on with the tour.”

They detoured off to the side, winding their way down the concrete paths between the training facilities, Cadell’s group stepping aside as a procession of twenty men running laps jogged past, their own Seargent shouting obscenities at the ones lagging behind. The Staff Seargent led them back towards the ringworld’s wall, where a small, squat building extruded from its base, the group walking inside.

It was a lobby, transitioning into a far more spacious barracks, the corridors stretching deep into the station’s hull. Potted plants in the corners helped to liven up the otherwise sterile surroundings, and there was even carpet on the floor a rare treat considering the costs it would take to ship out linen this far into deep space.

The Seargent led them off into a branching corridor, explaining that the barracks was divided into two wings, one for bunks and the other for classrooms, but they were heading to neither. After a couple of turns, they arrived at one of the briefing rooms, half the space filled with rows of foldable chairs, facing an upraised stage with a projector screen on the wall behind. Dozens of people were already inside waiting for them. They were fresh-faced, wearing blue fatigues and sporting their Private badges. These must be other groups that had shipped out to the Hub for training.

The Seargent that had accompanied them here handed them off to another officer, the two chatting briefly as Cadell and the others idled around, some splitting off into groups to talk about what they’d seen of the Hub so far. The ride to the Hub system had been mostly uneventful for Cadell – he’d spent half his time exercising to keep his muscles from atrophying, and the other half sleeping – but the others seemed to have gotten to know each other quite well.

He felt a little left out, memories of the friends he’d made in boot camp flashing through his mind. They’d all shared the same dream of travelling the Galaxy as a band of brothers, fighting back the Confederacy one system at a time, but the second they’d finished their training, they’d all been split up into different units, and shipped off to different worlds and colonies all throughout the Reaches. As far as Cadell knew, he was the only one from his boot camp that had been moved to the Hub.

“Alright alright, settle down,” the Seargent said, turning to their group once more. “When I call your name, come forward and I’ll give you a number. We’re gonna be splitting you up into your new teams, and your number will represent which team you’re in. The rest of the platoon’s already started, so it shouldn’t be hard too hard to find your squad mates.”

Cadell lingered along with the others as they were called out one by one, some splitting off in pairs as they went to find their new bunk mates. The numbers went from one through eleven, Cadell guessing there were around fifty other men in the platoon, including his group, but the quadrant looked large enough to an entire army within its walls. The Alliance was not strapped for soldiers. Which was odd, considering how Cadell’s recruiters back home had spoken at length about how the Alliance was in desperate need for more volunteers.

Before long, he heard his name come up next. “Private Cadell?” the Seargent shouted, Cadell shouldering his way to the front.

“Here, Sir.”

“Let’s see…” the Seargent muttered, tapping through his datapad with a finger. “You’re in squad number… eleven.”

“Thank you, Sir,” Cadell said.

“Save your thanks and go find your team, Private.”

Cadell stepped aside stiffly, the curt answer the last thing he expected. He turned to the rest of the organising platoon, not really sure where he should start. He tried to join in with some of the other groups, but they mostly gave him the cold shoulder, telling him they were full or weren’t his number. Most of the teams were in groups of four or five, and that seemed to be the max number of men per team. After maybe a dozen people, not one of them were in group eleven.

When he felt as though he’d checked with half the platoon and found nothing, he threw up his hands, separating from the mass in hopes of getting a broader look at the platoon. He didn’t want to bother the officers for information, but who else was in his team? Nobody he’d asked had even heard of another eleven, how was that possible?

Just as he was considering asking an officer for advice, he noticed a couple of guys lingering away from the main groups. It was just the two of them, dressed in Alliance blues like everyone else, but unlike everyone else, they weren’t shouting out their squad number or gathering members. They had to be elevens.

Cadell wandered over, and the two gave him curious looks, stopping their conversation as he approached.

“’Scuse me, fellas,” he said. “You two wouldn’t happen to be in squad eleven, by chance?”

“That’s us, mate. Lucky elevens,” one of them replied, Cadell looking him up and down. By his tanned skin and accent he guessed he was either English or Australian. He wasn’t far off from enlistment age by Cadell’s guess. “It’s good to see you! We were starting to think we’re gonna be just a two-man team.”

“Likewise,” Cadell said. “I’m Cadell.”

“Hunter,” the man replied. “And that walking bear over here is August.”

Hunter gestured to his companion. He was older than Cadell by a couple years, arms crossed over a heavy-set chest. He was wearing a glove on one hand, but as Cadell looked closer, he saw it wasn’t a glove, but a prosthetic. From the wrist down on his left arm, a mechanical interpretation of a hand was sewn onto his flesh, the digits clicking mechanically as the fingers flexed. Cadell refrained from asking about it, much as he wanted to point it out.

Grooming regulations must be less restricted wherever he was from, as the man’s face was covered in a dark beard. He gave Cadell a simple nod in greeting.

“So, Cadell,” Hunter continued. “Ever been on the Hub before?”

“Never. You?”

“Our first time. too. It’s pretty neat, huh? I hope they let us out of the quadrant at some point, I’d like to see what the rest of the station has on offer.”

“I could go for a bit of explorin’,” Cadell said. “It took my group three months of being cooped up on a transport to get here.”

“The wonders of space travel, hey? Don’t worry, the wait will be worth it. I hear there’s a place in one of the other quadrants – the Sun Strip or something – they say it’s a casino, theme park, and games convention all rolled into one place.”

“How do they power it all?” August chimed in, looking thoughtfully up at the ceiling. “All this space and I haven’t seen a single reactor, or even a wastage unit. Where do they recycle all the wastage?”

“Seriously?” Hunter asked, turning to his companion. “We’re in the Hub – the heart of interstellar trade and the epitome of capitalism in all of human space, and you’re asking about the sewage system?”

“Sewers are the heart of any society,” August said. “Those giant walls on the torus look pretty deep. Maybe they’re in there.”

“Don’t listen to him,” Hunter advised. “August can’t see the world unless its down a multiscanner scope.”

“You two seem to be on good terms,” Cadell noted. “I’m guessin’ you met in boot camp?”

“That’s right, mate,” Hunter said. “Seems the Alliance wants us sticking together for the foreseeable future. After seeing August in bayonet training, I count that as a blessing.”

Cadell could agree, August was easily the strongest out of the whole platoon.

“Quiet, you two,” August suddenly grumbled, gesturing with his prosthetic. “One of the officers is talking to the birds.”

“Really?” Hunter replied, his eyes snapping toward the left. “No kidding. I was starting to think they were mute or something.”

“Birds? What birds?” Cadell asked, but as he followed their gaze, he got his answer. Among the platoon, there were two figures standing head and shoulders above the rest, and they weren’t human.

Standing at maybe eight or nine feet, the creatures were giant, and while their body plans were familiar – two arms, two legs, a head where it should be – that was where the similarities ended. Instead of mouths, they had long, dark beaks, with little slits on the end that must be nostrils. Their eyes were large, coloured in a striking shade of amber, and above these, the tops of their heads were covered in a streamlined crest of feathers.

That wasn’t the only place they were feathered. Instead of skin, their entire bodies were covered in feathers, the stems waving in the artificial breeze like fields of grass. They were wearing sleeveless tops sporting Alliance colours, but he could see more feathers peeking through the gaps in the collars. The colours of these avian features were striking. One’s feathers was a vibrant blue that bordered on green, while the other was a deep orangey red, as though all of its feathers were rusting.

As his eyes wandered down to their arms, Cadell saw their most prominent feature. Trailing along the underside of their arms was a giant sheath, each about the size of a surfboard. They looked like wings, anchored to the arm just above the wrist, each sheath made up of half a dozen stalks that were easily six feet long. August describing them as birds was an apt way of putting it, these aliens must be capable of flight, but how? They each looked to weigh two, three hundred pounds at least.

Looking lower, he saw that they both wore form-fitting shorts that stopped just above the knees, their rounded thighs ending at a joint that bent backwards, much like a dog’s. From the knee down, the feathers on their digitigrade legs gave way to a dark, scaly texture, the legs narrowing into dainty feet ending in four clawed tips, three at the front and one at the back. From their rumps extended long, feathery tails, the stems stopping just short of the floor.

One of the aliens folded her arms, her wing sheaths extending far out to her sides. Despite their size there was a certain slimness to their physiques, and as such his mind naturally identified them as female.

From what Cadell had read up on the Hub before his transfer, the Alliance Navy had gotten its namesake shortly after a deal had been struck with an alien race calling themselves the Balokarid, who’d been contacted by humanity maybe one year ago. They shared the same hatred with the Confederation like the rest of the Outer Reaches, and their joining of the war signified the beginning of the Alliance.

It shouldn’t have surprised Cadell that he might find a few aliens on the station, but his jaw dropped all the same. He’d never seen so much as a picture of one before, and he had to admit they were impressive creatures, and a little intimidating as well. They were so… large, their hands were almost as big as his head.

“I wouldn’t keep staring if I were you,” Hunter advised, nudging Cadell with an elbow, snapping him out of his trance.

“Didn’t know we’d be trainin’ alongside aliens,” Cadell mused, struggling to keep his eyes off the two aliens. They were chatting with an officer, though chatting was not the right word, the human looked like he was doing all the talking.

“You didn’t see their ships on the way in?” August asked. “Those big, weird carrier starships that are obviously not manmade?”

“Ah… no, must have been lookin’ the other way,” Cadell replied. The last thing he remembered was the pilot telling them they were an hour away from docking, and then the next thing he knew, he was being woken up by an unimpressed pilot.

“I’m surprised there aren’t more of them,” August continued. “I heard from a friend in the Navy that their carriers hold about fifty thousand birds at once, and they brought four carriers in their flotilla.”

“Maybe they were handpicked, like us?” Hunter suggested. “Me and August were one of the first groups to arrive, but those two were already here waiting. Why you reckon that is, Cadell?”

Before he could respond, the officer talking with the aliens turned, his voice rising up like a gunshot as he addressed the platoon. “Shut up and listen up, everyone! The Staff Sergeants are going to give you a tour of the quadrant now. There’ll be plenty of time to weigh you down with crap later, so you can leave your belongings here for the time being, you’ll come back for it later.”

The rest of the group gratefully shouldered off their packs, Cadell setting his duffel bag aside, Hunter and August doing the same. When the three of them made to join the rest of the men filing out of the briefing room, the officer standing near the aliens got their attention.

“Where do you think you’re going, elevens? You haven’t even got your whole squad together yet. Fall in.”

Sharing a confused glance, the three of them made their way over, lining up in a row before him. The officer’s eyes were a hard shade of blue, and there was a little blemish below the one on the left – a burn mark if Cadell had ever saw one. His pristine uniform was smooth, but every inch of his skin was course and rough. This guy loked like a veteran.

To Cadell’s surprise, the two aliens joined their line, standing to Cadell’s immediate right. Their size was even more apparent up close, Cadell having to tip his head just to look them in the eye. The regal profile of their heads only added to the similarities they shared with avians as humans knew them. He tried to gain the attention of the one closest to him, the one with the rusty feathers, but she just looked straight ahead.

“Eye’s front, Private Cadell,” the officer barked, and he snapped to attention before his brain even registered the movement. “Alright squad, let’s cut to the chase. My name is Lieutenant Marek, and it’s my job to train each of you in the art of Alliance doctrine. You might refer to yourselves as the best damned soldiers this side of the Nebula just cause you got through basic training, but until you prove you’ve got what it takes to be an Alliance trooper, all I’ll refer to you as are pieces of shit.”

Marek’s accent was hard to place – Russian or maybe Polish – perhaps he was from the Inner Reaches. He paced before the five of them, stopping in front of Hunter.

“You three Privates are probably wondering why you’ve got two aliens in your ranks. These are recruits Samiha, and Kazlu. Orders from on high are to ascertain how effectively a mixed-species fireteam can operate in the battlefield, and you’ve each been hand-picked to be a part of this little experiment.”

He locked eyes with Hunter, the young man swallowing a lump in his throat. “Don’t think this makes you special in any shape or form, Private Jones. You’re the first names in a long list, and you’re not the last by a long shot. You’ll learn to live with the Balokarids, bunk with them, eat with them, fight with them. Any of you can’t make the cut or have a problem with that, the door’s over there.”

“The same goes for you two, as well,” a new voice added, the five of them turning to see another Balokarid saunter into the room. It was another female, her feathers a bright, crimson red, with black stems to give the alien a kind of double-tone. Her rounded hips rolled with each long stride as she came to the Lieutenant’s side, standing at least three heads taller than the officer.

Unlike the other two, this one wore a very ornate set of clothes, her torso wrapped in what looked like metal plating that brought to mind images of knight’s armour. Slings were crossed over her chest, and hanging across them were all sorts of little carvings and necklaces, beads and feathers pinned across dangling pieces of what looked to be jewelry. She wore a belt around her wide hips, where a flowing gown lilted between her long legs, and on her head, she sported a tall headdress that covered the top of her brow in an impressive sheen of silver feathers.

Her getup gave her an almost tribal appearance, those charms and fetishes on her belts looking starkly primitive for a species that could create starships.

“This is a human installation,” the new alien continued. Her accent was strangely fluent, without much hint of an accent as if she’d lived on Earth all her life. “and the program is of their design. As such, I expect you to follow their laws and customs without question.”

“This is Kith’sla Shaliyya,” the Lieutenant introduced. “She’s the leader of the Balokarid Clan, and since this program is a joint operation between our two people, you will treat her with the same respect you give me. She’ll be in the quadrant for a short while overseeing her recruits, and consider this a standing order that you do not bother her unless it’s absolutely necessary.”

“It’s quite alright, Lieutenant,” Shaliyya replied, smiling at the smaller human. “Interacting with aliens for the first time is bound to cause some misunderstandings. Believe me on that. If any of you have questions, my door is always open, as you humans say.”

Cadell met the eyes of the Kith’sla, and he found himself returning her smile. If there was ever a good cop, bad cop scenario, she and the Lieutenant fit the bill to the letter.

“You’ll be studying Balokarid history later during the program,” Marek continued. “I’d consider her offer if I were you. The same goes for you, recruits, if you have any trouble acclimatizing to my quadrant, come straight to me.”

The two Balokarid recruits nodded their feathery heads, Cadell noting the one with rusty feathers had a striking set of amber eyes. From this angle it was hard to tell who she as looking at, her iris was large enough the whole room might take up her entire peripheral, but he felt her calculating gaze on him all the same. He offered a friendly, subtle nod, not wanting to be rude, but she did not return it.

“Now that we have the introductions done and dusted, it’s time you caught up with the others, team eleven,” Marek said. “Get moving, there’s only going to be the one tour before we kick into gear.”

-xXx-

Cadell and the rest of squad eleven caught up with the other trainees, the Seargent’s escorting them from one cluster of Alliance buildings to the other. To say the quadrant was big would be an understatement. The quadrant stretched for several kilometers up the station, and hundreds of buildings were packed between the two towering metal cliffs. Every inch of room was taken advantage of, with only narrow walkways of space dividing the walkways between the Navy facilities. Near everything was constructed from steel, but there was the occasional trimmed hedge and flower planet to give the quadrant a pleasant touch of colour. Some buildings like the gym or the administration offices even had leafy vines creeping up some of their external faces, further helping to break up the seas of sterile metal.

The builders of this place had gone to great lengths to make the quadrant feel almost like a campus built on the surface of a planet. It worked, as long as one didn’t glance up at the impressive view of empty space above, and the strip of torus branching across the sky like a band.

Cadell made some small talk with Hunter and August during the tour, finding that they had also completed their basic training on a planet, and they were just as impressed with the station’s engineering. The Balokarids, meanwhile, weren’t so talkative. They were always lingering a couple paces behind, keeping to themselves, occasionally glancing around whenever their tour guide pointed out a landmark. Hunter had said before that they had arrived early, maybe they had already been shown around?

Cadell couldn’t help but feel a little annoyance begin to swell. The novelty of meeting an alien should have been a thrilling experience for both sides, but the feeling was quickly fading in the face of their disengagement. The five of them had been specially selected as part of a mixed-species unit, that meant working together, interacting, not keeping to oneself.

Maybe he was being too harsh on them. He doubted he’d fare much better, if he had to train on one of their alien worlds with almost no humans around. Once the tour was over, maybe they’d have a quiet moment to get to know each other.

They were soon led further ‘upspin’ as the Seargent called it – in reference to the clockwise rotation of the torus – walking about a third of the way deeper into the quadrant. Outside of the main Navy headquarters, the middle section of the quadrant was reserved for training grounds, live fire ranges, and simulation facilities, the complexes lining the walls of the hull. Cadell’s colony didn’t have the technology for simulations, and he was eager to find out what sorts of exercises they had in store.

There wasn’t much reason to go further into the quadrant, they were told. Apparently, its design was practically mirrored, and there was little point in touring the far side when they had everything they needed here.

“That about concludes the tour. I trust you can all remember your way back to the briefing hall,” the Seargent called, stopping the group to address them. “but for the sake of you slowpokes, you can follow me back if you want. We don’t have any drills or exercises planned today, so you’re free to wander about for the evening. But stay within the quadrant, those’re your only orders. You’ll be shown to your bunks at oh-six hundred hours, so ne back at the briefing hall by then. Dismissed.”

Some of the other squads took the Seargent up on his offer, following him downspin, while others turned to one another, unsure of where or what they should do now that they had no supervision.

“Hot dog,” Cadell said, nodding his approval. “I hardly ever got time off back at boot camp.”

“I’m starting to like this place already,” Hunter added. “What do we wanna do now?”

“There was that recreation center the Sarge showed us,” August suggested. “Pretty sure I saw a dartboard through one of the windows, could be fun. It’s not that far downspin.”

“Now you’re speaking my language, mate,” Hunter said, slapping the bigger man on the arm. “Should we ask… them?” he said, directing his attention to the aliens mulling nearby.

“Don’t see why not,” Cadell said. “Hey, you two,” he added, gesturing at the Balokarids. They turned their amber eyes on him, scrutinizing him with pupils more than twice the size of a humans. Cadell felt a little less sure of himself, but he pushed on, addressing them firmly. “You comin’ with us? We’re goin’ to hang out at the rec center for a bit.”

He expected them to remain as mute as ever, but surprisingly, the one with the red feathers replied.

“Hang… out?” she repeated. Her voice was rather soothing, jarred by the odd inflection here and there. She mustn’t be quite fluent in English just yet. “This is a military facility, yes? There must be more important things to do than to idle.”

“That one must be a real treat at parties,” Hunter muttered, August nudging him with his elbow, giving him a look that said knock it off.

“You heard the Sarge,” Cadell continued. “May as well kick back and get to know each other. No standin’ orders for today.”

The red one folded her arms over her shapely chest, the wings on her arms flicking. The silence was starting to get to Cadell, but it was soon broken as the second alien, her feathers a mix of green and blue, like a coral reef bed, stepped forward, raising an explanative hand.

“Speaking of standing, we have been on our feet all day,” the alien pointed out, giving her counterpart a glance. It only occurred to Cadell now that they wore no shoes, their black, scaly feet exposed to the floor.

The red one – he couldn’t remember whose name was which – clicked her beak in what might be agitation, then made an odd gesture with her four-fingered hand. Someone woke up on the wrong side of the bed, Cadell thought.

“Show us this ‘rec center’, human,” the teal one added, though the other crossed her feathered arms pointedly. Cadell considered saying they didn’t have to come, but this was the first time he’d even heard them speak, and he didn’t want to give them the wrong impression.

With that, the five of them made their way through the winding paths. There were plenty of people out and about, some of them stopping to stare at their giant alien cohorts in awe. The Balokarids reactions were mostly nonplussed, leading him to believe this wasn’t their first time being around humans, though Cadell could tell it was getting on their nerves, especially the red one’s. Maybe that was why she was so standoffish?

The recreation center was built into the façade of the giant hull flanking the east side of the torus, if one considered upspin as northward, the squad arriving at its doors after a few minutes. Apart from the sign above the entrance, there wasn’t much to differentiate it from the rest of the station buildings, but that soon changed when they stepped through the automatic doors.

Cadell’s nose immediately filled with cigarette smoke, the haze visible above his head like a fog, the vents built into the upper corners helping to circulate the air. His boots touched a shaggy carpet, the material scratched and faded around the places where a couple dozen tables and chairs furnished the long room. To one side of the seating area was the gaming section, complete with a small row of arcade machines, and pool tables, and dartboard lanes. On the other side was a bar and a hole in the wall where one could see a kitchen in the next room over.

“They got a bar here?” Cadell remarked, lifting his brow. The bar was stocked with dozens of liquors and spirits lining the wall mountings, the colourful bottles glinting in the yellow lights that hung overhead.

“What, didn’t you have one back wherever they recruited you?” Hunter asked.

“We had this little restaurant, but if we wanted decent grub or something to drink, we had to leave base.”

“Perfect excuse to make up for lost time then, hey mate?” Hunter laughed, clapping him on the shoulder. “This station’s the biggest trading Hub in the Reaches, bet they’ve got some exotic spirits in stock.”

“Unwise,” one of the aliens said, Cadell turning to see it was the red one. Her eyes swept the room curiously, but if she found anything strange or interesting, she didn’t show much more of a reaction. “Getting drunk on your first day in the quadrant is a foul look. If you humans care about that, of course.”

Cadell couldn’t help but take that as a slight, but he suppressed it, seizing the opportunity to interact with her further. “You’ve got a point, uh… what was your name again? Kazlu, right?”

“No,” she sighed, as if he’d made an error that even a child wouldn’t make. “She’s Kazlu, I’m Samiha.”

“Right,” he replied, finding it harder to suppress his annoyance. “So you guys must have alcohol too, huh?” he asked, trying to break the ice. “Looks like our species has somethin’ in common. Is brewin’ a big thing for Balokarids?”

“Not as much as it is for your kind, it seems,” the alien, Samiha. said, glancing at the stock behind the bar. “We prefer to produce substances with… more practical uses,” she added, though she didn’t elaborate further.

“Beer’s a pretty big thing all over the Reaches,” Cadell explained. “I’d wager almost every planet or colony has some form of distillery or other. Us humans can’t settle anywhere without it,” he joked.

“Charming.”

Whatever local time it was on the Hub, there weren’t too many people in the recreation center, a pleasantly low murmur of conversation whispering through the room. They pulled up some chairs at a vacant table, the Balokarids electing to stand a small distance away, eyeing the comparatively tiny seats with frowns on their beaks.

“So, you two seem to know each other pretty well,” Cadell began, addressing his human counterparts. “You both from the same colony?”

“Yeah, we’re from Whitlam II,” Hunter replied. “Met August during navigation training. Poor guy could shoot straight, but he navigated in circles. Reckon we’d still be stuck on that ice ball if I hadn’t come along.”

“I remember it a little differently than that,” August said. “Who’s the one that read the grid numbers backwards, and we ended up ‘capturing’ the wrong hill?”

“Never heard the end of that one, did we?” Hunter laughed. “How ‘bout you, Cadell? Where you from?”

“Manildra, born and raised.”

“That explains why you didn’t have a bar,” Hunter remarked. “Manildra’s right out on the frontier, nowhere near anything. What’s it like there?”

“Flat,” Cadell said. “A couple ravines here and there, but it’s all the space in the world you could want and more, and the plains filled with game. If it weren’t for the Bone Knockers it’d be a real paradise. The soil’s real fertile so we c-”

“Wait, hold up, what the hell’s a Bone Knocker?” Hunter asked.

“Oh, they’re Manildra’s top predator. Real nasty little buggers. They’ve been a real nuisance since they developed a taste for cattle meat. And human meat, too, come to think of it. They’ve got thick hides, especially the cubs,” Cadell said, holding out his hands as far as they could go for emphasis. “Sometimes it takes three or four shots just to bring one down, and they usually hunt in pairs, so you can imagine how hard it was protecting the ranches.”

“Bone Knockers is a fun name. How’d they get it?” August asked, Hunter shooting him a worried glance, as if he didn’t want to know.

“They’re actually called Keratosopsi Arktos, because they kind of resemble Earth’s grizzly bears, only they have horns on their faces, and their flexible enough they can use them to make this little noise that sounds like… well, I hope I don’t have to explain it. They hunt by spearing spear their prey on their horns, so sometimes you see one with a bone impaled on its face, too, so the name’s more of a double meaning.”

“Well, thanks for the nightmare image,” Hunter mumbled, his face going pale. “Do I want to know how big these things are?”

“Adults grow to be about… four meters long? And half as tall?”

“Should not have asked…” Hunter mumbled. “

Cadell turned to the Balokarids, wanting to involve them in the conversation. “How about you two? What planet are you from?”

“You do not even know that?” Samiha asked, her tone condescending, as if he was stupid to even ask.

“Come on, Samiha,” Kazlu, the other Balokarid, said. “You heard them, they aren’t from the Hub clan. We’re probably the first Balokarids they’ve ever interacted with. They would not know.”

“Know, what?” Cadell asked.

“We’re from Dur’shala,” Kazlu explained. “It was our colony planet, the first one our species ever founded outside our native system. Me and Samiha were part of the first generation colonists born there.”

“Don’t leave us in suspense,” Hunter said. “Tell us something about it.”

Kazlu touched the underside of her beak, considering for a moment.

“Dusty,” she answered. “A perpetual breeze brushes the surface, and the grains lining the canyons would rise up in savage dust storms at least once every few days. Getting the particles out of feathers is a nightmare, believe you me.”

She stepped forward, holding out her arm, using her other to point a long nail at her feathery coat. “Even after all these months, I still can’t get rid of it.”

Cadell leaned in, but nothing on her shining, teal feathers stood out to him.

“I don’t see anything…”

“Can’t you see how my feathers sparkle?” she asked.

Now that she mentioned it, he thought her feathers were just iridescent like that, sparkling whenever the light caught it at a certain angle, but after careful examination that wasn’t the case. He could see very faint, tiny particles of what looked like sand nestled in the stems of her feathers, shimmering like gemstones the size of a grain. Samiha’s feathers were just as dusty, he noticed, her rusty coat glittering as she adjusted on the spot.

The surly Balokarid noticed him looking at her, her beak dipping in a frown, the alien turning around to look out the window.

“Oh, I see what you’re saying!” Hunter said. “Kind of looks like cinnamon. Shiny cinnamon. How long did you say it’s been since you left this Dur’shala?”

“I didn’t, but it’s been almost one of your years,” she said, the smile on her beak faltering.

“And it’s still on you? Bloody hell, and I thought sand was hard to get out. Just how sticky is it? Can I touch it?”

August elbowed him hard in the side. “Knock it off, Hunter.”

“What? Come on, all she has to do is say no.”

Kazlu’s smirk returned as she watched them interact. “Sure, you can touch it, but don’t blame me when you can’t wash it off.”

Kazlu pushed the chair closest to her aside, the humans watching as she crossed her long legs and sat on the floor. Her height was so immense that she was now almost eye-level with the three of them, the alien leaning her arm on the table towards Hunter.

With only a hint of hesitation, Hunter reached out, and pushed his index against her coat. When he pulled away, his digit came back shiny with dust, nearly covering his whole fingerprint. There was a lot more baked into Kazlu’s feathers than Cadell would have guessed.

“Geez, you need to find some better conditioner, mate,” Hunter laughed, but when he tried to wipe his finger on his jumpsuit, he wasn’t laughing anymore. “Ah, crap, it won’t come off! What is this stuff?”

“I did warn you,” Kazlu chuckled, watching as the substance made a mess of his uniform. “You’ve nothing to worry about,” she clarified. “We’ve been exposed to it all our lives, we’d know if it was toxic.”

Hunter reached over with his dusty finger to wipe it on August, who jerked his arm away, glaring at his friend. “Touch me with that, and you die,” he warned. It was hard to tell if it was a joke or not.

Cadell chuckled under his breath, folding his arms on the table as he addressed the alien. “So, you said you left your colony about a year ago. Why’s that?”

“It was not a decision we made voluntarily,” Kazlu replied, her tail flicking behind her, perhaps as a sign of discomfort. “And it’s not the easiest story to tell.”

“If you don’t want to-” Cadell began, but Samiha cut him off.

“The human clan you call the UEC drove us out,” she grumbled, her wings twitching against her arms. “It was the biggest catastrophe in our species’ history. Anyone belonging to the Alliance clan should surely know this.”

“The Confederates attacked you?” Cadell asked. “Why?”

“You would know better than us,” Samiha answered. “You are as alien as they are, and perhaps just as ignorant as well.”

“We were given no warning, no offer of surrender,” Kazlu added. “Their ships simply appeared in the sky, dropping vehicles and infantry into our streets. We had air support ready, but it wasn’t enough to stop the colony from burning. The call to evacuate was eventually made, but nearly half the colonists were lost in the attempt.”

Samiha’s blazing eyes cooled at that, the Balokarid lowering her gaze. The air was filled with an awkward tension at that, the five of them going quiet. Cadell wanted to say something to break it, but he wasn’t sure what he could say.

In the end it was August who cut the silence. “Sounds like something the Feds would do. When the Hub and the Outer Reaches broke off from the Confederacy, they started bombing the colonies. No second chances, they just decided that we were all traitors, not worth the effort.”

“Driving us off the planet wasn’t the end of it,” Kazlu continued. “They hunted us through space, picking us off one by one. We took shelter in the Nebula of this system for a time. That’s when we first met your Hub Clan.”

“I heard about that,” Hunter added. “One of the first head-on starship fight between Hub and Confederate fleets. And aliens, too, I guess. I heard you wiped them clean out.”

“Not without a cost,” Kazlu muttered, sparing her companion a worried glance.

“Sorry for bringin’ it up,” Cadell began. It seemed a lot had happened out here in the Galaxy recently. If only Manildra had been given intranet satellites, maybe then he wouldn’t be so uninformed.

“It’s fine,” Kazlu said. “Don’t worry about it. It had to be said eventually, right? We are a team, we should know at least a little about one another.”

“Speaking of teams,” Hunter said. “Maybe we can start up a little group exercise. You ladies up for a game of darts?”

“Darts?” Kazlu asked, the feathers on her curved head bristling. For some reason it reminded Cadell of a human raising their brow.

“Yeah, it’s a game. Come on, I’ll show you how to play.”

Hunter got up, making his way over to the nearest dartboard and plucking off the darts jammed into the cork. Kazlu glanced at her counterpart, then rose, making her way over on her giant, scaly legs.

“You’re going to teach her?” August scoffed. “Hunter you can’t throw for shit.”

“Hey I’m a pro,” Hunter replied, then walked behind the fault line and tossed a dart. The dart careened through the air and crashed into the wall with a sad thump, leaving a mark in the wood. “That was a practice one,” he added, hastily.

August decided to take matters into his own hands, snatchign the darts and running Kalzu through the rules, Cadell watching from his seat at the table. Her first couple throws went wide, but she got the technique down remarkably quickly, and she was soon racking up points.

Cadell made to join in on the game, when he noticed that Samiha was still lingering at a distance. Apart from the occasional glance their way, she seemed to pay the game no mind at all. Seeing his opportunity to catch her alone, Cadell decided to approach her.

“Don’t you wanna join in, Samiha?” he asked, jerking a thumb over his shoulder. “Darts is a lot of fun. Come on, we’ll show you how to play.”

“We are supposed to be preparing for our training,” she grumbled. “There is no time to waste on games.”

“And all that starin’ out the window you’re doin’, how’s that different?” he asked. She failed to give him a reaction, so he decided to press the issue. “Alright, out with it. What’s your beef?”

“Beef?” Samiha asked, narrowing the eye on this side of her face.

“I grew up with five little brothers and sisters,” he explained. “It was easy to tell which was one mad with me, because they’d always have this sour look on their faces. It’s kinda the same look you’ve been givin’ me since we we’re lined up in front of the Lieutenant.”

“Are you comparing me to a child?” Samiha snapped, the feathers on her crest bristling. He didn’t know if she had fine control over her headdress or that was just involuntary. “I have been serving my Clan long before you were even a whelp in your mother’s egg. It is you who is the child.”

“I wasn’t comparin’ you to anything, I was just sayin’… Look,” he added, trying a new angle. “Being here, on the Hub, becomin’ part of the Alliance, I had to give up a lot of things to be here. I don’t want to mess it all up by gettin’ off on the wrong foot with someone I have to work with, and neither do you, I’d wager. So why don’t we just start fresh?”

He held out his hand to the alien, looking up at her expectantly. He had intended his words to be reassuring, but it seemed all they had done was anger the Balokarid further, the alien clacking her beak together, creating an ominous click that stung in his ears. Through the sliver of her beak, he caught a glimpse of a few rows of sharp teeth in that moment, Cadell’s chest knotting with apprehension.

“If it were only so easy,” she muttered. “What are you doing with that?” she asked, looking down at his extended arm.

“It’s called a handshake,” he said, bobbing his hand. “I hope I don’t have to explain why. It’s a gesture of goodwill.”

Instead of taking it, she merely subjected him to an uncomfortably tense stare, Cadell noting that her pupils were vertical, stretching from her upper lid to the lower in a curved, diamond shape. They almost looked reptilian.

Cadell awkwardly lowered his hand, his earlier concern for her attitude now replaced with irritation. “Fine. Have it your way, Samiha. At least one of us tried to fix this.”

Cadell turned around, returning to the others at the dartboard, feeling Samiha’s gaze on his back all the while. The four of them agreed to a team game. Samiha didn’t join in. Not when Kazlu implored her. Not even in the rematch.

-xXx-

Cadell and his four companions left the recreation center a couple hours later, their bellies full of food and their spirits higher than when they had first walked in. Kazlu had slowly opened up to the humans as she tried out the various games available to them, which was more than could be said for Samiha. The grumpy alien kept a firm distance the whole afternoon, the occasional word or two her only input. Cadell had a hard time believing that she and Kazlu were from the same place, their difference in attitudes was about as far removed as suns were from moons.

It wouldn’t be long before they were due to report in back at the briefing room, Cadell leading the group through the gathering evening dusk. Every lightbulb and fluorescent lining the streets had dimmed while they’d been inside the center, reducing the amount of light to facilitate an afternoon. It seemed that despite the station’s blatant artificiality, the designers had gone to great lengths to simulate a day and night cycle as much as was possible for a ringworld.

Most of the platoon were already waiting for them at the briefing room, the humans stooping to pick up his bags. Cadell noted that Kazlu and Samiha didn’t have any possessions of their own.

After another rolecall, the officers led everyone into the eastern wing of the barracks, corralling them through a series of pressure doors. The dormitories were made from three equidistant corridors, each connected by one long hallway. Squad by squad, the officers led them down each wing into their assigned bunks, Cadell’s team one of the last groups to be assigned a room.

He struggled to find a solution to sharing quarters with the Balokarids. The aliens were massive creatures, and with those wings of theirs, they’d need a lot more room than a human would. They’d even had to duck through every door he’d seen them walk through today.

“Elevens, this way,” Leuitenant Marek said, and led them not into the wings, but to the end of the main hallway, where a door which rivalled the size of a gate sat at the end. That explained how the aliens would get inside…

As the door opened automatically, got his answers. Their room was bigger than the other squad rooms, and not by any small margin. Cadell had bunked in rooms smaller than a shack back on Manildra, but here, two Balokarids could walk side by side down the aisle – which was very likely the intention – the east and west walls lined with quilted mattresses. The two on the western wall were exaggerated, a little larger than king-sized mattresses, although they were more circular than rectangular. It was clear enough that those would be where the Balokarid’s would sleep.

There were lockers next to each bed, Cadell and the humans moving over to unpack. Cadell was stopped in his tracks, however, when the Leuitenant called his name.”

“You’re in the wrong bunk, Private,” he said, Cadell blinking at him.

“Sir?”

Marek pointed at the bed closest to the door. “Squad leaders always get the first bunk along. Don’t you know that?”

“I… didn’t know I was squad lead, Sir.”

“Then get your ignorant ass over here on the double. And you,” he added, turning to Hunter, who was sitting on said bunk of contention. “I don’t want to see one wrinkle on that blanket by the time Private Cadell gets here. If I do I’ll assign you to laundry duty.”

Hunter shot to his feet, remaking the bed like a child hearing their stern mother arriving home early. “Every squad needs its leader,” Marek continued. “and I’m putting these men and women under your vigil, Private Cadell. Don’t make me regret it.”

“I won’t, Sir,” Cadell said, raising his hand in salute. He couldn’t help but let slip a small smirk. Cadell had dreamed of this moment. His clean record must have earned him some favour with the Lieutenant. The salute might have been a bit much, but a few browny points never hurt anyone.

Marek returned the gesture, and Cadell took his bunk, giving Hunter enough time to scamper out of the way.

“You are putting him in charge?” someone demanded.

All eyes fell on Samiha, her bed directly opposite Cadell’s. Her fingers were tipped with short, dark nails, and one was pointed square at his face. “What has he done to prove such worth? He is hardly old enough to become a Kith’sla.”

Marek stepped forward, jabbing his own finger in her direction.

“Watch your tone, recruit Samiha. Do I have to remind you you’re here at the Hub’s expense? Your Clan agreed to follow the terms set by this program.”

“I never agreed to let a fresh-faced boy lead me into war,” she spat, not bothering to even mask her disdain.

“Private Cadell’s performance back on the Manildra training complex was exemplary,” Marek explained. “He was top of his class when it came to squad tactics, and he’s developed strong leadership skills as a result. Both Kith’sla Shaliyya and I both agreed on this decision. Go take it up with her if you have a problem with it.”

Cadell smirked at Samiha from across the room, then immediately regretted it. He felt like he was back on the farmstead, egging one of his fuming siblings on. He was supposed to be better than that, but even so… he couldn’t deny the satisfaction of the Lieutenant shutting Samiha down like that.

“Any more complaints? Good. Tomorrow morning you’re to report to briefing room at oh-seven hundred hours for drill. Don’t be late,” Marek said, addressing that last part to Cadell. With that, the Lieutenant left, the door sliding shut behind him.

Cadell turned his attention to Samiha, but the alien was reaching into her locker, as if the last five seconds had not happened, and her blatant disrespect could just be forgotten.

“Just what the hell’s wrong with you?” Cadell called, hands balling into fists. “You got a problem with me, you say it to my face, don’t call me out in front of the Lieutenant.”

Samiha stopped what she was doing, and turned her beak over one shoulder. She opened her mouth to speak, but Kazlu had crossed the room in an instant, placing a hand on her wing.

“Samiha, don’t,” Kazlu muttered. “Leave it be.”

“No no,” Cadell snapped, waving her off. “She’s got somethin’ to say, so let her. You’ve been out for me ever since I walked in here, time to spill the beans. Well?” he prompted. “Spit it out, Samiha. Think you should have been squad lead instead of me?”

“We could do a lot better than you,” Samiha snarled, whirling on him. Her elbow hit her locker and the door slammed shut with a bang as loud as a gunshot. “Some of us have shed blood fighting the Confederacy, and the biggest danger you’ve ever faced are predators on your farm. What experience do you have of war? Have you even taken a life?”

“I… no,” Cadell admitted, and he could see the disdain in her eyes deepen. “But just because I haven’t killed doesn’t mean I’m not ready for it. I’ve been trained to do my duty when the time comes, and I’ll handle like the Alliance has taught me to. Professionally.”

“Naïve child,” Samiha sighed. “No knowledge of our history, no experience in combat, and small as a hatchling. If this is how mankind treats its military, it is no wonder they were so eager to supplement it with our technology and soldiers. Perhaps that’s why Kazlu and I are here, to tighten the copious slack.”

Cadell tried to quell the anger rising in his chest, but he could feel himself getting emotional all the same. “Well, if your military could let a massive jackhole like you into their ranks, then your standards ain’t much better.”

Her feathery brow furrowed, but the tinge of a smile curled her beak. He’d talked about professionalism, and yet he’d played right into her hand with that outburst, and they both knew it. He was really losing his patience with this bird.

“Stop it!” Kazlu said, placing a firm hand on Samiha’s arm and stepping between them. “We’re supposed to be a team. We’re all doing the same training, we’re all of equal rank. There’s no reason to compare each other like this.”

“These primates couldn’t hope to match either of us in a real fight,” Samiha muttered.

“Want to back up those words, feathers?” Cadell asked.

“Stop it,” Kazlu urged. “Both of you, just-just stop it. The Lieutenant has spoken, Cadell is the Kith’sla. For the time being.”

Cadell made to voice some cutting remark, but he held back. Having one alien out to get him was bad enough, he didn’t need another.

“He’ll never be my Kith’sla,” Samiha grumbled. “If this had been a Balokarid installation, someone qualified would be chosen, and we wouldn’t be obliged to follow them because we were told to.”

“Samiha, I couldn’t give two shits who you follow,” Cadell began. Kazlu bristled at his words, as if expecting them to come to blows. “Call yourself the ‘Kith’sla’ for all I care. But like it or not, we’re stuck together. Unless you want to do us all a favour and quit.”

She returned her arms to their usual place, folded across her chest, saying nothing.

“Marek made his decision,” he continued. “Complain all you want, but you gotta accept that I’m the point. The sooner you do that, the easier it’ll be to make it through this program. You can follow whoever you want after that.”

“The first reasonable thing you have said today,” Samiha scoffed. It seemed she was done with the confrontation, and she turned to her bunk, pulling one long leg up after the other as she rested on the sheets.

Kazlu shared a glance between the two of them, then departed for her bunk, too. Hunter and August followed suit, the silent crowd retiring to their sections of the quarters.

He should have felt elated to have been the bigger man, to have offered a compromise to the stubborn alien, yet he felt far from satisfied. He felt like he’d done nothing but make a fool of himself in front of the others, squandering what little trust they’d built up over the day by letting himself get provoked like that.

Cadell flicked the light switch, the room plunging into darkness, Cadell stripping down to his underwear before falling into bed. This wasn’t how he thought his first day in proper military life would turn out, especially one where he had to work with obnoxious aliens. Samiha may have been more experienced, but Cadell would be damned if he was about to let her keep that advantage for long.

Their argument had left him restless, but he eventually started to drift off, vowing to never let the alien get to him again.

Chapter 2: The Deep End

“I’m not the only one who’s not keen on this, right?” Hunter asked, fiddling with the collar of his suit, his voice taking on a static quality over the communicator.

Squad eleven were packed shoulder to padded shoulder in a tiny compartment, the ceiling just high enough that the Balokarids could stand without brushing their heads. Reinforced steel made up the surrounding bulkhead, the orange halogens overhead not bright enough to drive away the gloom.

“I doubt our trainers would let us walk into any real danger,” Samiha said. “Except for the radiation, or the fact even a small break in our suits can spell our deaths, but nothing can control those.”

“That supposed to comfort me?” Hunter asked.

“No,” she replied, turning to him. “but if you could stop filling the channel with your breathing, that would be a great comfort to me.”

“It’s the helmet, it’s too small,” Hunter said, tugging at the collar again.

“I’d stop touching that,” August warned, reaching over to slap his glove. “You’ll break the seal. Then you’ll really have something to worry about.”

The five of them were wearing pressure suits, which they had donned in the armoury a half hour earlier. Cadell shared Hunter’s inhibitions – the layers of insulation felt far too flimsy for his tastes, and the thickest part of the suit was the forearm, where the touch-screen display was located. The little screen had a few functions, such as tuning into radio channels and diagnosing the suit status, though he didn’t see how much good that would do. Humans could barely survive a minute where they were going.

He glanced up at Samiha, stood to his right, examining her suit and not for the first time. Human pressure suits were identical in design, composed of two parts – the suit and the helmet – but the Balokarid suits were made up of three. He remembered watching Samiha stepping into her suit like it was an exosuit, the back opened up like a zipper. Before slotting on their helmets, she and Kazlu were given two additional components. At first, they resembled giant boards, but Cadell didn’t have to wonder long about their purpose.

Their wings were easily the largest parts of the alien’s bodies, so it was obvious they required their own protective coverings. The components were detailed with patterns that looked similar to how their actual wings appeared, the outlines of feathers engraved into the material. They had slotted them over their tucked wings as simply as one slots a scope onto a rail, Cadell watching in amazement as the sheathes opened up. They must be segmented, allowing the aliens to use their wings normally, but Cadell couldn’t figure a reason for it. Nobody could fly where they were going, not even birds. Maybe it just felt more comfortable.

Samiha’s long helmet, coupled with the metal components mated to her wings, gave her the appearance of a cybernetic crow, a thin glass visor allowing her to peer out from her sleek helmet. From the way the aliens had fitted into their suits faster than he or the others, he guessed this wasn’t their first time suiting up.

“Elevens, stand to,” Marek’s voice ordered, crackling through their shared channel. “Last group’s about to clear off. Prepare for EVA.”

The white lights in the compartment turned red, the sound of pipes hissing as the room began to cycle. Cadell turned around, looking through the reinforced glass that spanned the door to their rear. There was a pair of technicians manning a control panel to one side, one of them looking up to give Cadell a reassuring thumbs-up.

“I don’t know my human acronyms,” Kazlu said, turning her beak up at the ceiling as the multiple noises escalated. “What’s EVA mean?”

“Extra-vehicular activity,” August explained. “If you’re ditching the safety of a ship or an atmosphere, that’s EVA.”

“Check your boots one last time, everyone,” Cadell said, turning out one of his legs. On one side of his ankle was a small LED, holding a green tone. When he lifted his foot off the deck, the light went red. The magnets that conjoined his heel to the floor were strong enough to keep him stuck to the floor, but weak enough that it didn’t require strain to lift his feet. They could be manually locked from the wrist-display, but Cadell wasn’t sure he would be able to keep that in mind if he lost his balance.

An alarm began to blare, the siren whooshing away as the outer airlock opened up, all sound gushing out along with the air. Through the parting bulkhead swelled the sea of inky space, splotches of gas clouds and twinkling starlight spreading across an impossible expanse.

Taking the initiative, Cadell began to walk toward the stars, the sensation of his magnetic boots making it feel like he was walking with glue on his heels. As long as he kept one foot on the deck, he wouldn’t go floating off into the void.

The path before the airlock sloped downwards into a ramp, Cadell’s brain insisting he was about to walk off a cliff and plunge into the emptiness, his stomach lurching as he willed himself to keep going.

As he emerged to the ramp’s apex, his squad following him out from the alcove of the airlock, and into the eerie stillness, a figure in a pressure suit appeared further up the slope, waving an arm in greeting.

“Hurry up, we don’t have all day, squad!” Marek yelled, his sudden voice startling Cadell. “One foot after the other, keep moving and get over here.”

The ramp from the airlock at least held some sense of enclosure, but as Cadell stepped out onto a smooth landscape, nausea crawled up his body from bowels to throat. The ground streaked away in a reversed curve, so steep and rounded it was impossible to fight the feeling that he wasn’t about to slip on its smooth surface and fall forever.

The transition of environments was too much for his bowels to handle, and he felt a troubling urge coil in his stomach. He felt bile creep into the back of his throat, all the muscles in his body clamming up as a wave of dizziness passed over him.

“Hey, Cadell,” August asked, a hand appearing on his shoulder. “You alri-”

He’d passed the vertigo test when he’d first boarded the station, but he had no such strength now, Cadell retching into his helmet, a disgusting splotch appearing on his lower left field of view. He keeled over, trying to hold back a second wave. At least all he could see now was the hull.

“Don’t stop, Private Cadell,” Marek said, shoving August aside and pulling Cadell up. “You think the enemy will be lenient just because you got a bellyache? Focus on a point ahead of you, not the sky, and keep moving.”

“Y-Yes Sir,” Cadell muttered, his face flushed with embarrassment. It only got worse when he saw Samiha past, smirking at him through her visor.

She was having a much easier time of it, but at least Cadell wasn’t struggling alone. Hunter was mumbling in disapproval over the radio, and Kazlu was playing the steady game, taking one painfully small step at a time. Marek walked them out to a small, red line a short distance out from the airlock, where a row of metal pipes jutted from the curved deck. Wrapped around each one was a colored cable, the lengths feeding out of metal reels. With no gravity, the cables hung eerily in the vacuum.

“Line up and prep your harnesses,” Marek said. “I’m going to come round and give you all a tether, so you don’t go flying off like a micrometeor.”

“Micro-what now?” Hunter asked, Marek marching over and pulling up a cable.

“Micrometeors,” Marek said, securing the clip on Hunter’s belt. “Bits of flying rock smaller than a grain of sand. Space is full of the buggers. If you get in the path of one, if you’re lucky it’ll just break your seal.”

“And if you’re unlucky?” Hunter prompted.

“What do you think will happen when a grain travelling upwards of mach ten hits you? At least it’ll be quick,” Marek said. “Don’t worry, trooper, we have trainers with jetapacks hovering around in case you lose your footing, and the station’s got point-defence turrets that’ll shoot down any incoming projectiles. It’s as safe as you can get.”

Hunter didn’t look especially comforted, but Marek didn’t stick around to coddle him, moving onto Cadell next.

“Your task today is simple,” Marek said, tugging the cable tight against his waist. “There’s another airlock one hundred meters downspin, that red line on the hull will take you straight to it. As Alliance troopers, you’ll be expected to fight the enemy in all possible environments, and that includes vacuum. It’s not a race,” he added. “in fact, I’d recommend you take your time, try and get a feel for how you might navigate this environment in a combat scenario.”

“You humans don’t hold back,” Kazlu noted, her tall frame hunched over like an agitated cat’s. “What is this, our third day on station?”

“That’s Lieutenant to you,” Marek said. “And I did say you wouldn’t be getting special treatment. I’ll be waiting for you at the halfway point. Good luck.”

With that, he turned and marched off down the slope, his gait made odd by his magnetic boots, soon disappearing behind a panel bulging from the floor. Cadell’s perception was warped beyond d belief, and with no frame of reference, it looked as though the Lieutenant had crossed a vast distance in a matter of seconds, vanishing over the curve of the hull.

The five of them looked to one another, sharing uncertain glances. Cadell seized the opportunity to take the first plunge – he was squad leader after all, he had to show them all he was willing to take point. He had to set an example, even if his helmet was permeated with the acrid stench of his own breakfast.

Stepping onto the inside of the torus had been a serene experience, but trudging on the outside of it was like a nightmare. The lack of gravity and his reliance on the magnetic boots to keep him planted was like trying to learn to walk all over again, and no matter where he turned his head, the strange landscape around him was unfamiliar, so alien his brain couldn’t really process it in a normal way. The ground wasn’t entirely smooth, the hull bumped here and there by white domes, with long barrels poking up from within the housings, Cadell realising they were gun batteries of enormous magnitude. The details of the barrels were so clear Cadell could almost read the serial numbers, as if he was standing right next to it, the great muzzle breaks lined with coper-coloured rings the size of hula-hoops. How was anyone supposed to fight in an environment like this, where judging distance was impossible?

There were comms array towers dotting the landscape too, sprouting from the hull at random points like metal trees, their towering bodies casting harsh shadows on the hull. The shadows were visibly moving as the station continued to rotate through space, the mere thought enough to almost inspire another retch from Cadell. At least they were walking along the middle of the torus, and not the edges, he didn’tthink his stomach could handle seeing the Hub from its edge.

He looked at the others, seeing how they were faring. Hunter and Samiha were trailing behind him, while Kazlu and August were gaining a lead. The latter of which were moving along at a pace equivalent to a power walk, taking to the unnatural gait that was required like a fish to water.

Cadell didn’t know about the others, but he felt like he was always one misstep away from tumbling into space. They were all secured by the tethers, of course, and the magnetic boots as well, but it only took one mistake, and pride demanded he shouldn’t be the first of the five of them to make that error.

He marched up the curve for what felt like ten minutes, somehow the Lieutenant’s figure only appearing a short while after that. They were almost halfway done. As long as Cadell didn’t look out to the sides, where this thin landscape ended at abrupt cliffs that overhung total emptiness, and he kept a firm hand on his tether, the second half shouldn’t be as bad as the first.

“How you getting on, yellowbelly?” Marek said as Cadell stomped up the hull towards him. It seemed he’d earned a nickname.

“Good. Better than before, Sir,” Cadell replied, the officer watching him take small, but consistent steps.

“Sounds like you’re getting a little bored over there, Private. Maybe you need some excitement. I have just the thing.”

Without warning, Marek came over and seized his arm, Cadell watching in horror as he reached for his tether, pulling the locking mechanism away with a gloved thumb.

Marek let it float away into freefall, the officer smirking at Cadell’s reaction as the lifeline zipped back the way he’d come, Samiha stepping out of its path as the winding length flailed in her direction.

“You think you’re going to be harnessed every time you’re EVA?” Marek demanded. “Easy part’s over, Private. Time to grow a pair.”

The tug of the tether had been a comforting weight, but now Cadell was back to square one, his legs resisting his efforts to continue the spacewalk.

“Same goes for the rest of you,” Marek said, making his way to August. “You’ve had your training wheels for long enough. Let’s see who crashes first.”

He went through the squad one by one, until all their tethers were gone. The squad gradually began to work up the courage to keep on moving, but Cadell’s nerves were betraying him, no matter how much he kept telling himself this was a controlled environment.

As if to make matters worse, Samiha entered his peripheral, flashing him a pitiless smirk as her three claw-shaped toes curled against the floor. “Taking a rest, squad lead?” she asked. “If this were a real battle, you’d be dead in a second if you remained still for long.”

“This ain’t exactly an environment meant for humans,” Cadell muttered, but speaking under his breath wasn’t exactly discreet when using a microphone. “Yours either, I’d imagine.”

“Our clan has spent most of the last rotation in microgravity,” Samiha replied. “This is not so different from navigating one of our carriers.”

Seeing the alien saunter ahead of him gave Cadell all the fuel his nerves needed, and he hurried after, focusing on nothing but placing one heavy foot before the other. Race or not, he wouldn’t let the overgrown avian beat him this easily.

“Damn it,” Samiha hissed over the channel, Cadell watching as she hunkered, her knees raising above either side of her head as she lowered into a squat, further accentuating the true length of her thighs and legs.

“What’s wrong?” Cadell asked, pausing nearby. She was fiddling with her left boot, which seemed to be skimming along the hull a little bit, but before he could get a better look, Samiha blocked his view with her wing.

“It is nothing,” she replied curtly.

Samiha made to walk away, but the foot she’d been adjusting slipped against the hull right as she raised her other leg, and she toppled backward in a gentle somersault. She cawed out a surprised ‘Kr-awwt!’ through the radio, her arms shooting out to grab the metal, but she was inches out of reach, and gaining more distance as her momentum carried her away. With no medium and no form of propulsion, she was at the mercy of space.

Her arms flailed wildly, and for a second Cadell considered letting her float away. She would have no small walk of shame when someone fished her out of the void, and he knew more than anyone that she deserved it. Still, the very thing he feared about this spacewalk was happening to Samiha right now, and he wasn’t cruel enough to let her suffer that kind of fright.

He picked his moment, reaching out, grabbing Samiha by the tip of her wing. The segmented plates shifted beneath his fingers, the feathery appendage unfurling from her elbow at a right angle, extending out to make her limb appear twice as long. That answered the question of how the aliens used them to take flight.

He reached up with his other glove, grunting as her momentum fought with his magnetic boots, his body jerking toward the flailing alien. His boots kept him from joining in her plight, and Samiha’s momentum slowly came to a standstill. Cadell pulled her in, the frazzled Balokarid placing her feet back on the metal, taking a breather as they clicked her into place. She glanced between him, and then the place that he was holding her, pulling her arm away after a second.

“Do not touch my wing,” she warned, releasing a shaky sigh.

“Thank you for your help, Cadell. Oh, no worries, Samiha, what’re squad mates for?” he grumbled. “Didn’t you just say you spent a lot of time in microgravity? What happened to being an expert?”

“This reliance on magnetic anchors is a human design choice,” she explained, and he took satisfaction in how defensive his comment had made her. “Our suits never had them until your scientists came along and insisted they be integrated. And they do not even work,” she added bitterly. “So much for human technology.”

“Hold up,” he said, squatting down to get a better look at her boot. This time she didn’t pull away, whether that was because she was still collecting herself or some other reason, he couldn’t say. What he found was very interesting. “You idiot,” he said. “the tone is red, that means the magnet is off. You got the colours the other way around, Samiha. So much for tightening the slack.”

With him hunkered like that, she towered over him, but she was far from imposing, the Balokarid going quiet as she realised her mistake. The puke on the side of his visor put a bad taste on this small victory, but he was glad to have caught her on the back foot for once.

“They are human-made, like I said,” she stammered. “for aliens, by aliens. I would not have these problems if my Clan had created them.”

“Well, Kazlu hasn’t had any trouble yet, so your point is kinda moot,” he replied.

“Be silent and keep walking,” she grumbled. “we are falling behind the others.”

Cadell wanted to rub it in a bit more, but he felt like he’d made his point. Besides, she was right, the rest of the squad were pulling ahead. She bent over to fiddle with the settings of her boot, and after fixing them, they set off down the slope.

Walking by Samiha’s side, her giant strides sent vibrations up Cadell’s legs. He noted that she was keeping within arm’s reach of him, perhaps worried of another incident, Cadell smirking when he was sure she wasn’t looking.

“So, your kind don’t use mag boots?” he asked, trying to make conversation as the silence became too much. “How’d you move about on your starships?”

He didn’t think Samiha would answer, but after a brief pause, she did.

“We floated through the hallways, obviously. Our ships didn’t have the capacity to generate artificial gravity, like this ‘Hub’ can, nor was the concept of centrifugal force ever pursued by our scientists. That is one thing I admit that impresses me about mankind.”

“Yeah we’re pretty smart like that,” Cadell answered. “We’ve been using rotational gravity since the first ships left Earth. Helps limit muscle atrophy, though we’ve got cybernetics to help deal with that.”

“You humans pride yourselves on your technological prowess,” Samiha scoffed. “but I know for a fact our Clan possesses one avenue of science that your kind have never been able to refine.”

“Yeah, what’s that?”

“Perhaps you will see it for yourself,” she answered, keeping a lid on whatever she was talking about. “If we are ever allowed to show our true capabilities in this program.”

“Been wondering just what exactly your Clan has brought to the table,” Cadell said, stepping round a communication module. “I don’t know about you, but my definition of an Alliance is that all groups contribute something to the cause, and all you’ve really given is a bad attitude.”

“The limits of your ignorance are truly boundless,” she sighed. “We have a naval force that is easy to produce and quick to replenish thanks to our skilled engineers, and is it not obvious that we are physically superior to your flightless race?”

Cadell gave her a once over. She was a tall creature, of course, and she wasn’t without her muscle. Her suit was tight enough that he could pick out her strong thighs and how they anchored to her pinched hips, which were roughly level with his eyes. She had the strength needed to move her eight foot frame around easily, and she could probably tolerate more pain then even the toughest human. Cadell didn’t want to call her impressive, but there was a certain athleticism to her that couldn’t be denied.

“Just cause you can fly don’t make you any better,” Cadell pointed out. “A flyin’ target is a easy target, a single shot from a rifle and you’re done. Yeah, you’re bigger than me, but that makes you a bigger target too, how’s that an advantage?”

“We have ways to circumvent such things,” she replied, and she would say no more about it.

There were no more missteps for either of them the rest of the way, and up ahead, an alcove of metal gradually appeared over the artifical horizon, the sight of an outer airlock inside a hollow opening make Cadell’s heart elate. The rest of their squad was waiting for them, as was Marek, the Lieutenant waving them over as he and Samiha crossed the last couple meters of the track, if one could call it that.

“And here you are at last. What took you so long?” he asked, glancing between the pair.

Cadell looked up at Samiha, who met his gaze silently. There was a measure of unease about her, as if she expected Cadell to spill the beans about her little tumble.

“Samiha was just giving me some tips on how to keep my breakfast on the inside,” Cadell explained. “Permission to go inside and get this helmet off, Sir?”

Marek turned from him to Samiha, giving her a look of appraisal.

“Granted. Once you’ve all done your three laps,” he added. Hunter sighed over the channel, Marek pointing a finger at him. “Stow it, trooper. You think this was just a one and done drill? Think again. Two more laps, squad. And don’t’ even think about picking up your tether on your way back. Move it!”

“Come on, everyone,” Cadell said, motioning them on. “Quicker we get this done, the quicker I can stop lookin’ at my own barf.”

There was nothing else for it, the five turning their backs on the promised safety of the airlock. They must have been out on the hull just short of an hour, and aside from Hunter almost meeting the same fate as Samiha, the squad repeated their course without a hitch.

Marek was there to supervise them every step of the way. He didn’t scold them as much as Cadell’s trainers had back during basic, but his presence was enough to inspire all the effort he could muster. It felt longer than an hour, but at last, the five of them returned to the second airlock, helmets filled with breathless rasps. Moving in zero-g’s was harder than it looked, and even the alien’s looked tired out.

“Good work, elevens,” Marek said. “Head inside and go get a shower. Don’t get too comfy,” he added when Hunter voiced his relief through the local channel. “This will be a weekly drill for all of you, and it’ll stay that way until I’m satisfied you’ve all got your space-legs. Dismissed.”

With that, the squad filed into the airlock, the doors sealing shut with a thunk. Marek didn’t join them, presumably starying outside to see off the next batch of trainees. When the room was pressurized and the inner doors swung open, they removed their stuffy helmets, Cadell taking in a nice gulp of recycled air. He wasn’t used to the coppery aftertaste of the station’s air yet, but now that the dread of suffocating in vacuum was lifted, even the smell of his puke was sweet in his nose.

“Fuck everything about that,” Hunter said diplomatically, leaning one hand against the bulkhead. “That was about as fun as a colonoscopy.”

“You did very well,” Kazlu added, giving him an encouraging pat on the shoulder. She wasn’t aware of her own strength and the blow sent the smaller human lurching forward. “I was a lot worse my first time aboard a starship. Just try not to look straight ahead so much or you’ll just confuse yourself. I find that looking at a point two meters before your feet is a good place to focus.”

“Wish you’d told me that way earlier, mate,” Hunter muttered.

Beyond the airlock was a secondary compartment, the walls lined with lockers with spacesuits hung up behind glass cases. Two of the cases were far larger than the rest, and it was obvious who they belonged to, the Balokarids moving over to them and beginning to strip down.

Cadell moved to the other side, shedding his own suit. He was a lot sweatier than he realised, the sleeves sticking to his arms on the way out. Hunter wasn’t kidding, he felt like he’d just hiked a mountain.

“You looked pretty comfortable out there, August,” Cadell began, the man on his immediate left. “You were way ahead of the rest of us for most of the walk.”

“I cheated,” August answered. “I’ve got spacewalk experience under my belt. Used to be a shipbreaker, years ago.”

“No kiddin’?” he asked, whistling his approval. “That must’ve felt like a stroll compared to what you’re used to.”

“Ship-breaker?” Samiha asked from across the room. “What is that, some kind of saboteur?”

“More like a scrapper,” August corrected. “When old starships need to be decommissioned, they send out teams of shipbreakers to whittle down the usable components into giant recyclers. Since most ship types don’t make landfall unless in extreme circumstances, the scrapping is done in shipyards in high orbit.”

“I knew you looked like you’ve walked on the outside of a hull before,” Kazlu noted. “I’ve seen pictures of your starships. Breaking them down must take months, years. It must be very dangerous to spend that much time in a vacuum.”

“That’s why everyone calls them crackers,” Hunter added. “It’s a nickname, because you’d have to be nuts to work your arse off twelve hours a day holding a plasma cutter that burns at a few thousand degrees Celsius.”

“You said that around a group of Breakers, and your skull would be crackers,” August replied. He was smiling, but it wasn’t the jovial kind.

“Must have got some big-time hazard pay,” Cadell noted.

“Sure did, especially after I lost this thing,” he said, holding up his prosthetic hand. “Some useless newbie forgot to secure this cargo crate, and the thing floated out of the container going maybe two inches a second. Crushed my hand up against a railing and turned my fingers to paste. Whole hand had to go in the end, but at least the corporation paid for the treatment.”

“Hope you got a decent bonus on top of that,” Cadell muttered.

“Let’s just say that if I’d stayed for another year, I could have probably bought out your farming colony, boss.”

Cadell raised his brow at that, not quite used to being called that by his friends. “So why didn’t you?” he asked.

The smile faded at that. “On my last job, they sent us out to scrap a Colossus wreck.”

Samiha and Kazlu exchanged a look, speaking a few words in their native, warbling language. “You’ll have to explain what a Colossus is,” Kazlu prompted. “that word is new to us.”

“That’s what we call those wreckages floating around all over the Milky Way,” August explained. “You’re a spacefaring species, aren’t you? Surely you’ve run across one before? They’re in practically every other star system in both the Inner and Outer Reaches.”

“I believe I know what you’re talking about,” Samiha answered. “Yes, there was one such wreckage in the Balokar system. Whoever created it, they weren’t around when our survey ships discovered it. Harvesting its components greatly accelerated our Clan’s pursuit of exploring the cosmos.”

“Us humans had a similar experience with our first wreckage,” Hunter interjected. “The wreck was composed of a metal that didn’t exist on the periodic table, but once a sample of it was shipped back to Earth, it basically replaced steel. We called it C-loys, short for Colossal-alloys, and you can find it everywhere. Ships, spacesuits, the hull of the Hub, you name it. There’s a constant demand for the stuff, and Shipbreaker companies make a pretty penny breaking down the stuff and shipping it to the colonies. Both the Alliance and the Confederacy can’t get enough of the stuff.”

“Still haven’t told us why you stopped being a shipbreaker,” Cadell added.

“You ever been inside a wreck that’s been abandoned for who-knows how long?” August asked. “There’s nothing inside them. No screens, no terminals, no controls of any kind. Just long tubes of darkness that don’t lead anywhere.”

“Does not sound so intimidating to me,” Samiha remarked. “Only hatchlings would fear the darkness.”

“It’s not about the darkness,” August replied, struggling to find the words. “It’s what’s in the dark, when you listen to it, that’s what gets you. The insides of a Colossus are more like that shapes of intestines than anything, and you start to feel like you’re inside something that used to be alive. Five days in, and I knew I had to ship out.”

“I do not remember any of our surveyors recalling anything going amiss,” Samiha noted, turning her beak up at the human.

“Did you actually step foot onto the wreck?” August asked. “It’s not something you can explain without seeing it for yourself.”

The aliens didn’t seem very convinced, and Cadell couldn’t blame them. August was basically describing a carnival horror house. He was taller than him or Hunter, with developed muscles, a robotic hand, and a few years of seniority to boot. He didn’t come off as someone who believed in the supernatural.

When they had each stripped off their pressure suits, Hunter suggested they go to the mess for some lunch, and the squad agreed. As Cadell made to join them, however, Samiha pulled him aside, checking to make sure the others were out of earshot.

“Cadell? I wanted to say something,” she began, the feathers on her arms standing on end. She was wearing a blue singlet and a pair of knee-length shorts, the garments fitting her tight enough that he could appreciate her hourglass profile, though he dared not look for more than a moment. “Thank you, for catching me back there. You saved me the shame from being rescued by the Lieutenant or his trainers. The effort is appreciated.”

She folded her arms together, smoothing out her ruffled feathers with her palms. He got the inkling she wasn’t being entirely sincere, like she was forcing herself to thank him out of necessity.

“Yeah, you’re welcome,” he said, not sure what else to say. “You, uh, you comin’ with us to the mess?” he added, pointing a thumb over his shoulder.

“Perhaps. I left something at the other airlock. I will join you later.”

Cadell lifted a brow, but didn’t pry further, turning to catch up with the others. When he reached the end of the hallway, he looked back, seeing that Samiha was still lingering near the outer airlock. Curious, Cadell hid himself behind the corner, one eye peeking over as he waited to see what she was doing.

The alien returned to the locker where she’d returned her pressure suit, lifting it off the rack. Was she putting it back on? It seemed not, the alien’s attention turning to one of the pouches on the thigh, Samiha peeling open the pocket and rummaging through it.

When her hand came back, something was clutched in her fingers. Cadell thought it might be a bag, but from this distance and the angle of the pressure door, it was hard to be sure. She produced something from the pouch, clutching it in her feathery fist.

She raised her arm, then pushed her hand against her opposite shoulder, the barest whisper of a sigh carrying down the hallway. Cadell peered further out of his hiding spot, trying to see the thing in her hand in better clarity.

Right as he glimpsed it, Samiha let her hand fall, the alien nuzzling the shoulder with her beak, the amber on this side of her face flicking to gauge her surroundings. Cadell ducked out of sight behind the wall, a primal feeling warning him he’d almost been spotted.

Cadell didn’t know for sure if she’d seen him, but didn’t stop to check, hurrying down the after his companions, making sure his boots didn’t clock against the deck too loudly. There hadn’t been an opportunity to study the Balokarids yet, but it didn’t take a genius to know Samiha was hiding something. Whatever that something was, he couldn’t be sure, but what he could be sure of, was what she had been holding in her hand just now.

It was a needle.

-xXx-

Over the next week the exercise drills and study sessions blurred together for Cadell, but this wasn’t to say he was inattentive or hated exercise. On the contrary, he had gone through a similar routine back home, all of them had, and training on the Hub was more about refining their time training, rather than starting from the ground up. The officers trusted that all the squads would keep themselves fit on their own initiative, rather than force them into the gym and swimming pool facilities around the quadrant.

There was yet to be word of when they’d be allowed outside the quadrant, however, leaving the rest of the ringworld’s habitat restricted to the band of city lights that sloped up and toward the sky from opposite directions. The layout of the quadrant was becoming second nature by that week, more familiar. Perhaps that was the intention.

There was one particular training module that wasn’t familiar, however. It occurred towards the end of the seventh day on the station, when Cadell’s squad and a few others were to report to Marek for a special assignment. The Lieutenant led them deeper into the training grounds, towards one of the facilities they hadn’t been in yet. Through its windows Cadell could hear a sound not dissimilar from firecracker pops.

Their group waited for an engineer to wheel a crate through the main door, the man in technicians overalls giving Samiha a wide-eyed look, then the Lieutenant led them inside. While people were starting to acclimate to the two alien recruits, they were still given the odd look or stare. Kazlu always did her best to return said things with a smile. Samiha would click her beak in a way that came off as somewhat threatening, but only when her superiors weren’t around to witness it. Everyone hated the sound she made when the alien snapped her mouth together, a sort of clacking noise that left eardrums ringing.

As they walked through the doors after the rest of the group, moving down a flight of stairs, this train of thought subsided as those firecracker bangs rose into harsh cracks. They kept getting louder the further they went underground, until finally they were led through an arch and into a large room. The inside of the sublevel was divided into two halves by a tall wall, and the noises were coming from the right side. A firing range occupied that half, a row of firing booths lining the near side, some of which were occupied. The uniformed men shot guns of strange design at paper targets hanging from rails deeper into the room, the bullets ripping through and hitting the far wall, which looked like it was made from giant pillows of grey rubber, the padding there to keep them from blowing holes in the station.

On the left half was some sort of workshop, every inch of the walls occupied by some sort of weapon rack or container of spare parts. Tens of soldiers huddled before their workstations, strange weapons laid out before them as they replaced fresh parts and adjusted attachments.

Marek brought them over to one of the vacant workbenches. The wall muffled the gunshots a little, but he still had to raise his voice for everyone to hear him.

“Listen up, platoon. I know you’ve all trained with firearms in your basic training, but you’re in an Alliance facility now, and our armaments are a little different to anything you’d find on the colonies.”

The Lieutenant walked over to a locker, and pulled out a rifle, moving back to lay it on the table. Cadell could see how the arrangement of the barrel and the trigger made it look like an assault rifle, but the frame was made from some sort of blue plastic, and parts of its mechanics were exposed, framed by yellow warning strips. He’d never seen anything like it before.

“This is a coilgun,” Marek said, the groups shuffling closer for a better look. Samiha and Kazlu didn’t have trouble seeing, as their nine foot frames towered over the rest of them. “In the past, these were only used by high-ranked guardsman serving on capital ships, but with material support from the Outer Reaches at all-time high, the Hub has the resources to start producing coilguns en masse. The Alliance has standardized this particular armament, and I expect you all to become proficient with it.”

That explained why Cadell hadn’t been allowed to bring his weapon with him to the Hub. Marek lifted the weapon, flipping it over so everyone could see both sides.

“Coilguns fire six-point-five-millimetre shells at one kilometer per second at the highest voltage setting, meaning its effective range is varied by the eye of the user and your scope. The bullets are accelerated to those speeds from the electromagnets on the barrel, here.”

Cadell watched as he dismantled the protective covering of the hexagonal barrel, exposing a wireframe cylinder. The tube was wrapped in a copper-coloured spring, but on second glance they were actually several individual rings spaced along the length.

“Unlike traditional ballistic armaments, coilguns are electronically powered by a battery case, here.” Marek moved to the side of the trigger guard, stripping that part of the weapon next, removing the power pack. “On the field you will carry an extra two of these along with the rest of your gear, in the event of a malfunction. Now, the magazine.”

The trigger guard was placed in front of the magazine well, giving the coilgun the look of a bullpup. Marek removed this part, and soon there were dozens of little components arranged along the bench. “All coilgun mags are universally compatible,” he said. “which means any trooper on the field can swap ammo with another. Spare parts and batteries are interchangeable, too.”

Now the weapon was little more than a ribcage-like frame wrapped in little strips of wires, almost unrecognizable. “All these boons give coilguns a great edge over standard ballistic weaponry, but there is one caveat however,” Marek said. “Firing a bullet at such high speeds and ranges requires a massive power source, and that comes at a cost. Anyone guess what that is?”

Marek waited for an answer, the group muttering non-committal answers. Cadell was surprised when it was Samiha who answered.

“Heat.”

“That’s right,” Marek said, giving her an impressed nod. “We have semi and fully automatic settings on the platform, but sustaining fire for more than a few seconds runs the risks of melting the barrel. As luck would have it, the eggheads have given us a solution.”

He picked up the dismantled barrel. There was a divot where the user would place their hand, lined with cushioning, and in front of it were four small caps, each covered in those yellow warning stripes, each about the size of a cork.

“These are heat sinks,” Marek explained, taking them out and encouraging them to be passed around the group. “should these things start to glow a bright yellow colour, that means your weapon is overheating, and they need to be switched out. Just like swapping a magazine, swapping your sinks for fresh ones will be required should your heat sinks reach capacity. It’s another thing to think about, but the tradeoff is having one of the most powerful infantry weapons to date.”

Next, he demonstrated how to ‘reload’ a sink. First there was an ejector switch near the trigger, the sinks popping free of the barrel and tumbling to the bench. Marek then produced a small slip of metal with four holes in it, and in each one was another sink, the Lieutenant slapping it against the underbarrel. It was like an autoloader for a revolver, designed to fit perfectly into the caps, which would be easier and quicker than fitting them in by hand.

“This is just a demonstration,” Marek warned. “Under no circumstances should any of you try this with actual burnt sinks. As long as you’re in my armory today, I don’t want to see any of you burn your sinks into the yellow. You’ll take a few fingers off if you try unloading it, or worse, melt a gap through my deck, and God protect any of you who manage that. Understood?”

Marek then went to work reassembling the weapon, sliding home every little piece, finishing his work when he slapped the magazine home. Despite the many different components, the finished product was a compact, streamlined thing, the shape of the hexagonal barrel and the molded pieces of the polymer giving it a clean look.

“I hope none of you are limp-wristed, because these things have a kick that makes anti-materials feel like toys, but I’ll let you discover that for yourselves. Now, your task today is simple. Grab a build from that rack over there and get some practice in. We have everything here if you want to tailor your weapon the way you want. Scopes, grips, laser sights, plenty of attachments to tweak to your needs. We even got a few different barresl and stocks for those of you who want something more compact, or heavier, but don’t worry about that just yet. Once I’m confident your squad can shoot straight, we’ll get to dismantling and building your weapons to your specific tastes. Let’s move, people.”

The squads fanned out, eager to get their hands on some weaponry. As Cadell, Hunter, and August made to go, their two alien cohorts were stopped by the Lieutenant.

“We’ve got something a little more suited to your needs, recruits. Over here.”

“Did the Kith’sla bring our rifles?” Samiha asked, following him over to a different table.

“Lasers have been found to be inferior to the coilgun,” Marek answered. “And the Alliance can’t manufacture both Balokarid parts and coilguns, so you can forget about those things while you’re here.”

“But Sir,” Samiha began. “Our weapons compliment our tactics. Without them-”

“You’re training in Alliance tactics, recruit Samiha. Not your own. As long as you’re in this program, the coilgun will be your choice of weapon. Got that?”

Samiha’s feathers bristled, she looked like she wanted to complain, but she held her tongue. Cadell watched in amazement as Marek pulled out an oversized coilgun from a specially-coloured locker. It looked giant in his hands, almost as tall as his whole body, even the Lieutenant struggling to lift it into Samiha’s hands.

“I’d recommend keeping to single-fire mode,” Marek advised. “The kick on these things is wild even for me. Talk to me or your squad if you need help adjusting.”

“We will be fine,” Samiha said, turning away without waiting to be dismissed. Kazlu followed with her own, far larger coilgun, the five of them linking up and proceeding to the range.

“What was that about lasers?” Cadell asked, directing his question to Samiha.

“Our hard-light technology is a staple in our military,” she explained. “but your Lieutenant seems to think it is not even worth considering.”

“I don’t know much about lasers,” Cadell said. “but doesn’t every lick of dust and particle in a beam dilute the heat or somethin’?”

“A simplified explanation, but you are not wrong,” Samiha replied. “Our weapons worked well enough during the battle in the Folium Nebula, but now we cannot use them here? I do not see the point.”

“Well, that was a ship-to-ship battle, right?” Hunter asked. “Your lasers probably had frickin’ massive batteries to compensate, and you can’t exactly walk around with a battery bank the size of a couch.”

“You underestimate the strength of a Balokarid,” Samiha said. “just as the Lieutenant underestimates our weapons. What is the point of us being here if we cannot use our own weapons?”

“I can’t see much of a reason for your presence either,” Cadell added mockingly. He chuckled, then stopped chuckling when Samiha gave him a look of furious distaste.

There were five vacant booths at the far end of the range, Cadell slipping on a pair of earmuffs as he stepped between the dividers. There was a desk for room to place one’s weapon and ammo, along with a control panel that could adjust the targets, the max setting being two hundred meters. Not a considerable distance, but every inch of space had to be used properly on a station like this.

Cadell set his first shot at fifty meters, a rail on the ceiling descending a paper target shaped in the vague outline of a human. He braced the thick padding of the coilgun’s stock against his shoulder, tilting his head to peer through the sights.

He flicked off the safety, then squeezed off a shot. The recoil was like a punch to the arm. There was a loud, electronic crack as the muzzle of the gun rocked, and Cadell could hear something like the hiss of static chasing afterward. The paper target flittered as a hole punched through the lower corner.

Cadell adjusted his grip and tried again, this time knowing what to expect. The electronic shot landed the chest of the target. A few tweaks to his stance, and he was landing center-mass shots one after the other.

After some time the coilgun made an empty click, Cadell dropping the empty magazine into his hand. As he replaced it with another, pulling back the loading bolt, he turned to see how the rest of the squad was doing. There was a war going on in Hunter’s booth. They’d been told to stay on the semi-automatic setting, but Hunter had gone straight to full-auto, firing from the hip like some kind of movie star. Slotted into the mag well of his coilgun was a drum magazine, allowing him to spray the range uninterrupted as he pursed his lips happily.

“Private Collins!” Marek shouted, appearing behind his booth. “I told you not to burn out your weapon! If I see you spraying like that again I’ll ram those heat sinks down your throat, you understand me?”

Hunter meekly dialled down his firing solution, the sinks lining the barrel of his gun burning a fierce red. The risk of fourth degree burns would be a constant worry over the coilgun platform, but Cadell was more than impressed with the results. There wasn’t any armour in the world that could stop a bullet going at a hundred kilometers a second, except for maybe C-loys, which was probably what the material at the end of the range was made from.

In the next booth across, August was firing in three-round bursts, careful to keep his heat sinks out of the yellow, bracing his gun on the bench using a detachable bipod. Beyond him were the Balokarids, and they were having a rough time. Their weapons kicked hard, and their shots went wide, their feathers twitching in annoyance and alarm. He didn’t think this was because their coilguns were oversized, as the aliens looked strong enough they could probably bench-press a human. They were having far different problems.

Cadell searched for Marek, but the Lieutenant was hawking over Hunter and wasn’t paying the aliens much attention. Switching the safety and ejecting the mag, he put his weapon down and wandered over to their booths. Samiha was the closer of the two, and she gave him a bitter glance at his approach but said nothing.

“You’re not holdin’ the barrel properly,” Cadell noted. “Your hand needs to be further forward. Here, like th-”

The Balokarid rose one hand to his chest, not close enough to push him away, but her intent was obvious. “Never asked for your help,” she muttered. Her poor shooting made her sound more bitter than ever.

Cadell was used to this kind of attitude back on Manildra – most ranchers were all too eager to prove they could do a task without being told how. Usually he would just strongarm his way through the stubborness and they’d both come out of it the better, but he felt no such inclination now with Samiha.

“Whatever,” he said. “You keep on shootin’ around the target, eagle eyes, see how far that gets you.”

Samiha’s grip on the weapon tightened, the plastic creaking in complaint. She looked two steps from breaking it over her knee.

Kazlu responded better to his approach, grinning back at him as she dropped one empty magazine for a fresh one. She hadn’t landed many hits except for a few skims against the paper target’s edges, though she was masking her frustrations far better than Samiha was.

“How you holdin’ up, Kazlu?” he asked, slipping into the booth beside her. She took up most of the room with her giant wings, Cadell’s shoulder just grazing the wall as he came forward.

“It’s going… interestingly,” she replied. “I’m almost twice your size, but out of both of us, I’m the one who can’t handle the kick of this thing,” she said, looking down at her coilgun accusingly.

“Strength’s got little to do with it,” he explained. “How you hold it, how you’re standin’ when you’re pullin’ the trigger, that’s what really matters. Want a hint?”

“Only one? I could do with twenty.”

“I’m sure it won’t come to that,” he said. “You’ve trained with weapons before, right?”

“Yes. Most of the Clan’s soldiers are familiar with light-based rifles,” she replied. “but they are as far removed from ‘coilguns’ as you can get.”

“Let me get this straight. When you’re firin’ a laser at a target, you’re trying to keep your sights on it as much as possible, right?”

“That’s how the heat from the beam is transferred to the target, correct.”

“Our guns work a little differently. You can’t hold your aim dead on your target all the time. Fightin’ the recoil will just make it worse, but you can control it to make it smoother. Try using the bench as a brace, that’ll help stabilize your shots.”

Kazlu got down to one knee, following his instructions as she leaned the barrel of her gun on the table, making sure the heat sinks weren’t touching anything.

“Don’t put too much thought into lining yourself up,” Cadell advised. “Just take a sec to think about your aim, and trust your gut.”

“Gut?” she asked. “Like my stomach?”

“It means your instincts,” he said. “Keep your shots short and sharp, two heartbeats max. Don’t try to cut out all movement, just focus on the end of your sight and the target. Go for it.”

Kazlu braced the weapon, closing one orange eye as she lined herself with the sights. After two seconds, she squeezed the trigger, and a gap appeared next to the head of the target. Technically a miss, but it was closer than the rest of her attempts.

“Almost got it,” Cadell said, Kazlu’s feather roiling in anticipation. “Try exhalin’ instead of holdin’ your breath, you might find that smoother.”

The alien readjusted herself, and this time she only took one second before pulling the trigger. The next shot landed square between the shoulders of the target.

“There you go!” Cadell cheered.

“My intestines have aimed me true,” Kazlu breathed, flashing him a grin. “I was skeptical at first, but the coilgun has a few perks over a laser rifle. I can’t explain why, but it feels good in my hands. There is power behind the weight.”

“I know the feeling, trust me,” he said. “Just remember not to squeeze the trigger so hard. You don’t need more than a feather’s touch.”

“Oh, I get it, because I’m an avian, right?” she asked, a bored look on her face. Cadell stammered out an apology, but the alien broke out laughing, cutting him off. “Relax, Cadell, I was only teasing. I have been thinking up a few mammalian jokes these past few days, however, so don’t push it.”

“I’ll keep that in mind.”

He guided her for a little longer, and soon her target was shredded to pieces, and a replacement fluttered down from the ceiling. From the corner of his eye, he saw Samiha stealing glances at her counterpart’s target, and her expression was anything but pleased.

Kazlu didn’t appear to notice, turning to him with her features turned up in a grin. She didn’t possess lips, not exactly, but she had enough control over her beak to make it look like she was smiling. It was an uncanny look, but not unpleasant.

“Thank you for the… crash course, Cadell,” she said on her next reload. “That is how the expression goes, correct? I’m grateful for your presence.”

“If only the same could be said for Samiha,” he said, the two glancing over at the struggling Balokarid. “I tried to help her just a second ago, but she just gave me the cold shoulder. Like always.”

“She’s proud for a Balokarid,” Kazlu replied. “maybe to a fault. She was much the same when I first met her.”

Perhaps this was his chance to get some insight on Samiha, Kazlu and her seemed to go way back.

“Makes me think why’s she’s hangin’ around still,” he wondered. “We all eat and sleep together, but she’s always off to one side, like she doesn’t even want to be here.”

“We’ve been stuck on our carriers since the colony fell,” Kazlu explained. “This program was the first real opportunity to experience gravity, train ourselves, prepare to strike back at the UEC Clan. Wouldn’t you take that same chance, in our position?”

“Sure,” admitted said. “but what’s with the attitude? It’s like no matter what I do, she’s always got it in for me. You remember that whole thing when Marek picked me to be the point.”

“Samiha has had… difficulties, adjusting to life beyond Dur’shala,” Kazlu explained, though that wasn’t really an answer. “I know that’s no excuse for her behaviour, but losing our home was devastating to all of us, and Samiha is still carrying her burdens since that day.”

“What sort of burdens?” he asked. “Was she injured or somethin’?”

“Not in the way you are thinking,” she replied, cryptically. “I wish I could tell you more, Cadell, but discussing her personal life without her permission feels wrong. Just give her time, and she might tell you herself.”

The image of Samiha sticking that needle on her arm flashed through his mind. He wanted to ask Kazlu about it, but he couldn’t think of a way of broaching it without rasiing suspicions. Instead he said: “We’ve all got our problems, I get that. I just hope it doesn’t affect our place in the program, we don’t have forever to wait on her. Well, I better get back to it,” he added. “Marek’s comin’ this way.”

Cadell returned to his own booth. It felt good to know that not all the aliens were so irritable, but he wasn’t much closer to figuring out why Samiha was so hostile.

He checked his weapon and braced it against his arm, wondering if Samiha didn’t have one of her needles on her right now.

-xXx-

“Alright, elevens, I’ve seen enough,” Marek said, observing them for ten or twenty minutes. “Recruit Samiha, I don’t know how, but you put more holes in the wall than the target. Since you lack any form of shooting prowess, I want you to stay behind at the end of the day, get some more practice in.”

Samiha glowered between her feet, fists clenched by her sides. If she didn’t have feathers, her face would be burning hot. Cadell allowed himself to smirk at her disgrace, quickly hiding it when Samiha glared his way.

“For now, let’s get you into the workshop. Follow me and bring your weapons,” Marek added.

The Lieutenant led them out of the range and back into the armoury, moving to the far end of the room where only a few other troopers were milling about. Marek had them form up around a bench large enough for all of them, then took his place at its head.

“Firing a coilgun isn’t going to cut it,” Marek announced. “You must be intimate with every component, down to the last piece. Only with this familiarity will it become a truly effective weapon on the battlefield. Before you are basic dismantling kits. Open them up and pay attention, I shouldn’t have to repeat myself, nor am I going to.”

Like before, Marek went through the steps of dismantling a coilgun, using another rifle as a demonstration. This time, however, he used some basic tools to separate the pieces into all its components, Cadell blinking at how messy his section of the bench became. The rifles he was familiar with had about eighty parts in all, but the coilgun had around a hundred and fifty.

Marek’s demonstration felt like it went too quickly, and before Cadell knew it, his coilgun was back into one piece. “Now it’s your turn,” Marek said. “I’ll give you five minutes, then I’ll come around and check your progress. What are you waiting for?”

The squad hurriedly picked up their tools, getting to work on pulling apart their guns. Cadell was instantly lost. It wasn’t that he was inattentive, he could take apart the barrel and the stock, but he struggled to remember much further of the complicated process of field stripping the highly advanced weapon.

Hunter and August were on his left and right, but the bench was so messy with all the parts it was hard to tell what stage they were at. It wasn’t exactly like Cadell could ask them for tips, either, Marek was studying them from behind, and the squad was silent under his gaze, the low clatter of moving plastics and clicking tools the only sound apart from the distant shot from the range.

“Private Cadell,” Marek said, peering over his left shoulder. “Mind walking me through what exactly you’re doing?”

“Taking the battery out from the charge handle, Sir,” Cadell replied, losing a little confidence with each passing word.

“I’d commend you – if that was the charge handle, and not the bolt carrier.”

There was a snort of derisive mockery, Cadell looking up to see Samiha quickly covering her beak with a hand.

“I told you I don’t like repeating myself,” Marek continued, Cadell moving aside as he took up the pieces. “What’s your angle, Private? Think you have a better way of dismantling the platform?”

“No, Sir,” Cadell replied, knowing he should just take it on the chin, rather than play defensive. He tried to ignore the gloating Samiha, watching him be tutored by the Lieutenant while she went about her own task without any visible difficulty, but he felt embarrassed all the same.

After too much time, the Lieutenant finally put him back on track, leaving Cadell to assemble the weapon by himself. He was maybe a third of the way done when there was a noisy clatter against the bench, Samiha dropping her weapon onto its surface with an air of satisfaction.

“Finished, Lieutenant,” she said, proudly. Cadell looked at her with an expression of confused disgust. While everyone else’s coilguns were in pieces, hers was completely back to together without so much as a missing screw.

“Already?” Marek asked, sharing the same surprise. Samiha gave him room, and Marek picked up the weapon to study it. He slid back the bolt, checked the mag well and battery, then gave a final nod.

“That’s almost record time, recruit. Well done. Kith’sla Shaliyya told me you were quite the tinkerer back in your day, and you haven’t failed to impress.”

Samiha saw Cadell’s slack-jawed expression before he could hide it, and she grinned even harder. The day on the range had taken a real turn for the worse.

“Since you’ve got the time for it, recruit,” Marek added. “why don’t you give Private Cadell some help? He sure needs it.”

Cadell slowly closed his eyes, cursing himself for jinxing it. When he next opened his eyes, the Balokarid was stood beside him, smirking as hard as Cadell was frowning.

“You might be able to shoot straight, human,” she said. “but you are running in loops back here, eagle eyes.”

“Yeah, yeah,” he said, trying to hide his cheeks from flushing in embarrassment. “How’d you even do that? You read the manual or somethin’?”

The words sounded petty in his own ears, and he instantly regretted saying them.

“These coilguns are as alien to me as you are,” Samiha answered. “Which is strange, one would think you would have the advantage, human. How ironic.”

“Just shut up and help me put this together, will you?” he sighed.

Her lack of an answer was a dig at him in of itself, the alien pushing him aside with an errant handwave. Cadell wasn’t too proud to just ignore what she was doing out of spite, he didn’t want to look bad in front of Marek like that again, so he paid as much attention as he could, which was harder than it looked – Samiha was so bulky, her body screening the coilguin from view as she started to pick up his tools.”

“Could you move over? Come on, Samiha, give me some space.”

“How much room do you need, Shi’ahk?” she asked.

“What did you call me?”

Samiha didn’t answer, continuing the assembling from where he’d left off. She gave him room to watch her work, at least, and her dexterity was worth a sliver of praise. Her hands were constantly in motion, she never seemed to hesitate as she slapped on part after part, her hands flowing over the weapon frame in a way that came off as oddly mesmerizing.

Cadell could track her progress, but Samiha was following the Lieutenant’s orders to the least of her ability. She didn’t give him any words of advice, she didn’t talk him through her process, and at times her feathery wing blocked his vision in a way that came off as distinctly on purpose.

“There,” she said at last, thrusting the completed coilgun into his hands.

“What do you mean, ‘there’?” he demanded. “You didn’t show me anything! You were supposed to teach me how to assemble all the pieces.”

“It is not my fault your human eyes couldn’t keep up,” she scoffed, clicking her beak. The sound was like two bones clapping together.

“Are you always such a bitch, or is it just around me?” he asked.

“What is the matter, squad leader?” she asked, making no attempt to mask her sarcasm as she leered at him. “Why are you not smiling anymore? You were laughing at my expense so very much when the Lieutenant called out my aim. Maybe next time you will know your place, yes?”

“You’re way out of line, Samiha,” he replied. “You talked like that to a ranking officer, and you’d be charged with insubordination.”

“Then it is a good thing I am not talking to a ranking officer, am I? You are not our leader, Cadell. You were chosen out of chance, stop pretending it was otherwise.”

They stared one another down, or up in Cadell’s case, the tip of her beak barely a few inches from his nose. Cadell’s fingers clenched into a fist.

“How are we going over there, you two?” Marek announced, and Samiha broke off almost instantly.

“I showed him all I could,” she answered. “If there is nothing else, I will return to the range for practice.”

“And outstanding idea, recruit.”

As the alien was dismissed, Cadell loosed a frustrated sigh, rubbing one of his eyes absentmindedly. He had proved himself to be incapable by failing to take apart the coilgun by himself, and Samiha was lapping up every moment of it.

He considered going to Marek, or maybe even the Kith’sla, Shaliyya. He might be able to convince them that Samiha was being disloyal, maybe get her out of the program. And yet, that would only make him look petty if he went straight to them rather than sort her out himself. Tattling was never a good look for a squad leader, and he doubted the other’s wouldn’t react well if he went down this path, Kazlu in particular.

No, he wouldn’t talk with his superiors. Not for the moment, at least, though the idea was well on the table by this point.

Chapter 3: Boiling Point

“Wake up, Cadell,” a voice said, and a point of pressure was driven into his side. He snorted, opening his eyes to find himself slouched in a metal chair, the whitewashed hall of the training centre stretching away to either side.

“Huh? What’s up?” he asked, blinking his eyes until he saw Hunter in the seat beside him. August and the aliens were beyond him, the latter of which were sitting on the floor, as the chairs were too small for them.

“Our turn’s coming up soon,” Hunter explained. “How the hell did you drift off that fast? I can barely catch some shut-eye in the bunks.”

“When you’re workin’ the land twenty-four seven, you learn to take every chance you get for rest,” Cadell replied, stretching his arms. “How’re the other squads doin’?”

“See for yourself,” Hunter said with a gesture. There was a huge flatscreen built into the wall on the opposite side of the hallway. On it was a descending list starting at one, and ending at eleven. All of them except for the last entry had time stamps labelled beside them, each ranging from six minutes to eight.

“Squad four killed it,” August mused. “No one’s beaten their time yet.”

“That’s cause we haven’t had our turn,” Hunter replied. “I had a VR headset when I was a kid. If it’s anything like Battle Badass 3, I think I’ll do just fine.”

“Are we really being tested by a game?” Samiha scoffed from the far end. “How does that translate to actual battle strategy?”

“Sims aren’t really games,” Hunter explained. “Sure, there’s similarities, but with all that high-end, military software that’s restricted to the public, they’ve probably upped the ante a millionfold. Shit’s probably so realistic we’ll die in real life if we die in the sim.”

“Our forms of entertainment took a much less… drastic path than yours did,” Kazlu added, suppressing a flutter of her feathers.

“What did you expect?” Samiha asked her. “War and killing seems to be the one thing their kind can do well.”

Cadell had almost dozed off again when there was a crackle over the intercom, Lieutenant Marek’s voice coming through on the overhead speakers.

“Elevens, the room’s ready. Proceed through to the training area.”

The five of them stood, Cadell leading the way up to a nearby door, the bulkhead around it surrounded by signs warning that sensitive equipment was within.

The door slid aside to reveal a very nondescript room, about twenty meters across and just as wide. Every surface was the same matte white as the rest of the station. The floor felt like smoothed concrete as Cadell walked inside.

There was a compartment on the wall just beside the door, and laying within it were several firearms and padded vests, each made from a white, plastic material. Something caught Cadell’s eye and he glanced up at the ceiling. There seemed to be a giant network of pipes forming a bubble over the top of the room, the metal doming out from the ceiling and then down the walls, the pipes feeding into the ground and disappearing from sight. The twisting lengths of metal formed patterns of hexagonal shapes, and between each of these was a pane of glass.

“Hunter, what is that?” Cadell asked, pointing up at the metal netting the room.

“Think those might be projectors of some kind,” he answered. “Never seen anything like it, though.”

“Elevens,” Marek’s voice announced. There must be microphones in the room, but Cadell couldn’t see any. “Your equipment is on your left. Gear up and stand in the middle of the room when you’re ready.”

They made their way over to the compartment. The gear was sorted into five bundles, Cadell picking one of them up. There was a helmet that covered one’s brow, a vest, and a coilgun, but none of it was standard issue. The helmet and vest looked like surplus gear, and wasn’t actually made of Kevlar or ceramics, and the white material gave it the look of a replica.

He pulled the vest over his head, and once he’d tightened the straps, he saw the material was imbedded with lights, white dots flicking on along his chest and collar.

Next, he lifted his weapon. The coilgun was like a toy gun one might find at a kids store, though it was a very faithful copy. Back on their visit to the shooting range, they’d been allowed to tailor their coilguns to their specific needs, Cadell opting to fit his with a foregrip and a scope, switching out for a longer stock to tailor his weapon more the role of an assault rifle.

They’d been given personal lockers to store their custom weapons, and this replica was an exact duplicate of his coilgun.

“Someone’s been taking note of our builds,” Hunter stated, fishing out his own weapon. He had opted to swap out his barrel for a longer variant, and fitting a magnified scope on the top rail, bringing it into the role of a marksman rifle. August, on the other hand, had built a monster of a machine. It was just short of a meter long, the barrel nearly half of the gun’s entire length and packed with twice as many coils as Cadell’s. It was equipped with a stability bipod and a dual-drum magazine, with heat sinks that may as well be called heat bricks due to their exaggerated size.

It was a heavy, automatic variant, and Cadell had expected the Balokarids to follow the same train of thought – they were bigger and stronger, and carrying heavy weapons wouldn’t be an issue, yet both Kazlu and Samiha had gone the opposite direction. They’d swapped out their barrels for shorter lengths, and fixed their stocks with simple, foldable pads, not unlike small, personal defence weapons that could be drawn comfortably with just one hand.

As was becoming the usual, the bundles which were clearly for the humans were almost identical, but the two for the aliens were not. Instead of helmets, they had faceplates shaped like an upside down ‘U’ that left their eyes and beaks exposed. Their vests were similar, secured to their slim chests by Velcro strips, but they also had one other piece of gear that Cadell and the others did not.

“What you got there, Kaz?” Cadell asked, the alien holding up a strange device. The main component was a hollow metal cylinder, with two glass crystals on the upper and lower sides, glittering in shades of blue. It didn’t seem to be part of the rest of the kit, it looked custom made.

Its shape was not unlike an armband, and Cadell was proven right as Kazlu slipped her arm through the cylinder. There was a groove in the metal that made it so her wing didn’t chafe against it, the device almost as long a shirt sleeve.

“Better to show you once we’re in the sim,” Kazlu replied, putting another similar brace on her other arm. Samiha also had her own set of armguards. “But I’ll give you a hint – for all your technology, I don’t think you’ve seen anything like this before.”

Cadell blinked, more interested than ever. Were these devices the fabled Balokarid technology that Samiha had hinted at earlier?

Once the Balokarids were fixed with their gear, they assembled in the middle of the room as instructed, Marek’s voice crackling in through their helmets this time.

“Listen up, elevens. You’ve done your drills and your classes, now it’s time to put those skills into practice. This simulation is your chance to prove to me you can work as a team, but more than that, it’s proof to the Senator that this program isn’t a waste of resources. You’re in a unique position here, you’ve got access to alien hardware that the other teams don’t, so I’m expecting good results. As you already know, these sims are time-based, so speed and efficiency should be your first priority, keep that in mind as you carry out your objectives. The time to beat is six minutes and forty seconds.”

“And what is our objective here?” Samiha asked, fiddling with her helmet as she glanced at the ceiling.

“All mission parameters will be sent to your squad leader. You have thirty seconds to brief each other, then we’re starting. Don’t let me down, elevens. Good luck.”

Like a generator humming to life, a strange noise began to permeate the room with no obvious source, fluorescent light strips on the overhead cage bars turning on one by one. At the same moment, a glass visor slid down from the tops of all their helmets, the words Prepare for Scenario 4-B2 floating before Cadell’s eyes in bright green letters.

The display on his wrist beeped, Cadell looking down to see their orders flickering onto the screen. A sound like a giant light switch filled the room. It was a lot of sensations at once – it was sort of foreboding in a way, as though they were about to drop into a real combat deployment.

“What’s our orders, boss?” August prompted, Cadell clearing his throat. This was it, his first chance to really demonstrate his leadership skills. He had to nail this , both for the team’s sake, and for his image.

“Okay, this looks pretty straightforward,” Cadell said, skimming the list briefly. “There’s gonna be a white line on the ground, all we have to do is follow it to the end, and there’ll be a button that stops the clock. The environment is a fifty-fifty split of close quarters and open areas.”

“What kind of resistance will there be?” Samiha asked.

“Not sure, it doesn’t say.”

“I’ve played sims like this. Just assume that there’s a bad guy around every corner,” Hunter advised. “Better safe than dead, as the saying goes.”

A countdown appeared on Cadell’s new display, starting from ten. He slid back the bolt on his coilgun, the rest of the team following suit. This was it. It might not be real action, but it was the next best thing. He’d coordinated his teams well enough back on Manildra, and now was his shot to prove he didn’t need front-line experience to be good at his job.

When the number reached 1, the countdown wiped away, and Cadell was looking at a completely new environment, as though he’d just been teleported away. Instead of the small, boxy room they’d walked inside, he was now stood at one end of an enormous warehouse, with the roof open to reveal a starless night sky.

The four walls towered impossibly high into the air, completely smooth and featureless save for a replica of the scoreboard back out in the hallway, the lettering large enough to be read at this distance. Their current timer was directly below it, having just reached the five-second mark and rising.

Something flickered in his peripheral, and Cadell saw an ammo counter appear on his HUD. It must be synced up to his pretend gun wirelessly. Was there an actual software for that, or was it just part of the sim?

The rest of the team looked just as they had through the slightly grainy visor, but the same could not be said for their surroundings. Directly before them stood a wall which looked like it was made of grey plastic, with only a single doorway leading through it. There were knee-high barricades all around it.

“Feels like I’m in a laser tag arena,” Hunter chuckled, spinning on the spot as he took in the view.

“I thought humans didn’t use lasers,” Kazlu asked.

“He is probably talking about another of his games,” Samiha muttered. “This is not a pastime, Hunter. Take this seriously for once.”

“Who’s the sim expert here, me or you?”

Cadell stepped between the group so he got all their attention. He may have befriended the squad – most of them anyway – but they were bickering, losing time, and that was the last thing they needed right now.

“Focus, everyone,” he began. “We’re on a timer, remember? Real or not, we’ve got a job to do, so let’s fall out and show the Lieutenant what we’re made of.”

There was a slight pause between them all, but it was broken by August, who nudged Hunter with the butt of his machine gun.

“You heard the man. Stack up on that door.”

“What formation should we use?” Kazlu asked. “Sir?” she added, deferring to Cadell.

“Same as what we’ve been studying. Humans one side, Balokarids the other.”

They did as he said, Cadell taking position closest to the entrance, Samiha doing the same on her side of the arch. On the ground between them there was a white line wending through the arch, animated in a way that provided a sense of direction. Cadell thought he could hear footsteps inside.

“Alright, we’ll do this by the book,” Cadell said. “I’ll go first, Hunter August you follow after. Samiha, Kazlu, you come in last. You’re taller than us, so you can shoot over our heads without risk of friendly fire.”

“We should go first,” Samiha argued. “Our reflexes are better than yours. We-”

Cadell cut her off, unable to quell his anger. “For fuck’s sake, Samiha, we’re not even through the first room and you’re already disobeyin’ me. I’m gettin’ real sick of your constant backchat.”

Rather than hit back with some cutting remark, Samiha brandished her arm, and pressed a hidden mechanism in the middle of her brace. There was an explosion of blue light, Cadell backing into August as afterimages burned into his retinas. When his eyes adjusted, he was looking at an expanding oval of energy, blooming away from the metal device on Samiha’s brace, the previously dull metal now glowing with heat.

The barrier moved with Samiha’s arm, its surface composed of small polygons about the size of a fist. The shapes flattened out towards the edges, where they gave way to pointed triangles that looked eerily similar to the tips of feathers. It was taller than it was wider, like a tower shield from the medieval era, and that was exactly how the alien was holding it.

“Hardlight shields can withstand extreme amounts of kinetic energy,” Samiha explained. “Human bullets notwithstanding.”

Kazlu brandished her own shield, Cadell noting that she was left-handed, it seemed the Balokarids could carry a shield on both arms. The barriers ran parallel to their arms, allowing them to use their weapons with both hands without it getting in the way.

“Holy shit!” Hunter exclaimed. Behind him August had raised his brows high into his hairline. “You ladies got shields? Now this really is like a game.”

“On second thought, I’m glad you questioned me,” Cadell admitted.

“Told you they’d be surprised,” Kazlu chuckled, and Samiha let slip a rare grin, though it was hard to see given the wavering energy field blocking most of her body. “Just wait until you see their real world counterparts.”

“Let’s see what they can do,” Cadell said, pointing at the arch. “You ladies have point. Clear us a room.”

The Balokarids filed in, leading with their shields. They braced their coilguns intot heir shoulders, holding them one-handed as they moved inside. That explained why they’d built their guns to be as light as possible.

Cadell waited two seconds, then he and the others followed. Cadell dragged his sights from left to right, but the small room inside was clear of targets. There were a few crates scattered about, and he ran a hand through one, finding that his fingers went straight through it. They were only their to break up the sightlines.

His team checked their corners, but there was no resistance. Maybe this starting room was just for participants to test the waters of the sim. As if to counter his point, after a moment something appeared in one of the adjacent doorways. The room led off through two arches, and in the one on the left, their first simulated target marched through. It looked like a human, clad in a grey combat armour and a matching helmet. The figure was eerily quiet, the sound of its boots clocking against the ground the only sound it made. It was wielding a coilgun in its arms, as colourless as its body, and it shouldered the weapon with uncanny speed, too quick for Cadell’s eyes to track.

There was a crack as the hologram fired off a shot, Samiha hunching beneath her shield. What should have been a killshot instead turned into a puff of sparks, the barrier rippling like the surface of a disturbed pond. Samiha responded with a burst from her coilgun, sweeping her shots across its chest.

The hologram lurched, and he knew it was a hologram because the figure flickered away like a light bulb going out, fading from sight. Samiha looked Cadell’s way, smirking in victory. He didn’t know how faithful the shield was compared to the real thing, but Samiha seemed comfortable wielding the barrier.

Much as he didn’t want to praise Samiha, he couldn’t deny the usefulness of a shield. “Not bad,” he said. “How much damage can that thing take?”

“Enough,” she replied dismissively.

“That’s a vague and not very helpful answer. Makes me think you don’t know.”

“Then don’t concern yourself with our affairs. Stay behind us, let the real soldiers handle these rooms.”

“Put a sock in it, you two,” August said. “Clock’s ticking.”

Cadell glanced at the scoreboard. Damn it, almost two minutes had passed and they’d only cleared the first room. They needed to get moving. The white guideline led out through the arch the hologram had come from, so Cadell hurried over to it, taking up his spot on one side of it.

“Are we just going to leave that way unchecked?” Samiha asked, gesturing to the unexplored arch.

“There’s no time to clear every room,” Cadell said. “Our objective is to reach the end of the course, not to explore.”

“We won’t go far if we leave our flanks unsecured,” Samiha argued. “If you won’t do it, then I will.”

“Samiha!” he growled, but the alien wasn’t listening. She broke formation and rushed over to the door, readying her shield as she slipped through the arch and out of sight. “I’m really startin’ to hate that bird.”

“Should we go with her?” Hunter asked.

“No, we keep movin’ forward. Kazlu, you’re first. We’re right behind you.”

The Balokarid looked to her companion, and for a second he thought she might protest. In the end, she redeployed her shield, then led the way through, the humans hurrying after.

The next room was the same size as the last, but two holograms were blocking their path, silently shouldering their weapons. Cadell and Hunter were faster, however, bursts from their coilguns bringing the two targets down. There was only one doorway leading out of this room, and another pair of holograms stalked through it, weapons at the ready.

There was cover in the room, crates with nondescript surfaces scattered throughout the space, Cadell ducking behind one as bullets screamed overhead. He knew they weren’t real, but he swore on his soul that he could feel wind on his face in their passing.

August drew a bead with his oversized weapon, his coilgun bellowing fire from its muzzle. He hosed the archway with a sweep of his weapon, and the two holograms crumpled to the ground before flickering away, guns and all.

“Targets down,” August announced. The four of them took to the next doorframe in the same formation, with Kazlu and her shield taking lead. He could see a lot of benefits to having a barrier like that in a real fight. If only they had two…

The next room was longer than the last, and after a short distance, the clean walls curved at a right angle. Columns and barricades lay scattered down its length, placed in a very deliberate manner. Cadell and the others were forced to use Kazlu as walking cover as several holograms appeared throughout the room, two even poking their heads up from atop the walls, firing down on them from higher ground.

Cadell fired upon these holograms, directing Hutner and August to clear the hallway. The holograms fell from the edges like stunt actors, thinning into air the instant their mock bodies touched the ground. Cadell saw his ammo counter was in the single digits and reloaded, the clack as he fisted home a fresh mag audible even over the shooting.

They cleared this arm of the room in less than ten seconds, and Cadell raised his hand and made a fist, signaling the others to stop.

“Check the corner, Kazlu,” he said, tapping the alien on the thigh, as it was the only place he could reach. “How many?”

Since she had a shield, Kazlu didn’t have to expose herself as she turned out to look. Bullets slammed into her shield, but the alien didn’t so much as flinch. “Six,” she said. “And they’re dug in behind some barricades. There’s a lot of open ground between them and us.”

“Okay, keep that shield up,” Cadell said. “August stay on her left, Hunter, you’re on her right. Keep moving forward, I’ll stay here and cover you. Got it?”

“Got it,” Kazlu said. “Stay close, little guys.”

The Balokarid turned into the hallway, the humans sticking behind her as the three of them pushed up a longer hallway, towards the entrenched holograms standing at its end. Cadell took a couple potshots at the targets, still trying to get used to how his weapon kicked but gave no real recoil in the sim.

Suddenly, he felt a presence approaching him from behind. He turned around, weapon ready, then lowered it when he saw it was Samiha, hurrying over and placing her back against the wall beside him.

“Where the hell have you been?” Cadell demanded. “You had one room to clear.”

“It split off into another,” Samiha answered. “And there were holograms in both of them. Had they been left behind, like you ordered, they could have flanked us whenever they had wanted.”

“I’ll leave you behind if you go off on your own like that again,” Cadell grumbled.

“What a terrific Kith’sla you make,” Samiha said, rolling her eyes. “I should have accepted your authority far sooner.”

Cadell prepared to come back with a snide comment, but the reports of gunfighting had ceased, and a glance around the corner confirmed that the others had secured the area while they’d argued.

“Anytime you’re ready, boss,” August prompted, reloading his oversized coilgun.

“Comin’,” Cadell replied, then to Samiha: “Let’s go, or do you have somewhere else to be?”

The pair caught up with the rest of the squad, keeping as far away from each other as was possible. None of the others asked Samiha what she’d been up to, not even Kazlu, who only looked at her counterpart with an expression of mild confusion. Samiha’s choice to go all lone wolf wasn’t just irking Cadell, it seemed.

The next arch was tall enough to allow the aliens to pass through comfortably, the design clearly made with Balokarids in mind. Instead of ending up in another tight-quarters room, they stepped out into a large, synthetic field of space, easily taking up the last two thirds of the warehouse. Pillboxes with slatted windows jutted out from the ground along the east and west walls, three to a side, barricades and knee-high pieces of cover scattered between them.

The white guideline weaved through this field all the way to the far side, where it came to an end at the base of a metal stake, which was capped with a giant red button. The stake was situated between two more pillboxes, which were raised a short distance up the walls, with gun barrels poking out of the slats. The button couldn’t be more than twenty meters out, but it was right in the middle of a deadly killing zone that looked suspiciously like a battle arena.

Cadell had a moment to survey the environment, and then all hell broke loose. From the third and fourth layers of cover, more holograms rose into view, their featureless faces angling as they aimed their weapons. August shoved him down by the shoulder, Cadell barely ducking out of the path of a bullet for the second time in just a few minutes.

There was a barricade conveniently placed not far from the arch, and it was big enough for all five of them to crouch behind, the squad ducking out of the line of fire. Cadell gave August a grateful nod, then turned to address the others.

“We’re almost there, everyone. All we have to do is hit that button.”

“We know that,” Samiha said, raising her voice either in anger, or so she could be heard over all the shooting. “Stop repeating the obvious, Shi’ahk.”

“Don’t call me that,” Cadell replied, even though he wasn’t sure what it meant, but it couldn’t have been flattering.

“How about we argue less and plan more?” Kazlu said. “We’re not going to make a good time if we sit here.”

“No thanks to Samiha over there,” Cadell muttered, glancing at the clock. Unless they finished the sim in one minute, they wouldn’t be top of the board. “If she hadn’t wasted time clearin’ unnecessary rooms, we’d be better off right now.”

“Then allow me to make up for it now. Follow my lead.”

To Cadell’s horror, Samiha broke cover, rushing forward on her long legs. She shouldered her weapon, taking out a pair of holograms kneeling behind the barricade ahead. Return fire hit her from the side, but she deployed her shield, blocking the errant shots, the Balokarid never stopping as she marched onward.

“Samiha, don’t break formation! Get back here!” Cadell demanded, but either she wasn’t listening or couldn’t hear him, she just kept on charging. “Screw it. Kazlu, cover our right flank. Hunter, August, push up with me.”

“What about Samiha?” Hunter asked.

“Forget her. If she wants to draw their fire, let her.”

Their was a hesitant pause, then the team did as he said, Kazlu moving out first before the humans followed suit. The report of coilgun fire echoed off the warehouse walls as the four of them opened up, picking off the holograms closest and then working outward, clearing the immediate area in a reasonable time.

Red tracer rounds began streaming in from the flanks, the pillboxes at the sides of the warehouse opening up now that the team were in sight. Cadell fired at the slats, but he was hard-pressed to score such a precise shot at this range. He watched as Hunter managed to fare a little better, taking out the gunner in bunker closest to the right side, but one marksman among them wouldn’t be enough. They would have to clear the bunkers one at a time, and by hand.

He may have been able to use the Balokarid shields to help with this task, but Samiha was still spearheading down the middle, taking on the brunt of the simulation all on her own. Much as he detested her, she was doing a good job in drawing attention, using her shield to cover herself from retaliating fire. But that didn’t mean all of the holograms were focused on her. The pillboxes were directing their fire on the rest of them, bogging them down while she continued to distance herself.

Kazlu attempted to make a break for the next barricade, but was caught in a devastating crossfire from the pillboxes. She bared her winged arm, her shield rippling like water being smashed by stones as the shield absorbed the gunfire. When the barrier began to change to a darker hue, Kazlu’s face contorted in worry.

“Get down, Kaz!” he shouted, already knowing what was going to happen. Another burst from an automatic weapon was all it took, and her shield fizzled away, not unlike how the holograms did when hit with a kill shot. She dove for cover, but she was too far, and by the time she’d made it, two tracer rounds smashed against her vest.

Kazlu warbled out a noise that was somewhere between the caw of a crow and a bark of pain, and she doubled over, falling to her knees as she nursed the spot she’d been hit.

“Kaz!” Hunter shouted. “You okay, mate?” He fired off a burst at the hologram that had shot the alien, sending it spinning over. He and August were behind the cover to Cadell’s immediate right, the alien a short way beyond them.

“By the dust, that really hurt,” Kazlu muttered, her wings fluttering as she settled on her rump. The little lights along her vest shifted from white to red, the alien frowning as she tried to deploy her shield, but the barrier didn’t work. “Sorry friends, I’ve been killed.”

“Shit, now what do we do?” Hunter asked, ducking as a tracer zipped over his head. Without Kazlu, the storm of projectiles was now focusing on the three of them.

“Just keep shooting,” August growled, bracing his weapon on the barricade, hosing the pillboxes with cover fire.

“We need Samiha’s shield,” Cadell said. “We’re not going to make it through this without it. You two stay here and cover me while I bring her back.”

“Okay,” Hunter replied skeptically. He and August nodded to one another, turning out and opening up on the holograms in unison. They were outnumbered two to one, but their tactic forced the holograms to seek cover, closely approximating how a real human would react when tens of hypersonic bullets were shot their way.

Cadell took his chance, falling into a sprint as he charged up the arena, hand clutched over his plastic helmet. Samiha had speared into the center of the warehouse, but she had come to a halt now that she was in range of almost all the pillboxes, her cover coming under so much duress it would have slagged if it had been real.

Cadell slid to a halt beside the alien, jabbing her with his elbow to get her attention. “Samiha what the hell are you doing?”

“Clearing a path,” she answered, as if she were discussing the weather.

“You left everyone behind!” he said, his frustration getting the better of him. “Kazlu got shot, we need you to cover us.”

“What do you think I have been doing?” she asked. “If you cannot keep up, that is not my fault.”

“This is a team exercise, not your chance to go all lone wolf on us. You need to get back in line.”

“You are not in charge of me,” Samiha growled. “I am pressing forward. If you cannot handle that then stay out of the way.”

Samiha vaulted over the barricade, Cadell rolling his eyes at her. As soon as she vacated her spot, Cadell spotted a hologram trying to get an angle on his cover, taking a transparent knee behind a crate to his left.

Cadell raised his weapon, but he wasn’t fast enough. A solitary bullet found its way to his chest, and the wind left his lungs in a choked sigh. It was like a lead weight had been flung right into his sternum, even though no physical bullet had found its mark. Cadell had never experienced anything like it, the haptic vests must be packed with as feedback motors as possible.

He fell on his ass in a daze, the numbers on his HUD blinking out, replaced by a dismaying four-letter word. The hologram that shot him turned its attention to Samiha, but Cadell didn’t feel the least bit inclined to warn her. Besides, he was dead, after all, thanks to her.

To Samiha’s credit, her shield saved her from the first bullet, allowing her to react, but caught out in the open like that all by herself, and the effort was futile. She clutched her spine like an aged care patient as she was shot in the back, a second bullet to her side forcing her to a kneel, the haptic vest sparing her no pain.

Cadell watched in dismay as August and Hunter were the last two standing, firing from the same barricade of cover. They gave it their all, but they were hopelessly outnumbered, the dozens of holograms moving around their sides with deplorable ease. They were soon surrounded, August snarling in pain, Hunter shouting a string of curses as the pair fell to the guns.

With the five of them incapacitated, the holograms stopped, freezing in various poses as though someone had pressed a giant pause button. That humming sound Cadell had heard right before the sim had activated fired up again, resuming at a high pitch before whirring down into a steady thrum.

He removed his helmet before the HUD prompted him to, Cadell finding himself back in the small simulation room of the real world. The lights fitted along the rods of the overhead cage were blinking off segment by segment, the glass panels shifting from the view of the warehouse back into their transparent states. Despite all the moving they’d done, none of them had so much as grazed any of the equipment.

His wrist computer beeped, Cadell looking down to see the scoreboard displayed on the screen. All the squad numbers had a time next to them, but for team 11, there wasn’t a time, but the letters: K.I.A. The list shuffled until their squad was placed firmly at the bottom.

Cadell stared at this disheartening sight until after a time, the doors opened, and in stepped Lieutenant Marek. He’d come off as tempered, but patient man, but now there was a fury in his eyes that made Cadell brace himself for a berating.

“Do any of you know how long I’ve overseen these simulations?” Marek asked. His voice was oddly cool and collected, and that just made Cadell fear the worst. “Any guesses?”

There were none, each squad member exchanging sheepish looks.

“Six years, and nine months,” Marek said, looking between each of them. “And in that time, I’ve trained all sorts. The kids, the adults, the brave and the weak. And now aliens,” he added, looking Samiha in the eye on that last one. “But in those six years, there were some things I haven’t seen before. Not until today.”

Marek seized August by the arm, lifting the wrist display and the simulation results for them all to see.

“This,” Marek snapped. “This, I have never seen. Six years, nine months, and I’ve never once had to witness such a disgrace, of having an entire squad get themselves killed in a simulation. I trusted you all to make a difference in my program. Instead, you’ve made me into a laughing stock.”

“Sir, listen,” Samiha began.

“Did I give you permission to speak, recruit?” Marek demanded, the alien falling silent. “Instead of telling me to listen, how about you instead listen to your orders? Your complete disregard for chain of command would land you in a cell if you were in my brigade.”

“And you,” Marek continued, turning his gaze on Cadell next. “Arguing in the middle of battle, neglecting your blind spots, failing to reign in your men. I’m starting to think giving you rank in this squad was a mistake.”

Cadell tried to remain nonplussed, but his eyes flicked down and to the right, embarrassment filling in his chest.

“No, that’s not harsh enough. Maybe this whole program was a mistake,” Marek continued, turning his ire to Hunter and August next. “Maybe mixed species units weren’t the right call. I treated you like professionals up to now, I trusted you to put Navy’s doubts aside, but it seems my faith was misplaced.”

Cadell wanted to say something, to tell the Lieutenant he was wrong, anything to break this shameful silence, but nothing would come out. He couldn’t find the right words to say.

“Get out of here,” Marek sighed, waving a discouraged arm to dismiss them.

“What of… what of our duties, Sir?” Kazlu asked.

“I’m done giving you duties,” Marek said. “Go do whatever you want, just get out of my sight.”

Cadell motioned for her to move, knowing now was not the time to test the Lieutenant further. They dressed down, placing their simulation equipment back in the compartment. The Lieutenant did not follow them out.

They all got another, better look at the scoreboard in the waiting room outside. Their proverbial ‘death’ was plain for all to see, and word would quickly spread through the quadrant, perhaps even to the entire station of these results. Nobody made a scoreboard to keep statistics private.

Cadell had never felt so embarrassed in his life. Or so angry. The rush from the sim had filled him with adrenaline that was starting to dissipate, but he still had enough energy to summon up a wave of fury, and he knew exactly who to aim it towards.

“Come on, guys,” Hunter tried. He seemed to be able to sense the tension between the team, and was attempting to defuse it. “That was only a practice run, and for most of us it was our first time in augmented reality. Let’s not get too worked up about it.”

“Practice run?” Cadell echoed. “That was our first combat evaluation test, and probably our last one too, thanks to her.”

“Me?” Samiha asked, her crest flicking in surprise.

“Yes, you!” Cadell snapped, storming over and jamming a finger inches from her beak. “If you hadn’t been such an idiot, runnin’ off on your own and leaving the rest of us to fend for ourselves, we might have stood a chance. Now the whole platoon’s gonna look at us like we’re a joke!”

“Then we shall improve ourselves in the next test,” Samiha said, speaking as though Cadell was a fool not to realise this.

“There’s not gonna be another test, don’t you realise that? Marek’s not gonna waste his time trainin’ people who can’t even kill a fake enemy. Some protector you turned out to be, you oversized magpie.”

Something about that last sentence caused Samiha to snap, her irises flexing wide enough to give Cadell pause. It reminded him of a predator’s eyes diluting just before the bite.

“And what about you?” she said, shoving his arm aside. “As Kith’sla, the blame falls squarely on your shoulders. Perhaps if we had a leader with some skill, who shows responsibility instead of whining about what others do, things would have turned out differently.”

“So when things go wrong, suddenly now I’m your leader. That’s very convenient.”

“Stop it,” Kazlu interrupted. “That’s enough from both of you. The simulation is done, arguing over it won’t change what’s done.”

“No, it will not,” Samiha agreed. “But you know what will? If this shi’ahk,” she added, waving at Cadell with a feathered hand, “-was replaced with a Balokarid. Then we would stand a better chance of success.”

“Samiha, we agreed to work with the humans,” Kazlu replied. “That means protecting them with your shield. Not yourself.”

“So you’re taking his side?” Samiha shot back. “You cannot be serious.”

“I’m not picking any sides,” Kazlu explained. “Mistakes were made, and we need to acknowledge them. You, need to acknowledge them.”

Samiha frowned at her cohort, then glanced at the rest of them in turn. She looked lost, as though they were all strangers and hadn’t been working together for the past couple weeks. Cadell had expected the Balokarids to be of the same mind, but Kazlu was backing him up. If this didn’t change Samiha’s attitude, he didn’t think anything will.

“Mistakes,” Samiha muttered, eyes turning to the floor. “Mistakes,” she said again. “Being part of this squad, that was a mistake.”

Her wrods struck a cord with the group, and nobody said a word as they stood there in the hallway, and somehow that was worse than if they’d started yelling at each other.

The silence broke when August turned to leave, Cadell gesturing after him. “Where are you going?” he asked, but the man didn’t answer.

He shared a look with Hunter, who shrugged, beginning to chase after his companion. His departure was followed by Kazlu’s, who sighed under her breath, turning to walk the other way. Samiha watched the Balokarid leave with a strange expression on her face. It might have been one of regret, but Cadell didn’t pay much attention, sparing her an accusatory glance.

“Good going, Samiha,” he said. “If that’s what you really think, do us a favour and just leave. We’d be better off if you did.”

He stormed off without a word, leaning his hand into his temple once he was out of sight. This was nothing short of a disaster. Not only had the team failed, but he’d failed to demonstrate his leadership skills, all thanks to Samiha. A sense of foreboding overcame him. Would Marek reconsider his place in the program, if he hadn’t already?

He tried to push such worries aside, focusing on the present. At least without any standing orders, he had some time to himself. Better to use it now before the Lieutenant changed his mind, for better or worse.

-xXx-

The cold shower helped, all the day’s worries seeming to drain away along with the cool water sloughing off his skin. At this time of day, most of the platoon were out on drills, and Cadell had the place all to himself, the privacy helping to clear his thoughts a little as he washed.

Maybe he’d been too hasty to suggest this was the end of the program. It had to have cost the Alliance a small fortune to ship them out here, one mishap wouldn’t be the end of their chances, right? Although, that was one mishap he could have rather done without, and his thoughts turned to Samiha and how nonchalant she seemed about the whole ordeal.

He’d come to the showers partly to get away from her, but as he tied a towel over his waist and slathered on some shaving cream, in walked the very person he wanted to avoid. Cadell was at the far end of the showers when her rusty-red profile sauntered through the entrance, and he watched her in the mirror as she looked down the shower stalls, her gaze swivelling round the room. The bathrooms on the quadrant were unisex, so it wasn’t unusual to see her here, but he wondered why she was here. Was she looking for someone, maybe him specifically?

When her eyes came to rest on his reflection, she blinked in surprise, then made her way over. Cadell went about shaving the stubble on his face, despite the growing unease he felt at being approached by an eight-foot-tall alien from his blind spot.

“Oh great it’s you,” Cadell said, placing the razor on his cheek and slicing. “You just missed it, I passed by one of the other squads earlier, and they laughed in my face. News of your performance has travelled fast.”

“You think you’re the only one who’s suffered?” Samiha replied, stopping just behind his shoulder. “My only friend on this damnable station has chosen aliens over her own kin. You wouldn’t know shame if it hit you over your featherless head.”

“Maybe she finally figured out how much of a pain in the ass you are,” he muttered under his breath. It was a mute effort, considering she was stood right behind him, the alien clicking her beak in a way that made his eardrums ring.

“Keep it up, Shi’ahk, and I’ll show you what pain really is.”

“Then what are you waitin’ for?” he challenged, turning round and looking her in the eye. The effect didn’t quite meet his intentions, considering his face was covered in shaving cream, but he wasn’t about to let that get in the way. “Do it.”

For a second, he thought she would, and a part of him wondered if he could even stand one hit against someone of her size. Her biceps were almost as big as his head, and her arms were defined with muscle mass. Those wings were deceptively large even when sheathed, and carrying them around all day was a resistance training in of itself.

Her blazing eyes cooled as quickly as they’d heated, the Balokarid releasing the fists she’d been clenching. “You would like that, would you not?” she asked. “The moment I did anything, you would go crying to the Lieutenant, begging him to get rid of me. That’s what you want, yes?”

“Crossed my mind,” he admitted.

“Then you can keep dreaming, because I am not going anywhere.”

“Why not?” he asked, Samiha blinking in confusion. “Why is it that you’re still here? You don’t get along with anyone, not even your own team, and that’s the whole point of the program, combinin’ our species’ efforts.”

“I am here because my Kith’sla wants me to,” Samiha said, her feathers bristling. “She’s put a great deal of trust in me, and I respect her too much to ask her to reconsider my place here – overly tempting as that may be.”

“Respect?” he scoffed, turning back to the mirror. “You don’t respect me, the team, or even yourself, so what would you know about respect?”

Samiha tilted her head. “Myself? What are you blathering about?”

“I saw you,” he said. “That day, when we just came back from our first spacewalk, I saw you go back into the airlock. You pulled out a bag, and a needle, and you shot yourself up when you thought nobody was watchin’. At first I didn’t know what to think, but I’ve seen you excusin’ yourself a lot lately. You were probably about to get yourself another fix right here in the showers if I wasn’t here.”

The Balokarid took a step back, as though he’d struck her, eyes wider than he’d ever seen.

“W-What? How did…? Y-You do not know what you’re talking about,” she stammered, and now her feathers did more than twitch. They were shaking.

“I think I do,” he said, locking eyes with her through the reflection. “I think they sent us an addict, only they forgot to get you into rehab first. Why else would you be hiding it? Maybe that’s why you messed up today in the sim, you didn’t stop to get loaded up beforehand.”

“Shut up,” Samiha grumbled. “You know nothing about Balokarids or our ways, you do not get to speak to me like that.”

“I think Marek would be pretty interested to know about your… problem,” Cadell continued. “Or maybe I should tell your Kith’sla. Which would you prefer?”

“Go ahead,” she snapped, folding her arms. “Tell them both for all I care. You would only be wasting your breath reporting me.”

Samiha turned before he could get another word in, apparently done with their little exchange. Cadell watched her reflection storm away, a satisfied smile on his lips. Her reaction was too colourful for her statement to be true – there was something going on with her, and she had been horrified to know he’d found her out.

This could be it, this could be his chance of getting her out of the squad, maybe get him and his companions another shot by finding a better replacement. She looked all too similar to an addict in his eyes, and this was the perfect chance to ditch her. Assuming Samiha was bluffing, of course. When should he do it? Right after washing up, he supposed. No time like the present.

He washed his face and made for his locker, and as he pulled on his fatigues, he heard the sound of trickling water. At the opposite end of the showers, Samiha was stepping into a cubicle, in the middle of removing her fatigues as she closed the stall behind her.

She shrugged the fabric over her shoulders, the hem catching on her feathery head before she tugged it loose. For the first time, he saw a Balokarid without her clothes. Or at least, from the back, and only from the shoulders and up, as the door blocked the rest. Just like the rest of her, her body was covered in those crimson feathers, the stems shimmering as that hidden dust layer caught on the lights. Her shoulders were slim, her profile curvy as it smoothed out and then in as it approached her stomach. Despite her athletic profile, she was built appropriately to her size, her torso a little wider around than his shoulders, but her feminine figure was only accentuated by her sheer nine-foot frame. Her figure was humanoid, familiar, and as Cadell’s eyes wondered down her graceful backside and the gentle curve of her spine, he tried to imagine what she might look like without the door blocking the rest.

He shook his thoughts clear, pulling his eyes away. What was he doing? He and Samiha practically hated one another, and he could do a lot better than her.

Knowing that he shouldn’t linger before Samiha caught him peeping, he fixed up his sleeves and made for the door, keeping his eyes well away from her side of the room.

His next stop was the administration quarters. Samiha wasn’t just a danger to him and the team, but to herself. Giving a gun to someone who injected themselves with whatever was in those needles was a massive risk, but Cadell would be kidding himself if he said he wasn’t taking a small pleasure in getting rid of her. The sooner she was out, the sooner he could get back to winning Marek’s trust back.

It was time to end this feud.

-xXx-

The administration building was only accessible by elevator or staircase, its façade extruding from high up one of the sheer walls that flanked the torus. From the outside it resembled a tower, stretching maybe a third of the way up the wall, but this wasn’t its true size – the real office arrangement of the administration were tucked away deeper inside the hull.

Cadell stepped through its double doored entry, finding himself in a simple lobby area, furnished with potted plants and couches. The receptionist behind the desk smiled warmly as he made his way across the carpet.

“Evening… Private Cadell,” she greeted, taking a second to read his name badge. “What can I do for you?”

“Is Lieutenant Marek here?” Cadell asked, leaning his hands on the desk.

“He hasn’t stopped in since this morning. What do you want to see him for, if I may ask?”

“It’s about… one of the Balokarids,” Cadell said, picking his words carefully. He didn’t want to discuss Samiha’s problem with anyone he didn’t have to.

“Oh! In that case, Shaliyya is in. Kith’sla Shaliyya, that is. Still getting used to the titles. I can call her office and see if she’s free, if you’d like?”

“Thanks,” he said. He’d been hoping to have a one-on-one with the Lieutenant, but maybe speaking with another Balokarid would be better. She held as much sway over the program as he did, after all.

Cadell was prompted to wait, and he took a seat, touching one of the potted plants with his finger. It wasn’t real, to his disappointment, and neither was the leather he was sitting on if he had to wager a guess. Importing actual leather wouldn’t be a cheap Freedom, and neither would setting up a tannery on a space station.

The waiting stretched into the minutes, and Cadell started to shift in his seat. He’d been so adamant in turning Samiha in, but now that he had a moment to himself, Cadell felt a pang of guilt. As the eldest of five siblings, he knew the frustrations of being told on. It was hard enough to be on the receiving end, but it was better than stooping to the level of being a tattler.

It was a rule he’d lived by, up until now. He kept telling himself that this wasn’t childish, Samiha had a real problem, and she’d given him no other choice, but the comparison was hard to ignore. It was his job to pull his squad together, to solve any internal problems himself, and getting his superiors involved now would only give him a bad image, but what else could he do?

“She’ll see you now,” the receptionist said. “Take the lift up to level six. First door on your right.”

Cadell stood and called the elevator, the car arriving with an expectant ding. He was committed now, Cadell pushing his doubts to the back of his mind. As his mother would have said: You made your bed, now lie in it.

He stepped into the car and hit the panel, the motion of the car tugging at his feet as it started to ascend. Cadell arrived at the sixth floor, stepping out into a hallway with carpet flooring. The hall continued on a short ways to the sides, and on each wall were several marked doors.

He approached the one the receptionist had indicated, rapping on the wood with his knuckles. After a pause, it opened, and there stood Kith’sla Shaliyya, raising a hand in greeting. Like before, she wore a decorative chestpiece over her torso, while her long legs were covered in a white hem like that of a skirt or gown. She wasn’t wearing that flamboyant headdress this time around, but the beaded necklace around her throat, and the charm-laced belt around her wide hops, sold the tribalistic image he’d first associated with her.

“Private Cadell, greetings,” the Balokarid said. Her accent was flawless, as if she’d been speaking English all her life, which was nothing like Samiha’s or Kazlu’s dialects, where it was obvious that it was there second language. He wondered why that was. “Come in, come in.”

“Thanks,” he replied, ducking under her wing as she held the door open. Shalliya’s place was an executive office, complete with a coffee table and chairs for the guests, and a working desk at the very back, with the far wall made entirely of glass, yielding an impressive view of the torus from on high.

“Sorry about the sudden visit, Kith’sla,” he began. “Hope I’m not interruptin’ you or nothin’?”

“On the contrary, I have been meaning to check in with your team for a while now, but my calendar just won’t let me. Trying to organise a mass migration to the station is as convoluted as one would expect.”

“Your Clan is plannin’ on staying for the long haul?” he asked.

“Naturally,” Shaliyya replied, closing the door with a click. “With our colony gone, a trip back to the homeworld with our current resources is not feasable. We are organising small envoy parties using your faster ships to bring news to the other Clans, but our main task now is to cement relations with the Outer Reaches. Using squad eleven to lead by example, of course.”

“Of course,” Cadell agreed, resisting the urge to fiddle with his collar.

The towering Kith’sla strode across the office, Cadell following behind as she moved to the desk, which was upscaled to her size, as were the chairs behind and before it. Cadell felt like he’d been shrunken down when he had to climb into the seat like he was vaulting a wall, his feet dangling off the ground as he settled.

“Would you like a drink?” Shaliyya asked, moving over to a water dispenser in the back corner. She hummed to herself before he said anything, laughing with her beak closed, Cadell asking her what was funny.

“On Balokar, water is a luxury that is shared in the smallest quantities,” Shaliyya said, grabbing a glass and lifting it to the nozzle. “It was not as scarce on Dur’shala, but we still treated it as an acceptable form of currency.”

“You buy and sell with water?” he asked. “Is it worth a lot?”

“Considering we would die without it, very. We measure water in kals, and there’s about… twelve kals in this glass, and I can’t even guess how much is in this dispenser. If you went to any Balokarid market with that in your hand, you could buy enough food to last you a month, perhaps two.”

“And offerin’ me a cup is like handin’ me a bar of gold,” Cadell realised, Shaliyaa nodding as she passed him the cup.

“Not only that, but to share one’s water with another has significant connotations. Sharing water is a sign of trust and friendship between parties, and it can even lead to deeper connections such as…” Shailyya stopped herself, raising her own glass to her beak. Her snout was just thin enough that she could dip her beak through the rim and sip. “Oh, but never mind, it is just a Balokarid tradition, and I don’t think you came all the way to my office to discuss the significance of water, did you?”

“Afraid not,” Cadell replied. “I wanted to talk to you about one of your people. Samiha.”

“She’s your people as well, Private Cadell,” she reminded, taking her place on her side of the desk. “As I’ve said before, have agreed to relinquish responsibility of my Clanspeople for the duration of the program. But, go on,” she prompted, linking her giant hands together. “There’s no issues between you, is there?”

“We’ve… butted heads a few times,” he admitted. “But that’s not why I’m here.”

And then he told her about what he’d seen, about the needle Samiha had jabbed herself with, about her poor disposition towards him, and how the two were likely linked. He thought getting it all out would be a liberating feeling, but instead he just felt cold shame. Soldiers were supposed to handle matters professionally, but this just felt childish. Why hadn’t he just asked Kazlu for advice first? Why hadn’t he shared his concerns with Hunter, or August? He should have done things differently…

Cadell kept most of the details brief, swallowing down his doubts. It took less than thirty seconds, and he ended it with a humble request for Samiha’s immediate replacement.

Shaliyya didn’t say a word throughout the whole thing. It was only when he mentioned the bag that Samiha had hidden in her pocket that she gave a reaction. Cadell expected her to be outraged, or even embarrassed, that one of her handpicked people was smuggling contraband into the quadrant. Instead, the Balokarid merely muttered under her breath, leaving him waiting for a long time before she finally deigned to reply.

“You said she was concealing a small bag,” Shaliyya said, her tone like that of a detective summarising an alibi. “Did it look like this?”

One of her hands dipped towards her desk, a drawer sliding out. Cadell stared at what she held in her hand for a long time, those doubts he’d had about coming here coming on stronger than ever.

“Yes,” he said, startled. “Exactly like that.”

“I gave her strict orders,” Shaliyya mumbled, reaching for her belt. She pulled out a small, metal device shaped like a disc with a button at the top. She pressed it, then set the gadget aside.

“Kith’sla, what’s going on here?” Cadell demanded. “Why do you have one of those bags? What’s in them?”

“I know you’re confused, Private, and I’ll explain everything. I’ve just paged Samiha. Once she gets here, the three of us will discuss what exactly you saw, and what it means going forward.”

Almost ten minutes later, there was a muffled ding from the elevator out in the hallway, and after a moment, a familiar Balokarid stepped into the office without knocking. Samiha took one look at Cadell and her feathers stood to their full lengths, not unlike how the fur on an angry cat puffs up.

“What are you doing here?” she demanded. She took one look at her Kith’sla, and knew instantly. “You… You told on me? Seriously?”

“You didn’t give me much choice,” Cadell shot back. “I gave you chance after chance, but you just kept pushin’ and never saw reason.”

“You see what I have to deal with, Kith’sla?” Samiha said, crossing the room on her long legs. “This child cannot deal with problems on his own, so he comes to you behind my back.”

“You said you didn’t care if I told her, remember?” he asked, climbing out of his chair as Samiha approached the desk. If things got heated, he wanted to be on his feet when they did. “Our team is paying the price because of your problem. Someone had to report you.”

“Please,” Samiha scoffed. “Like you care at all about the others. Preserving your own image, that’s the only reason you’re doing this.”

“At least I have an image to preserve,” he said. “Addict.”

“Shi’ahk,” she spat. “You do not even-”

“Enough!” Shaliyya shouted, her booming voice so loud Cadell almost felt it in his chest. “Both of you need to calm yourselves. I’m not the only one on this floor, do you want every ranking official to hear you?”

Cadell didn’t think Shaliyya was capable of such rage, and he felt compelled to keep his mouth shut. Samiha seemed equally afflicted, the two of them standing like children before an outraged parent.

“You’re supposed to be working together,” Shaliyya sighed. “but I see you’ve both been at odds for some time now. Perhaps the Senator was right, and integrating our forces will be harder than I imagined. Sit, both of you.”

Samiha begrudgingly pulled up a chair, taking a seat to his immediate right as Cadell followed suit.

“I was hoping to have this conversation in a much less strenuous environment,” Shaliyya continued. “but it seems I was in error to delay it so. Show him, Samiha.”

Cadell looked on in confusion, as Samiha rolled her eyes, then reached into her pocket. She produced the small pouch that was eerily similar to the one in Shaliyya’s possession.

“Balokarids carry their necessities on their person at all times,” Shaliyya explained. “As you can see, I have a pouch of my own as well. Certain plants grow on the homeworld release spores that contain psychoactive chemicals, and when these are breathed in or ingested, they increase the heart rate and blood pressure of the host. The spike in adrenaline helps us to stay focused and alert for longer time periods.”

“So… they are drugs,” Cadell said. “And you’re both carryin’ them around.”

“They play a critical role in our lives, just as eating and drinking are to you,” Shaliyya continued. “Our people have been exposed to these reagents for countless generations, and regular ingestion is crucial to maintaining peak mental conditioning. From what I know of human culture, your people frown upon the use of herbs and powders in this matter, you give people who use or need them negative connotations, like when you called Samiha an ‘addict’ just now. I would ask that you do not compare her or I to such standards. We are not humans, and we would never judge you as we would a Balokarid. At least, I hope we are not,” she added, giving Samiha a pointed look. “Understand that our livelihoods rely on access to our reagents, and the symptoms of withdrawal range from mild fevers to potential organ failure.”

Cadell rubbed his temple, leaning back in his chair. He’d come here to get id of Samiha, but this was all blowing up in his face. No wonder Samiha had called him ignorant, maybe she’d had a point after all.

“I… I’m so sorry,” he said, face flushed in embarrassment. “I had no idea.”

“That is not your fault, but ours,” Shaliyya said. “I had assumed reagents were a commonality among our species, but it seems humans view such things in a far less pleasant light. This complicates our situation. I will have to speak to the Senator about this.”

“What do you mean, ours?” Samiha interrupted. “What did I do?”

“You used a combative stimulant when I explicitly told you not to,” Shaliyya snapped. “You and Kazlu are in training, you should not need their help when you’r systems away from the front lines and firing at practice targets.”

“You should try serving under an alien hatchling like him,” Samiha muttered. “I doubt you would resist the temptation for much longer.”

“It’s not easy working with an ass like you, either,” Cadell replied.

“You two are both acting like hatchlings,” Shaliyya butted in before they could start arguing again. “Do either of you realise what you’re jeopardising right now? There is more at play here than a simple training program. How is the Alliance meant to function if two of our most regarded people can’t get along even in a controlled environment? How this program ends will affect this war for years to come.”

Samiha rubbed her shoulder, glancing his way for a moment.

“This quandary between you stops now,” Shaliyaa said. “Whether the reagents were your only subject of contention or not, I don’t care. You’re both going to set your emotions aside and focus on the bigger picture. The question is, how are you two going to do that?”

It took Cadell a second to realise the question wasn’t rhetorical, she was waiting for an answer. Samiha wasn’t speaking up. Cadell would have been just as silent, but then he had an idea.

“Well, we’ve been cooped up in the quadrant ever since we arrived,” Cadell began. “Maybe some time out on the torus would be nice, give us a breath of fresh air, even though it’s all from the same purifier.”

“A good suggestion,” Shaliyya replied. “I’ll grant you some time off. Samiha can go with you.”

It took two seconds for Cadell to register that last bit, and he recoiled in shock. Samiha looked as if she’d just been slapped.

“But-” Cadell said.

“Wait-” Samiha said.

“This isn’t a request,” Shaliyya said, cutting them off. “You’ve involved me in this fight between you, and now I’m going to settle it. You will both go out onto the torus, and only return when you’ve reached some level of understanding.”

“What about our duties to the program?” Samiha asked.

“I’ll clear your schedules with the Lieutenant,” Shaliyya replied. “This will be a time for healing for you both, and you won’t have to worry about distractions.”

Samiha clicked her beak in anger, combing her crest with her hand. Cadell wasn’t any happier than Samiha was, but if it meant getting out of the base even for a short while, he could live with having her tag along.

“When do we go?” he sighed.

“You can leave right away. I’ll send word to the gate and tell them you’re expected. Unless you have any more protests, I suggest you both see yourselves out.”

Cadell rose to his feet, Samiha doing the same, the two of them leaving under the reproachful gaze of the Kith’sla. He’d come up here with the intent of giving Samiha the boot, and instead he’d landed himself a whole evening of alone time with her. The irony was so heavy he could barely stand its weight.

He called the lift, Samiha tapping her foot impatiently as she waited beside him. She was just able to fit in the cart if she hunched over in a sort of half-crouch, Cadell hugging the side of the lift to make room as she squeezed inside.

Cadell pressed the ground floor button, the doors sliding shut. The tension in the air of the lift was only matched by the awkwardness of sharing the confined space with the alien, and it felt like the cart was moving at a snail’s pace. It soon became too much for Cadell, and he decided to break the quiet.

“Listen, I, uh, I’m sorry about that whole thing,” he said, stammering as he tried to make the words come out right. “I didn’t know those things were like meds to you. That’s no excuse and I’m not saying it is, but I was just so… fed up with you that I couldn’t help but think the worst.”

Samiha only looked at him, and for a long while he thought she would stay that way. Then she sighed, the headress that was her equivalent of hair drooping.

“I am sorry too,” she said. “I have given you no other reason to think other than the wose. The Kith’sla always tells us not to judge humans to the same standards as ours, but that is exactly what I have been doing. A reprimand was the least I deserved.”

“I never wanted things to get this far,” Cadell continued. “Fightin’ in front of the others, involvin’ your Clan leader. I admit I was tryin’ to get you in trouble by reportin’ you – and that’s childish of me I know – but I was also worried that you might have a problem.”

“Is the use of stimulants really so frowned upon?” Samiha asked. “Shouldn’t every advantage be used if it means bettering one’s performance?

“Our bodies aren’t as tolerant of drugs as yours seem to be,” Cadell explained. “People who end up getting hooked develop a lot of health problems in the long run. Diseases, mental disorders, things like that.”

“We were both being ignorant of each other’s customs,” Samiha sighed. “We do not make a very good example of a mixed species unit, do we?”

“Not in the slightest,” Cadell agreed with a chuckle.

They arrived back in the lobby, the receptionist raising her brow as she watched the two of them cross the room and emerge back onto the torus.

“So what now?” Cadell asked.

“What do you think? We follow the Kith’sla’s commands, and visit the rest of the station. While we can,” she added bitterly. “Who knows if our punishment will landslide into something much more severe.”

“You think she’ll find someone to replace us?”

“That’s what I’d do.”

“Then let’s make the most of it,” Cadell said, trying to frame it in a new light. “I’ve been itchin’ to do some explorin’ anyway. Let’s go.”

-xXx-

They followed the tight footpaths of the quadrant upspin, weaving between the facilities, hearing the occasional shouting officer and the grunting of tens of exercising troopers as they passed the training grounds. The divider wall that capped this side of the quadrant slowly drew closer into detail as they walked up the torus, until Cadell and Samiha were stood before the entry gate.

The foot traffic was minimal, a couple of soldiers and engineers stopping to check their ID’s with the armed guards. They were waved over by a man in combat armour, Cadell unsure if it was the same one that had greeted his group on their first day. The guard carried a tablet computer in one hand, while the other rested on the sling of his coilgun.

“Afternoon,” he greeted, glancing up cautiously at Samiha. He mustn’t have interacted with Balokarids much, if at all. “Gonna need your names and serial numbers, please.”

They gave them over, and the guard scrolled down his tablet. “Alright let’s see… Ah-ha, here you are. You’re both cleared to leave. Just remember that the next check-in is at midnight, so call your commanding officer or be back here before then. Have a good night.”

“Thanks,” Cadell said, and they passed through the checkpoint and into the torus proper. He’d glimpsed this part of the station on his first arrival, but without any officers to watch over him, or any duties to attend to, he had a moment to take it all in. The path from the gate forked into two streets, and these ran up most of the station’s band uninterrupted as his eyes tracked them up the sloping horizon, the walkways separated down the middle by a column of continuous structures. Unlike the congested pathways of the quadrant, these lanes served as unbroken highways for pedestrians to walk all the way around the ring.

Kilometres of the ringworld were now open to him, and he wasn’t sure where to start. A nearby tapping of the foot reminded him that he had company in this detour, the Balokarid looking just as stumped as she glanced up and down the torus.

“Where should we head off?” he asked. “It’s about midday, so we’ve got twelve hours before we have to be back here.”

“Why are you asking me? Your kind built this place, I have no idea where anything is.”

“This is going to be a long twelve hours,” Cadell muttered. “Maybe I should ask one of the guards if they have a map.”

Samiha raised a hand, stopping him.

“Wait,” she said, looking off into the distance. “There is a food market over there. Perhaps that will be a good place to start.”

“Where?” he asked, following her gaze. All he could see were bright lights beaming out of the curving residential blocks. “I don’t see no market.”

Samiha held out a nail, and raised her finger just slightly above the horizon, directing his attention upspin towards a collection of red and yellow lights, so small he could cover them with his thumb.

“How in the world can you tell that’s a food market?” Cadell asked, raising a brow at her.

“Our vision is far superior to yours,” she said, which made sense considered her eyes were nearly twice the size of his. “With the right reagents, even our starfighter pilots can see most of their targets by eye.”

“Could have used you when I lost my keys that one time,” Cadell replied. “I’m down for a bite if you are.”

“Yes, let us get this over with,” Samiha said, his begrudging companion loping along after him.

Cadell swung them onto one of the main streets, the walls of the quadrant fading away behind them. The walkway carried them into great throngs of people, what few other military personnel there were slowly being outnumbered in a sea of civilians, clogging the path until Cadell couldn’t even see the ground ahead of him.

Cadell had never seen so many people in one place before. Even during the colony meetings on Manildra, where most of the populace gathered in and around the town hall to discuss important events, that didn’t even come close to comparing the sheer number people clogging the torus. He remembered reading somewhere that the population of the Hub was in the hundreds of thousands.

People gawked at his passing, but not because of Cadell. People hurrying about were suddenly afflicted with the urge to stop as Samiha strode along by his side, the crowds parting before her like a tide. There reactions ranged from cautious to frightened, Cadell spotting one mother scooping up her child as she gathered quite the crowd of onlookers.

“Don’t mind them,” Cadell said, trying to offer Samiha some support. “Civvies will get used to seeing aliens walking around soon enough.”

He thought she’d drive up some complaint about them, but instead she said: “We were much the same, when the first humans came aboard our ships. The entire maintenance crew dropped everything they were doing to come look.”

“You were an engineer?” Cadell asked.

“Of a sort. On Dur’shala I was tasked with keeping the equipment running, and when we were exiled, they put me in charge of assembling and maintaining ship parts for the carriers. The two translated well enough.”

“No wonder you put that coilgun back together so quickly,” he noted.

“Compared to repairing a chemical fuel cell, a ballistic rifle is a couple hundred steps easier.”

He wanted to press her further, this was the first time he actually knew something about her, but the more upspin they went, the more voices began to drown out and blur all the conversations, making it hard to communicate without shouting.

As they approached the place Samiha had pointed out, the smell of cooking meat rose to his nose, neon signs from the upper floors of the surrounding buildings bathing him in bright and colourful lights depicting exotic foods. There was an archway leading between the buildings, and through it lay a bustling food court, tucked into a wide nook that hugged the left hand side of the torus, the space packed with couple hundred tables and just as many people milling about the area, making the space look more confined than it was. It was mostly food stalls and fast-food places packing the three walls of the court, and there were alleys in the corners leading into deeper levels, but there were stairways leading to second and third levels, Cadell spotting restaurants and other places where one could dine in.

It was a lot to take in, the pair standing near the arch as they watched the people eat everything from snacks to roasted feasts. After a moment, something caught Cadell’s eye.

“Let’s check out that steakhouse up there,” Cadell said, pointing up at the upper level, knowing by now he should just take the lead.

“Orders are orders…” he heard Samiha mutter.

They made their way towards the stairs, moving through the crowds made simple thanks to Samiha’s ability to part them. Eventually they made their way before his chosen place to eat, Cadell peeking in through the window. The restaurant inside was thankfully open-planned, so Samiha shouldn’t have too much trouble navigating the dining space.

There weren’t too many other customers, but enough to give the place a welcoming atmosphere, and the low murmur of chatter was much better than the chaos outside, Samiha ducking in after him as he pulled the doors open. A waiter passed them by carrying a plate of ribs, Cadell noticing Samiha’s eyes zeroing in on the food.

“Good evening!” a jovial voice announced. There was a counter on the immediate right, and a man dressed in a smart uniform with a plump belly was stood behind it. “Welcome to- woah Nelly.”

The greeter’s jaw slacked when he had to visibly crane his neck to look Samiha up and down. She offered a thin smile in greeting.

“Y-You’re a… one of those Balokarids, right?” the greeter asked. “Oh, of course you are, why did I even ask that? Forget I said anything. Had no idea there were any of you on the station.”

“There are not, aside from me and a handful of others,” Samiha explained. “We were only recently cleared to visit the Hub. My name is Samiha.”

“Well then, allow me to welcome you to the best steakhouse on the station, miss Samiha. I’m Jim, the owner, and I’m guessing you don’t have a reservation?”

At least this one seemed happy enough to meet an alien, and wasn’t staring too much. Cadell guessed he had to be good with people if he wanted happy customers.

“No, we don’t,” Cadell answered. “Just a table for me and this… amenable companion of mine.

“Of course,” Jim replied. Cadell noted his accent was familiar to Hunter’s, maybe British if he had to guess. People from all over the Reaches ended up on the Hub, it seemed. “Actually, not of course. There may be a spot of trouble getting a seat for you, ma’am, but I’ll do my best anything for the boys and girls in blue.”

He must recognise their Alliance uniforms, Jim waving them on as he made his way out onto the dining room. There was a vacant booth in the far corner, Cadell taking a seat on one side. Samiha sized up her side of the table, and was about to open her beak to say something, when Jim came back lugging a small red cushion with wooden legs only a few inches high. Cadell thought the word for them was Ottoman.

“This is the best I have on hand, ma’am,” Jim informed, setting the Ottoman down and wiping his brow. “Hope it’s to your satisfaction.”

“It will do.”

Samiha, undeterred, turned and planted her butt on the footstool, cocking her head as Cadell held back a snicker at the strange sight.

The owner laid out some laminated menus before them, taking a notepad from his pocket. Cadell had expected a tablet, everything he’d seen so far was digitised, but it seemed Jim preferred a traditional approach to dining. “Either of you like something to drink?” he asked. “Wines and cocktails are on the other side.”

“I’ll just take a beer,” Cadell said. “Anythin’ that’s half-strength.”

“Yes, of course. And for you, ma’am?”

“I…” Samiha squinted her eyes and lifted the menu to her beak, eyes flicking from left to right. “What is this… soda… water?”

“It’s like water but all fizzed up,” Cadell explained. “Full of bubbles and carbs and stuff like that.”

“I did not know water had alternatives,” Samiha muttered. “I will try one of those, then.”

“Coming right up,” Jim said, heading off toward the kitchen. His eyes met Samiha’s for a short instant, Cadell clearing his throat as he glanced away.

For the first time since setting off from the quadrant, Cadell and Samiha were really alone together. The crowds of people, the noises of civilisation, and the simple act of walking had kept them occupied, but now they were sectioned off from the torus with nothing else to focus on but each other. Cadell almost hoped the owner would hurry up and come back. From her expression he imagined Samiha’s train of thought was similar.

“So then, you can read our language?” Cadell began, gesturing at her menu, groping for something, anything to talk about.

“Yes. Having a passable understanding of human script is required for any of us wanting to come aboard the Hub.”

“How long did it take to learn it?”

“Longer than it should have. Your rules for literature are very confusing,” she added. “Some of your words are so long, but many of your characters are silent, except for when seemingly random exceptions apply. It is inefficient, and rules are arbitrary. Speaking it was far easier, as your vocal range is far more limited than ours.”

“I noticed you and Kazlu are downright fluent,” Cadell replied. “Shaliyya especially, she talks like she’s been speaking English all her life, but I notice that when you speak, there’s this kind of… echoey quality to it, like you’re speaking through a vocaliser or somethin’.”

“The Kith’sla learned your language through untraditional means,” she explained. “In the preluding time before the Folium Nebula conflict, she was one of the few Balokarids to have a prototype translator installed into her brain.” She mimed the side of her head, where the neck and jaw meet. “It allowed fluent communication between her and the Hub Clan humans, but it was later discovered that it came at a significant cost to her long-term health.”

“Did her body reject it? I heard that happens to some people who get cybernetics for the first time.”

“Yes, and because of the haste of your scientists, it cannot be removed without risking permanent brain damage. She and the other Balokarids who got the implant have visibly aged since then, and I wouldn’t be surprised if their feathers start falling out soon.”

Cadell tried to remember if he’d seen any visible sign that Shaliyya had been sick, but couldn’t. She must be tougher than she looked, either that or she hid it well. “I guess it’s a good thing you and Kazlu did it the hard way,” Cadell noted, trying to view it in a different light.

Samiha gave him an unenthusiastic look, but his attention was quickly diverted when Jim came back with their drinks, Cadell taking a quick swig of his beer that was probably a little too eager to be considered polite. Jim also set down a plate of bread between them, explaining that it was compliments from the kitchen. Cadell made to say it wasn’t necessary, but Jim wasn’t having any of it.

“Consider it a treat for our first non-human customer,” Jim replied, more good-natured than he’d given him credit for. “Now, are we all ready to order?”

“I’ll have the porterhouse,” Cadell said, reading it off the special section. It was pricey, but like Samiha had said, better to live it up while they had the chance. Once more she took her time narrowing her eyes against the menu, her beak opening and closing as she muttered the words under her breath.

“I have no idea what any of this is,” she eventually said. “What is a T-bone?”

“It’s beef,” Cadell said, then quickly added: “Meat that comes from an Earth animal. Says it’s served with beer-battered potato chips.”

“And salad, if you’re feeling green,” Jim added.

“How big is the portion?”

Jim mimed with his hands, Samiha snapping her beak in shock. “That’s it? Do you not have anything bigger?”

“She’s got an appetite,” Cadell explained, Samiha shooting him a frown. “You should see her in the mess. Eats for three sometimes.”

“That is because your small, mammal bodies do not require as much calories as we do,” Samiha snapped.

“In that case, how about the two-for-one deal?” Jim suggested. “I’ll tell the cooks to put it on the one plate for you.”

“That will do,” Samiha confirmed. Jim wrote down their order and made for the kitchen once more. With nothing else to occupy herself, Samiha reached for her drink, flicking the cap off with her thumb. She opened her beak, Cadell getting a look at the dark gums that made up the inlining. Teeth the size of his thumb were arrayed down the sides, shaped like white triangles. Between them sat a pointed tongue, as black as her gums, and she extended out its tip, upending the lip of her drink onto it.

She drank a small mouthful, swirling it in her mouth before swallowing.

“Good?” he asked.

“The flavour is… unusual,” she replied, which wasn’t exactly a yes or no. She took another swig, bigger this time, downing nearly half the bottle, Cadell lifting an amused brow as he watched. A visible lump travelled down her neck as she swallowed, then after a few moments, her eyes lit up, but not because of the taste.

She placed the bottle back on the table, then held her hand to her chest, as if she was expecting to hiccup. Instead, the alien lurched forward as she burped, the alien clutching the tip of her beak shut, a look of horror on her face as though she’d just committed some terrible crime.

Cadell chuckled despite the foul smell in the air, waving a hand to dispel it as Samiha stared accusingly at the bottle. “I did say it was full of bubbles,” he said.

“Indeed you did,” she replied, letting slip a rare grin. She was always so stoic, he didn’t think she was physically able to emote so much, and her belch went some way to diffusing the tension. Maybe there was a person under all that brawn after all.

“What are these things?” Samiha prompted, gesturing to the complimentary bread.

“That’s garlic bread. Hope I don’t have to explain what’s in it.”

“This better not make me gaseous.”

“It won’t, promise. Try some, it’s always good no matter who makes it.”

She lifted a piece, taking a crunchy bite. He noted that she didn’t chew with her mouth closed – couldn’t in fact due to the way her beak worked – and she only gave it a few chews before swallowing whole pieces that any human would have to chomp into bits first.

Cadell took his own slice, tasting the tinge of garlic on his tongue. The bread had just the right amount of crunch, and he ate eagerly. He grinned when Samiha failed to mask her own look of approval, reaching for her second piece already. He supposed these breads were bite sizes to someone of her size.

“This garlic has a strong aftertaste,” Samiha noted between swallows. “Reminds me of boiled Cashi. I like it.”

“Told you,” Cadell replied. “Should have asked before we came here, but what’s Balokarid cuisine like? You guys big meat-eaters?”

“We are omnivores,” she said. “but we do not east as much meats as humans seem to favour. We treat them as more of a side. Seeing a whole establishment entirely devoted to animal cuts is…” She glanced around the restaurant. “Unusual. Our palates are more focused on plants, root vegetables, using seasonings from the homeworld to create flavours.”

“Makes sense, considering how much you like your… reagents,” he said, trying to phrase it in a way that wouldn’t offend. “Could be interestin’ to try some alien dishes at some point. Maybe one day we’ll see Balokarid restaurants on the Hub.”

“I thought you disapproved of our herbs and reagents?” Samiha asked, taking a cautious sip of her soda water.

“Just trying to keep an open mind. And it’s only logical, right? Don’t think your whole Clan wants to sit up on those carriers forever. Plus I heard rumours that the Senator’s are thinkin’ of making permanent residences for aliens.”

“A Balokarid household, on a station full of humans,” Samiha mused. “I think I prefer the spaces on our carriers. There is no gravity, but at least I can float through a doorway without bumping my head.”

“I can hear a lot of distaste in your voice,” Cadell noted. “Every time you say humans, you always start grittin’ your teeth, and I still don’t know why that is.”

“Why?” Samiha asked, again in that bitter tone of voice. “I will tell you why. When my parents left the homeworld to make Dur’shala our home, it was humans who drove us out. We fled into space, and still we were hunted down by humans. And when I lost, when we lost so many clanspeople…” Her eyes trailed to the floor, then returned to his. “We were dragged into a slaughter, again, by humans, and now we are all forced to feel indebted to you, and work alongside you with no hard feelings.”

“We weren’t the ones who destroyed your colony,” Cadell explained. “That was the Confederacy, the Alliance are the ones tryin’ to break their hold on the Reaches.”

“Confederate, Alliance, it is all the same to me,” Samiha replied, folding her arms over her chest. “You are two waring, alien Clans that are all too willing to bring others into your conflict. I will not deny that without the Hub’s support, all would have been lost, and I am grateful for that, but ever since our people have met yours, war and death have followed us every step of the way. You asked why I hate your kind, but I doubt you world feel any different, if you had been on the receiving end of a Balokarid invasion.”

Cadell leaned back on the cushion, staring at the drink in his hands. No wonder she’d been so hostile since day one – in her mind, humans were the source of all her woes. And now having to work alongside three aliens must have been frustrating and confusing for her.

His antagonising of her had done nothing but cement that hatred, and translate it to him directly. No wonder she’d resented his authority.

“I’m sorry about what happened,” he began. Samiha looked disinterested, but he pushed on. “But you’re wrong when you say that we’re all just the same to you. I… know that I haven’t exactly been helpin’ that image along,” he stammered. “but look at it this way. Dur’shala’s not the first planet the UEC have taken over by force. You’ve been at war with them for, what, a couple years? The Outer Reaches have been stuck under their thumb for decades. The Sector 38 massacre was the biggest loss of human life in the past two hundred years, and it’s only thanks to the Hub’s resources that we haven’t seen anything like that since. Your Clan can count on that protection being extended to Balokar now. The Alliance is trying to make a difference, for both your race and mine. Shaliyya can see that, so why can’t you?”

Samiha shot him a thoughtful glance, taking another swig of her drink before replying.

“I… had not considered your history with the UEC,” she eventually conceded. “Your planets are far closer to theirs than Dur’shala was, you probably experience raids from them frequently.”

“It’s not as often as you might think,” Cadell said. “Travellin’ through space takes a long time, even with the fastest ships on hand. It takes months or years to get an army from one system to another, and a lot can change in that time. That’s why the Folium Nebula was the first real ship-to-ship battle since the war began, the fact all those fleets converged with no intel was really just by extreme chance.”

“Still, both of our people have suffered at the hands of the UEC,” Samiha said. “I will try to keep that in mind from now on.”

“I get where you’re comin’ from,” he said. “I wouldn’t be too happy with me either if I was in your place, expected to just drop everything and get along with an alien.”

“A pragmatic outlook,” Samiha mused. “Perhaps there’s a shred of a Kith’sla in you after all.”

Cadell felt like they’d reached a level of understanding, however brief it might be. They were both at fault for how things had ended up, if only they’d realised this before putting the program in jeopardy.

Soon Jim returned with their meals, setting their dishes down on the table. The portions were generous, the slabs of beef inches thick, the scent of grilled meat making Cadell’s mouth water.

Samiha’s meal had been put on a silver platter to compensate for its size Jim placing it gingerly before her. There was enough on her plate to feed a small group, a great pile of battered fries surrounding her two cuts of beef, sided with a pile of steaming vegetables.

“Give me a call if you need anything else,” Jim said, retreating off to tend to another table. Samiha scrutinised her meal with her orange eyes, lifting one of the steaks with her nail.

“Why is it so brown?” she asked. “Do they have an incinerator back there?”

“That’s only medium rare,” Cadell said, slicing into his steak with a knife and fork. “Don’t Balokarids cook their meat?”

“Not for nearly this long,” she replied. “Most of the blood and colour is gone, and that is where the flavour comes from. Does the owner not know that?”

From her tone he guessed Balokarids liked their meat rare, if not raw. He’d have to keep that in mind.

“I doubt they didn’t season it with something,” he said. “Just give it a try.”

She sighed reluctantly, but she did pick up her cutlery, holding them in a pair of unsure fists, Cadell chuckling as he showed her how to use them. Samiha silently rubbed the back of her neck as he demonstrated, and although he had a few teasing remarks on hand, he kept them to himself.

Once she understood, she sliced off a piece of meat, popping it into her beak. She chewed only twice, then swallowed, clicking her mouth together like a wine connoisseur savouring a taste.

“How is it?” he asked.

She cut off another mouthful and wolfed it down quickly, Cadell smiling at her from across the table.

“See? Never judge a book by its cover, Samiha.”

“What fool even created that expression?” Samiha asked between bites. “Books are literally wrapped in their covers; it is impossible not to see it when reading a book, a cover’s purpose is to be judged.”

“It’s not meant to be taken that literally, Samiha,” he explained. “It’s a figure of speech, about how looks can be deceivin’.”

“Noted. My parents always did say I had a poor imagination,” she muttered, scooping up some of her fries, carefully eyeing the visible seasoning before taking a crunchy bite.

“Are your mum and dad up in your fleet?” Cadell asked.

“They passed away long before Dur’shala’s invasion,” she bluntly replied.

“Oh, I’m sorry,” Cadell said, clearing his throat.

“Don’t be. They went peaceably enough, which is more than can be said for the rest of the Clan.”

“You have any other family?”

“How is your meal?” Samiha asked, dodging the question. “It is called ‘porterhouse’, yes? Why is that?”

“It’s good, and as for the name, I don’t rightly know. I’ll trade you if you want to try some.

Samiha did, and despite her initial scepticism, she seemed to be enjoying the food. Of the few times she had sat alongside the rest of the squad in the quadrant’s mess hall, she had said little and eaten less, but now the two of them were making small but companionable chit-chat, and over some of the tastiest prime meat Cadell ever had.

When Jim returned, there was nothing but crumbs on their plates. He gave both of them a glance before speaking, maybe picking up on the eased tension between the two of them.

“How was everything?” he asked. “I see you cleaned up pretty well, ma’am. That’s a good sign.”

“I enjoyed it,” Samiha replied. “Especially the steamed vegetables. Very well seasoned.”

“I’ll pass that along to the chefs,” Jim replied, beaming. “They were rather nervous when I told them we had a special guest, but it seems we passed the extraterrestrial test.”

“Hope we didn’t cause a ruckus back there or nothin’,” Cadell muttered.

“Hey, don’t fret over it. Things have been pretty quiet round here lately, we could do with the excitement.”

“If you want, I can inform my Kith’sla that my people should visit this place if they ever pass by,” Samiha said.

“Ma’am, you are too kind,” Jim replied. “If that happens, I’ll have to start setting up Balokarid-sized furniture. Can’t have all of you using footstools as chairs. Either of you want a look at the dessert menu?”

When Samiha glanced at Cadell, she shook her head. “Think we’re good for now,” Cadell said. “We’ll just take the check.”

Jim nodded, fetching a scanner while Cadell took out his wallet, Samiha watching on curiously. As Jim presented the scanner, Samiha made a hold-on gesture.

“Wait. You did not ask which of us will pay for this meal,” she said.

“Call me a traditionalist,” Jim replied. “But when a couple dines in, it’s the man who foots the bill.”

Samiha’s feathers ruffled, her beak opening as she gawked. Cadell’s reaction was much the same, the two exchanging a wild glance as they spoke over each other.

“W-We’re not a couple,” she stammered.

“Not by a long shot,” Cadell added.

“I meant a couple, as in, two people. Didn’t mean to insinuate anything by it,” Jim added, but his supressed grin was reason enough to doubt his authenticity.

The hit to Cadell’s bank account wasn’t small, but that wasn’t surprising. Shipping real beef out to the station wouldn’t be a cheap Freedom, but it wasn’t like Cadell was financially strapped in the first place now that he was Alliance property.

With everything paid for, Jim bid them farewell and told them to come again, even offering Samiha a small bow on their way out. He was glad to see some people had positive reactions to meeting aliens. Most just stared, and some of the civilians on the torus had even looked at her in fear, but they were lucky enough to have found a restaurant owned by someone so welcoming. If only Cadell had acted that way when he’d met Samiha, maybe things wouldn’t have become so heated.

“What was that whole ritual just now?” Samiha asked as they left through the front door, the ambience of the torus easing into the foreground. “I assume you paid for the food, but I did not see any money.”

“That’s cause it’s all digitised,” Cadell explained. “My money’s all stored in a computer somewhere on the station. My card has a little chip that acts like an identifier. When Jim scanned it, it sent a signal to say who to send the money to and how much, and it happens all automatically.”

“May I see it?”

He handed over his card, Samiha studying the little chip as it reflected the light off a nearby street post. “Most people just use their phones nowadays,” Cadell added. “but I’ve always used my card. How about you? Your people trade in water, right? Still can’t believe that’s your currency.”

“You are one to talk,” Samiha chided. “I have read that your people place an arbitrary value on gold, but you cannot drink gold, it cannot sustain you, so where is its true worth really?”

“Touche,” Cadell said. “So do you only trade with water?”

“We have subsidiary tokens that are far easier to carry than drums of water. Here.” She fished into her belt and produced a little orange gemstone, dropping it in his hand. He turned it over, feeling its surprisingly heavy weight, rubbing his thumb over a strange symbol carved onto one face of it. “That symbol conveys its weight,” she explained. “Most tokens are stamped so that people don’t have to waste time measuring and converting its worth. This one is worth about one palmful of water.”

“What’s it made of?” Cadell asked, turning it over.

“I believe you call it copper, a primary component in electrical gear, so its worth is effectively doubled.”

He made to hand it back, but Samiha shook her head.

“You keep that. I know I had more than one palm’s worth of food, but until I have human money, that is all I can offer.”

Cadell shrugged, pocketing the nugget away. Maybe he could buy a drink from a Balokarid vendor if they ever came across one.

They retraced their way back out of the food court, finding themselves on the main torus once more. She asked him if it was time to return to the military quadrant, Cadell checking the clock on his phone.

“We still got a good couple hours to kill before we have to report back,” he told her.

“What shall we do?”

“Don’t know, I’m as lost as you are. Let’s wander around, maybe we’ll find something interestin’.”

They turned left from the court, the military quadrant far to their backs as they journeyed upspin. It didn’t take very long for them to find something of note, the building shapes and their colourful signage becoming more elaborate as they entered what must be the entertainment section of the station. There were shop windows all along the flanks of the street, like two endless markets forming on either side of the aisle, their facades draped in fake but refreshing decals in the form of bricks and wood panelling.

There was even a giant shopping mall along the lefthand side of the torus, three storeys of commercial highlights bulging out from the metallic cliff, most of it visible through giant glass panes. Samiha was mostly quiet during their explorations, but even the reserved alien couldn’t keep her curiosity in check as she walked through the bustling alien society, always stopping to examine every little attraction. Even Cadell was impressed, the sheer amount of shops and trading goods was unheard of back on his colony world, which was a backwater in comparison.

“So many different wares being peddled,” Samiha murmured as they walked from one distraction to another. “So much human money must pass through this station.”

“It is the biggest trading hub in human space,” Cadell explained. “Hence the name. Got the advantage of bein’ right in between the Inner and Outer Reaches, so sorts of goods from both sides wind up here.”

“How can it be centralised in space?” Samiha asked. “You can’t put lines of territory in four dimensions.”

“The Reaches are more like giant sphere’s of influence,” Cadell explained. “They’re not completely even, but they kinda form a giant number eight. Like this.” He demonstrated with his hands, looping his thumbs and fingers and putting them together. “The two spheres make this sort of squashed bean look, and the Hub is right where the spheres meet – it’s actually a little skewered towards the Outer Reaches – but it’s close enough to be centre. Fastest way to get from Reach to Reach is to go straight through the Hub system, so pretty much every trade lane converges here.”

“A strong tactical position,” Samiha noted. “Control the supply, control the war.”

“Yep. Confederates loved this place, they used this station all the time to coordinate their fleets, but when the Outer Reaches went independant, the Hub along with, all their long-range strike groups were completely cut off. It was a logistical nightmare for them. At least, that’s what I’ve been told.”

They walked for a while longer, and Cadell sensed that Samiha was getting bored. Fortunately, they came upon an information kiosk, the interactive screen displaying their current position in a three-dimensional map.

“Here we go, should be able to find somethin’ to do from here,” Cadell said, using his finger to scroll through the list of amenities nearby. He browsed for a few minutes, starting to think he’d have trouble finding something an alien would like, but as he reached the last third of the list, his eyes lit up.

“Find anything?” Samiha asked, peeking over his shoulder at the slanted screen.

“Oh, yeah, yeeah I did,” he said, backing out of the menu quickly once he had the directions.

“What is it?” Samiha pressed. “Let me see.”

“I think you’ll appreciate the surprise,” he said. “Come on, it’s this way.”

The two of them proceeded further up the torus for a while, eventually coming upon an arch that curved over the main street, held aloft by two pillars that were capped at the tops with scantily-clad women, moving their slim bodies in smooth, distracting motions, their faded blue images not unlike the holograms in the simulation.

Beyond the arch was a world of colour. Neon signs jutted from every inch of space from either side of the street, Cadell reading off some of the closer ones. There were arcades, indoor courts, and an arrow that proclaimed there was a casino only a short walk to the right. The lights were purposefully dazzling, lights trip decorations hanging tall buildings three or four storeys tall.

His alien companion stepped into the moderate foot traffic, squinting her eyes as she read off what was written across the arch and yellow letters.

“’Welcome to… Solargate… Strip’,” she murmured, blinking her eyes as the sign flashed on and off. “By the sands, you humans build such elaborate structures for a species so small.”

“You’re tellin’ me, this place is massive,” Cadell replied, peering down the length of the strip. It travelled so far that he had to look above the horizon to spot the far side.

Cadell led her through the entrance, remembering the directions the kiosk had given him. He only took a couple steps when he felt Samiha’s soft hand fall on his shoulder.

“Wait a moment,” she said, and pointed across the street. “What is that?”

“Huh?” He looked that way, but the crowds of people were very compact, and he couldn’t see over the tops of their heads like she could. Before he could ask what she’d seen, she took off in that direction with a surprising amount of speed, Cadell following after through the shocked people she left in her wake.

There was a car-sized structure in the middle of the street, and as Samiha emerged from the crowd with Cadell not far behind, he got a look at what it was. A circular basin roughly five meters across formed the base, with knee-high walls that were perfect for sitting on. In the middle of the basin sprouted a tall, thin column of metal that was itself made up from multiple tiers of basins, each getting gradually smaller as they rose to the top, where a bubbling spout trickled water down the feature in two uninterrupted streams.

The fountain’s lower bowl was filled to the brim, dappled currents of light swimming along the bottom as the nearby streetlamps shined down on it, the slow gurgle of water just audible over the tens of nearby conversations.

Samiha inched closer to the reservoir, as though afraid the thing might come alive at any moment, leaning her feathery head over the side to peer into the depths. Before he could warn her, she plunged a hand into the water, her expression a mix of confusing and wonder.

“Not holographic,” she noted, retreating her hand and watching the droplets fall from her long fingers. “What is this strange contraption?”

“I’m guessing you don’t have fountains where you come from,” he replied, sitting on the basin to her side. “Dur’shala bein’ a desert planet and all. Water fountains used to be how people got fresh drinkin’ water, back before plumbin’ was a thing. Nowadays they’re mostly used to make the scenery look nice.”

“You are telling me this is a decorative piece?” Samiha asked, regarding him in awe. “I do not think I will ever get over how… frivolous your people are when it comes to water.”

She made to bring her hand to her beak, but this time Cadell was quick enough, seizing her wrist just in time. He was surprised by how fluffy she felt. “I wouldn’t drink that,” he warned. “It’s probably not purified.”

“Fine,” she said. She pulled away from him, the feathers where he’d touched her bristling.

He watched her walk around the feature, ignoring all the people staring at her as she examined the spout and tracked the currents it created as it sloshed from bowl to bowl. There was nothing fancy about the fountain, it wasn’t built into any particular style, with no carvings or reliefs. It was pretty mundane compared to all the lights and amenities that made up the rest of the strip, but to Samiha, it may as well have been a work of the finest art. Cadell had never seen her regard something with such marvel before, and it was a refreshing visual on the alien.

When she completed her loop, she turned that wondrous expression to Cadell. “Where does all the water come from?” she asked.

“There’s a pump in there that shoots water out the top,” Cadell explained. “once this pool here fills up, it drains back into the pipes and it all loops back round. Might not look it, but there’s only a fixed amount of water in there.”

“Interesting. I would like to see the blueprints on how to make one. Perhaps the reservoir can be shrunken down, made more portable…”

“Did you want to hang around some more? I’m not sure how long these stores will stay open, but we should get movin’ soon-ish.”

“I thought this was what you wanted to show me?” Samiha replied, one side of her beak curling into a rare grin. “In that case, let us continue,” she added, sparing one more glance at the feature before Cadell stood and led her away.

Dozens of side avenues split off from the Strip proper, but the bright lights never seemed to diminish no matter how many twists and turns they made, Cadell keeping his eyes on the bright signs to find his way. At last, he found the place he’d searched for on the kiosk, the ambient voices of the crowds dulling as they ducked inside a set of twin doors.

The foyer was mostly empty save for a booth to one side, the receptionist turning to look when he heard the door snap shut. The man did a comical double-take when he noticed the Balokarid, Samiha ducking she she didn’t hit her head on the low ceiling. There was graffiti art all along the walls, Samiha squinting at them as they approached the counter.

“Does that say… ‘rage’?” Samiha asked. “Where exactly have you brought me?”

“You’ll see,” he said, then to the man: “Room for two, thanks. One hour.”

“This mystery thing you are doing is starting to irk me,” Samiha grumbled, the receptionist adjusting his collar as he glanced at her, as if her speaking had taken him by surprise.

“That’ll be one-twenty,” the man explained, and Cadell foot the bill. He then took out a pair of datapads, sliding them across the bench. “Signatures at the bottom, please.”

“Signature?” Samiha repeated. She glanced at the tiny screen, looking to Cadell for guidance.

“It’s a waver,” he said. “Basically if you get injured during this, you can’t sue the owners for damages. It’s only a formality,” he added when she blinked at him. “Nobody actually gets injured during these things. Trust me.”

“I have little choice otherwise,” she noted, watching him sign his form. After figuring out it was activated by touch, she drew a small symbol down in the little signature box, probably her name in the Balokarid alphabet. The receptionist didn’t even check it when he took the datapad back from her, storing them away and then producing two pairs of large safety goggles.

“Please keep these on at all times while you’re in the room,” the man said. “And when the lights go red, please stay off the yellow circle. I’ll put you in room three, which is that door right there. I’ll call you once your timer’s up.”

The door he’d pointed out led into an open room. There were little pieces of rock and metal on the ground, and a couple of what looked like skid marks on the walls, plus a security camera in one of the corners. Centring the room was a bright yellow circle, and Cadell could see there was a square groove inside it, about the size of an industrial crate.

“Has someone fought in here?” Samiha said, noting the damage as she struggled to fix the strap of her goggles over her head, eventually fixing them over her amber eyes.

“You’re not far off,” Cadell replied, grinning at how odd she looked.

The fluorescents in the ceiling suddenly turned red, Samiha backing away from the circle as the man had instructed. They watched as the groove on the ground started to move, sliding away as a panel rose up from below. On it was a small office cabinet, and lying beside it were a selection of tools.

Once the lights turned back to white, Cadell moved over and picked up a two-handed axe, smirking when he noted Samiha’s expression.

“These are our weapons,” he explained, pointing the metal blade at the cabinet. “And that is our target. Hope I don’t have to explain what we’re supposed to do.”

She stepped back as he heaved the axe, then brought it down in a hard, sideways arc. One of the drawers broke at the hinges as he cleaved it aside, his muscles clenching as he followed through with another hard swing, this time splitting the cabinet down from above, the sound of cracking wood filling the room.

He tugged his jammed axe a few times, setting it down once it was free, gesturing at Samiha expectantly.

“Mindless destruction,” she mused. “Destroying property, like a hatchling throwing a tantrum. This is your surprise?”

“It’s not mindless,” he chided. “The idea is to get out some stress where we can’t be bothered, and from what you’ve been tellin’ me, you’ve got a lot of pent-up anger in you, Samiha. Time to let it all out.”

“There are far less… childish ways of letting it out,” Samiha replied, crossing her arms adamantly. “Meditation, exercise, smoking…”

“Don’t hate it till you try it,” he said. “Come on, don’t make me break this thing all by myself.”

For a moment he thought she wouldn’t budge, but then with a dramatic sigh, she relented, leaning down to grab the sledgehammer provided. She made it look easy, picking it up with just one arm.

He gestured that the floor was hers, stepping out of the line of fire. They must have a similar tool on Dur’shala, Samiha hoisting it over her head in one smooth motion. He heard the whoosh of air right before the crash of impact, Samiha’s biceps flexing as she put her weight into the swing.

A wedge shaped like the letter V formed down nearly half the cabinet before the sledgehammer came to a halt. Prying the sledge free did as much destruction on its way out, one of the drawers flying away as Samiha dislodged her weapon.

She looked at her tool thoughtfully, then prepared to go again, this time holding the head below her waist. She smashed the poor appliance with a cruel uppercut, sending more splintered slabs of wood flying, the hammer coming to rest on her shoulder. She flipped it to her dominant side, then brought the sledge over and then down. The cabinet flattened like a pancake, its top half falling apart at the hinges, but Samiha wasn’t done. She readied another overhead, drove it home, then repeated it. Again and again, she pummelled the cabinet from above, like she was a construction worker hammering a peg into the ground, Cadell watching the destruction with a mix of fascination and horror.

By the time she was done, nothing remained but splinters, Samiha rubbing the feathers on her brow as she leaned back to catch her breath.

“Remind me never to piss you off again,” Cadell murmured, and at that Samiha chuckled, putting a hand to her beak that gave her a dainty kind of look.

“Is that it?” she asked, Cadell moving in to pick up the rest of their weapons from the rubble and piling them into one corner.

“Didn’t you say you thought this is childish?” he teased. “And now you’re askin’ for more?”

“Like you said, I have a lot of venting to do,” Samiha replied. She was trying to maintain her composure, but he could see the cracks starting to form, most notably in the way her feathers twitched and moved in ways he knew to be excitement. He was getting better at reading Balokarid body language.

The lights switched once more, the panel sliding down, removing the husk of the cabinet out of sight. Maybe there was a recycler of some sort down there that removed the waste. When the panel returned, it came back with two, boxy television screens that were downright archaic, each about waist-high if Cadell were to stand next to them.

“Let’s make this interestin’,” Cadell said, bearing his axe. “First to reduce their TV to dust wins.”

“A contest? Let us begin then,” Samiha said, grinning at him as she readied her sledgehammer.

-xXx-

They were so absorbed in their little pocket of destruction that their assigned hour flew by, the rage cage so full of debris that it reached his ankles in places. He had Samiha try out the bat and the sword provided, but in the end she preferred to break everything apart with her trusty sledge. Even though it was the heaviest weapon, she had the strength to wield it for longer than he could have, and it was only around fifty-minute mark that she started to tire out.

Cadell, meanwhile, was sweating up a storm, his muscles burning with exertion, and whenever he took time to rest Samiha took up his slack, smashing anything that the panel brought up to them. He would have been worried about how destructive Samiha could get, but she was starting to smile more and more as the session went on, and seeing her so animated and excited was a nice change of pace to their prior interactions.

They moved on from competitions to teamwork, Cadell suggesting they try and destroy everything in as few hits as possible. On top of making a game out of it, it served to help him and Samiha figure out a way to work together, all without the stress of having officers watching their every move.

“I take back what I said before,” Samiha said, heaving her hammer from one shoulder to the other. “I needed this.”

“Told you,” Cadell said, leaning on the wall as he took deep, hard breaths.

“Cadell? Are you well?” Samiha asked, her eyes tracking him from head to toe.

“Yeah. Why?”

“You are… all wet,” she explained. “Like you have just soaked in a bath.”

“That’s just sweat. The human body’s way of cooling us down when we’re hot.”

“Ah. Another prodigal way in which you treat water,” she mused. He couldn’t tell if she was being judgemental or not.

“You guys don’t sweat?” he asked her. “I’m not so good with avian anatomy.”

“We thermoregulate mostly by respiration,” she said, which was obvious enough by the way she huffed like an engine. “But we can also lift our feathers to let any trapped heat escape, like this.”

Samiha seemed to inflate a few inches in all directions, every feather stalk on her body ruffling to their fullest lengths. She looked so fluffy like that. On closer inspection, he could see that parts of her skin were visible when looked at from a certain angle, Cadell seeing flesh that was brown or possibly black.

“Weird. Kind of looks like you’re airin’ yourself out. Like laundry,” Cadell noted.

“If that analogy helps you, water-boy, then sure,” Samiha said, turning her beak up at him.

They soon returned to vandalising an old microwave appliance, which was the last object for the session, the lights turning a stark white after they were done. The door unlocked with a click, Cadell pulling it open as he lifted his goggles.

“Time’s up,” he said, gesturing for her to go first. Samiha found his chivalry amusing, grinning down at him as she left the room with him trailing after.

They returned their goggles, the receptionist thanking them as they left, stepping out onto the torus once more. Cadell wanted to rest his legs a little longer, so he and Samiha returned to the fountain again, finding it more deserted than before, with only a few scattered people walking about. The streetlights were likewise dampened, simulating the station’s equivalent of evening, though the bright, artificial glow of the attractions along the Strip were still shining strong. Maybe Solargate was hooked up to a different electrical grid.

“What’s the time?” Samiha asked, taking a seat along the fountain. She crossed one long leg over the other, one of her crow-like feet bobbing in the air.

Cadell checked his phone. “Nearly eleven.” He sat on her right, listening to the gentle bubble of the fountain behind him. “We should probably start headin’ back soon. Don’t want to miss the check-in.”

“I would have liked to explore more of this Solargate Strip,” Samiha said, glancing down the street. “A shame.”

“I take it you had fun then?” Cadell asked. “Not bad for our first time outside the quadrant. Thought we’d get lost for sure.”

“I won’t lie, I had my doubts,” Samiha said. “I expected this time away to be a punishment, I was counting down the seconds until we had to return. Now that we have to go back, I find myself doing the opposite. Strange.”

“Never judge a book by its cover?” Cadell suggested.

Samiha looked at him for a long moment, then laughed. That must have been the third time she’d laughed, which was three times more than he’d ever seen her lighten up. He found that he liked her laugh, it was a little like the call of a raven, but lighter, filled with the husky inflections of her odd accent.

“Thank you,” she added, her tone so low he almost didn’t hear her.

“Thank me?” Cadell asked. “For what?”

“For showing me my first enjoyable night on this damned station,” she added. “Even before Dur’shala’s invasion, I did not get much time for myself. Only now do I realise how much I needed it, and even if this whole night only happened because of our misgivings, I do not regret it.”

“I’m… glad to hear it,” Cadell replied, a little taken back by her sudden candour. “Do you really hate it here that much?” he asked, thinking of how she’d said that first part. Damned station.

“It… has its merits,” she admitted. “Perfect climate all day long, plus that breeze, it would be perfect for flying if there was room. But everything is steel and alloy, it is so…. artificial. It is an incredible invention, I am not denying that, so much of a world has been approximated in such a confined space, it is beyond impressive. Yet I miss the warmth of my sun, the feeling of dust in the wind as it caresses me. The diversity of a planet’s terrain, a sky with colours. Maybe that sounds mundane to you, but even with all your technology, you cannot create any of that with metal alone.”

“It’s not mundane. I get where you’re comin’ from,” he replied. “I’m a colonist myself, I’m used to seeing trees and grass every which way you look. I prefer havin’ a sky over my head too.”

They sat in silence that wasn’t awkward for a short while longer, just enjoying the sounds of bubbling water, and the muffled beats of music drifting out from a nearby arcade gallery.

“Come,” Samiha said before long, standing up. “We do not want to the Kith’sla thinking we have run away.”

It took them half an hour’s walk before the gate of the quadrant finally rose into view down the slope. The two of them spoke little during the walk back, but the silence wasn’t at all like when they had first set off earlier that afternoon. Their dinner and exploring of the Solargate Strip had shaved away most of the hostility brewing between them, and they even found they had a few things in common. He didn’t know about Samiha, but Cadell wouldn’t say no to another free night like this one.

The same guard was there to greet them on their way through the gate, and after confirming their identifications, they were allowed to enter. The familiar layout of the base was far more navigable than the torus, but Cadell found himself longing for the entertainment of the ringworld already. He felt like he’d taken a vacation that had been cut short.

But the rigidity of the army was his life now, he had better get used to that fact.

-xXx-

“Where the bloody hell have you two been?” Hunter demanded, rising from his bunk as Cadell and Samiha strode into the barracks. It seemed he, Kazlu and August were in the middle of a card game, playing well past lights-out, perhaps waiting for their return.

“We had a little… outing,” Cadell explained. “Kith’sla’s orders.”

He explained everything to them, about his and Samiha’s meeting with Shaliyya, and how their ‘punishment’ for being at oods was to go out on the torus and make up. Cadell left out the part about his and Samiha’s argument in the showers, neglecting to mention her reagents entirely, passing it off as just another argument that tipped them over the edge.

August and Hunter seemed to buy that – they were used to seeing them butt heads. Kazlu’s reaction was different, and he thought she might suspect everything wasn’t all that it seemed. She’d probably ask Samiha for the truth in private, but he’d leave that up to Samiha’s discretion.

“So hang on a sec,” Hunter interrupted. “Shaliyya sees that you two don’t get along, so she scolds you by giving you a night off? Kaz’, remind me to riff on you when I feel like taking a break.”

“Interesting idea,” Kazlu chuckled. “How did you two… fare out there?” she asked them, her tone coming off as sceptical.

“We did not riff one another, as Hunter puts it,” Samiha explained, looking at the ground bashfully. “We fared… well enough.”

“I’ll say,” August added. “You two have gone five seconds without arguing. That’s a new record.”

“That’s what happens when you get some sudden shore leave,” Hunter said. “I’ve heard about this Solargate Strip before. What’s it like?”

They told him, time flowing by as they recounted their little adventure, Samiha adding the occasional note while Cadell spoke at length. When he was finished, Cadell asked if anything had happened in the quadrant, but it seemed all had been quiet. Lieutenant Marek had come to ask of his and Samiha’s whereabouts, and this troubled Cadell. Was he trying to find them, and get them dismissed? He imagined they wouldn’t have to wait long to find out.

Cadell didn’t think he’d sleep well with that knowledge in hand, but when the squad was all caught up and they decided to turn in, he slept like a babe, the events of the night drawing him into a deep rest.

-xXx-

The base’s facility-wide morning alarm blared its jarring tone, Cadell throwing the sheets aside as he swung his legs off the bunk. The rest of the squad was coming to, limbs and feathers stretching as they got dressed into their day uniforms. This was all routine to them, and after a couple minutes they were filling out the door as a group, the mess hall their unspoken direction.

As they turned the first corner, however, someone came the other way at the exact same time, the five of them bumping into eachother as they stopped to salute.

“At ease,” Marek said, Cadell relaxing his arm. “Private Cadell, recruit Samiha, I’d like to speak with you for a moment. The rest of you can go.”

He shared a worried glance with Samiha, her orange eyes dialling wide. The Lieutenant had never searched them out this early before, nor was he ever this specific. Cadell feared the worst.

There three friends idled around, perhaps wanting to hear what was going on, but a curt gesture from the Lieutenant later, and they were forced to dismiss themselves. Just before they turned the corner, Hunter dropped them a nod, which they both returned.

“I want to discuss about what happened yesterday afternoon,” Marek began. Cadell decided to pre-empt him.

“I take full responsibility, Sir,” he said. “I was in charge when we went into the sim, our failure’s square on my shoulders.”

“Thank you, Private. I appreciate your accountability, but that’s not what I’m here to ask,” Marek replied, Cadell blinking up at the slightly taller officer. “The both of you disappeared right after the simulation scores went public, and when I asked around, the Kith’sla said she authorised you to leave the quadrant. I want to know why.”

“She did not explain?” Samiha asked. Marek gave her a bored look.

“I wouldn’t be here if she had, recruit. Well?” he added, addressing Cadell. “She told me both of you went to her office, what did you discuss?”

“We…” Cadell stammered, glancing at the alien. “Had some… cultural differences we needed to straighten out. Shaliyya agreed to see us.”

“That’s right,” Samiha added. “We needed her advice on some interpersonal issues we’ve been having.”

“I see,” Marek said, straightening his collar. “If it’s a sensitive topic then I won’t pry, but I would have appreciated a heads-up before you left the quadrant without telling anybody. You didn’t bring these interpersonal issues out into the public, particularly while wearing the uniform, did you?”

“No, Sir,” Samiha and Cadell replied in unison.

“Outstanding. We’ll be doubling up on exercise regimes today, in case nobody told you. As you were.”

“Wait, Sir?” Cadell said before he turned away. “After the sim, you said you were done giving us orders. Does that mean you’ve…”

“Changed my mind?” Marek finished for him. “I haven’t, no. But the Kith’sla convinced me to let your squad have another chance. In four weeks’ time we’ll run the platoon through the sim again, and then we’ll see where we stand.”

“Thank you, Sir,” Cadell breathed. “You won’t regret it.”

“I’d better not, cause if I see you at the bottom of that board again…” He let that bit hang in the air, turning his gaze to Samiha. “Not even the Kith’sla’s words will help you. Take my advice and can whatever issues you two have, for your own sakes.”

Marek left without another word, leaving Samiha and Cadell shocked but relieved.

Chapter 4: Radio Silence

Ears open, eyes closed.

Petty Officer Eleanor thought these words over and over, leaning back in her swivel chair, adjusting the cups of her headset as she settled in for hour number twelve. Her station was a mess of discarded granola wrappers and empty coffee cups that left ring stains on the terminals, the dashboards overwhelmed by dials, sliders and switches. The electronics formed a short arc from left to right, leaving her with about four feet of space between the desk and the door, which wasn’t quite far enough for her to put her feet up (a discovery she’d made on day one, hour number two).

She flicked her ponytail from her shoulder, her eyes shifting left and staring boredly at the computer screen there. Projected onto the display was a three-dimensional map of the Cordon, represented as a couple hundred small white dots. The dots were stretched across three solar systems of space, an almost immeasurable distance.

The dots at the top of the Cordon (top being relative only in terms of the map) were pulled back slightly from those in the middle. Same went for those at the bottom, giving the Cordon a shape like that of a hammock turned on its side. The bulge was aimed towards the Galactic West, bordering the territory of the Inner Reaches and their Confederate masters. Being one of the few systems in which the Inner and Outer Reaches touched borders, it was the most obvious place the Alliance had seen to keep a constant monitor over.

Eleanor had studied the Cordon down to a tee, and knew the most useless facts about its structure. Like how dot number one-ninety was skewed slightly towards its neighbour one-ninety-one, leaving a small but compromising gap of blind space that a starship could slip through if they got their vectors right. The Cordon was a giant net of sensory equipment, and every tracked conversation and detected object that crossed its influence was filtered from the net and back to workstations like hers, where other Eleanor’s with just as thrilling jobs relayed any sensitive data back to the Outer Reaches.

Eleanor used a hand gesture to spin the representation around for a modicum of amusement. Beyond the window that spanned the wall behind her equipment, the jutting crane-like sections of the shipyard continued to sit ever still in the dark canvas of the void. She thought that being here always beat a posting on the Cordon itself, but the yard wasn’t that much glamorous in comparison.

The occasional ship that stopped for drydock provided at least something worthy of engagement, but being in her crumby, secondary station with her single comms dish and sixteen-hour days, this meant that Eleanor’s duties only went so far as transferring ships to the actual broadcast tower on the other side of the yard, and those were the only times she got to chat with someone new.

She would never claim to want excitement to find her – in the current political nightmare of mankind, excitement meant war – but if one dug deep enough, they would find a shred of craving nestling in the back of her thoughts.

So of course, when she would later find herself cowering in the ventilation system, a part of her would always blame herself for what had transpired.

It all began with a warning alert, the blaring note coming from the righthand terminal and pricking her right ear. Eleanor bristled, pushing off her terminal with her hands, the wheels on her chair squeaking as she rolled herself across.

Swiping at the air, she pulled up the warning onto the main terminal, Eleanor scratching her chin as he read off the message.

Warning, connection lost with Post-299. Check satellite alignment. Warning, connection lost with Post-299. Check satellite alignment.

She frowned, biting down on her lower lip. Some of the posts had to go years without maintenance to keep their locations a secret, so this did not surprise Eleanor. Besides, this wouldn’t be the first time a post had gone dark on her end. Any moment now and their blip would reappear on the map.

Eleanor wasn’t concerned, but she wasn’t neglectful either. The lost connection had brought her out of the catatonic state that hour number twelve had put her in, the least she could do was follow protocol.

She rolled over to her external equipment readouts. Yep, satellite hadn’t been touched, unless some micrometeor had skimmed the top of the dish, which was a nightmare Eleanor had suffered ever since day number six of becoming a radio operator. Of course, if that happened, then the system would have detected damage, and so far it hadn’t. Everything was in order.

If the problem was on post two-ninety-nine’s end, she needed to narrow it down. The only way to do that was to make contact, but the idea made her hesitate. Sending messages to the Cordon was a risk her superiors had drilled into her skull, strict radio-silence with the Cordon must be maintained at all times unless authorised. The theory was, that the Confederates probably had their version of a Cordon on their side of the border, with their own operators scanning the radio waves for activity. It was a giant game of cat and mouse, and the first to break cover would lose border control over the system, and the way for invasion would be paved.

She had to call this in, radio-silence didn’t extend to the shipyard, since they were far behind the front lines. She switched bands to the local channel, then sent out a ping.

It didn’t take long to receive a reply from control, a man’s voice crackling into her headset. “This is main. What you got for me, Elen?”

“Steven,” she greeted. They were familiar enough with each other to be on first-name basis. “Got something urgent. One of the Cordon’s posts went down, two-nine-nine.”

“Fuck me, again?” he replied. “I swear those guys are just doing it for the attention.”

Eleanor fought back a grin. Usually Steven’s sudden outbursts of profanity were funny, something about the way his voice reached a high pitch whenever he swore, but that nagging part of her that was troubled demanded professionalism. “Should we let the Navy know?” she asked.

“I’ll try using the emergency band from here,” Steven said. “Maybe they’ll… Ah-ha.”

“What?”

“Very funny, Elen. I get it. You know if you just wanted to call, all you gotta do is ask. I’m as bored up here as you are.”

“Steven, just what are you on about?”

“Two-nine-nine’s prime and active, as I’m sure you’re well aware.”

She was about to ask is he was drunk, but her eyes flicked to the left before her mouth could work, and she held her tongue.

The Cordon was whole again. No gap in the lower right corner, no warning box telling her to check the alignment of her satellite.

“I’ll take your silence as an admission of guilt?” Steven teased.

“I’m telling you, they were cut off for over three minutes,” Eleanor insisted, wheeling herself across the dash, her fingers dancing over a keyboard. The warning she’d received would have been logged in the system, she couldn’t have dreamed the whole thing up. She’d swear by that.

There it was, the alignment error that had startled her. “I’m sending you a data packet now,” she said into her mic. “Look it over and tell me I’m messing with you.”

His reply came back after a couple moments. “It’s probably your equipment, Elen, something’s given up the ghost.”

“But what, exactly?” she pressed. “What happened that I only lost contact with one post, and not anything else?”

“Why don’t you go for a walk on the hull and find out?” Steven replied.

“I’m raising them,” Eleanor said.

“Elen, do not break radio silence. They probably just had a brown out and fixed it.”

“It’s protocol,” she insisted.

“It’s suicide. The UEC has just as many ears on the Cordon as we do. You send a signal, they’ll zero the station and hit em’ with a missile.”

“We have to do something.”

“No, we don’t. Every post sends out an ecrypted status update every thirty-one days, we just have to sit tight, then we’ll know what happened.”

“When was their last check-in?”

“About… six days ago.”

“You want me to sit on this for twenty-five days?”

“That’s protocol,” Steven said. “And you know it. Look, I know it sucks sitting in there for so long, sometimes your head starts to do weird things…” He spoke in the kind of tone one uses when talking to a child conjuring up monsters.

“They went dark,” she insisted. “I saw it. Check my logs, you’ll see I’m right.”

“I believe you, Elen,” Steven said, but she didn’t hear much conviction behind the words. “Look,” he added. “I’ll put in a request with maintenance, get a tech to come take a look at your stuff. If nothing’s wrong, we’ll raise the Admiralty and tell them. Meantime, monitor the situation. Ears open, eyes closed. And hey, don’t forget, we’re all meeting up on deck six for poker in the morning.”

“I know, I’ll be there,” she said, her mouth barely moving. She was too focused on that little dot, the one that had disappeared. She rubbed her itchy eyes one at a time, wondering if it really had gone dark.

Steven must have picked up on this. “I’m telling you, Elen. Do not contact the Cordon, under any circumstances. You’ll bring the war right down on our heads.”

“I get it, I get it,” Eleanor sighed, cutting the channel.

The backrest creaked as she lazed back, her eyes flicking toward the black sky, towards the direction she knew the Cordon to be. Of course, she did not see the Cordon with her naked eyes, all she saw was the sparkling canvas of the Milky Way, but it was a hard habit to break.

Eleanor was conflicted. Sure, maybe she’d seen the post go offline, but it had come back, hadn’t it? A glitch in the system, that was a perfectly logical conclusion, and yet she couldn’t shake that bad feeling that was broiling in her stomach like a spoiling broth.

No. There would no poker game for her. If Steven wasn’t going to take this seriously, then she would.

Eleanor leaned across her station, flipping switches and adjusting dials, feeling the walls of the metal room creak as the equipment on the outside began to move. She directed everything she could spare towards post two-nine-nine, adjusting her dishes until their sensitive antenna were lined up with its exact vector. If so much as someone coughed over there, she’d hear it.

A system glitch on her end, a black out on theirs. Either way, she had seen something, and there was only one way to find out what.

Ears open, eyes closed.

-xXx-

Lieutenant Marek had given Cadell and Samiha the chance they needed to set things right, but that was where his generosity ended. The squad was put through one rigorous training drill after another, and out of all the other members of the platoon, it was their squad that had to do another extra lap of the quadrant, their squad doing one more set of pushups in the yard, their squad taking one more hour in the range while everyone else got some free time off.

It brought Cadell straight back to bootcamp, down on his hands and knees while instructors yelled in his ear. All that was missing was the dirt and mud. It was hard to deny the feeling that he and his squad was being singled out, but if they wanted another crack at the simulation, if they wanted to succeed, then this was the price.

It wasn’t all gruelling drills, however. Becoming a trooper was as much about developing your physical capabilities as your mental ones, and studies about squad tactics and warfare theory were common subjects that broke up the exercise regimes. Historical studies on alien races was also a subject of study which was tutored by a Balokarid with bright orange feathers, one Cadell had never met before. They even touched on the elusive Suvelian race, whom humanity had made contact with long before they knew about Balokar, and yet knew very little about in comparison.

In the weeks following Cadell’s night out with Samiha, he noticed changes in her demeanour. They were subtle things, like how she’d actually sit with them in the mess hall, or how her exchanges with Hunter and August went for longer than a few curt words.

These were nothing much to make note of, but in that month leading up to their rerun of the sim (weeks now, time was flying by), there was one particular exchange that sat above the rest. They had returned to the target range along with some of the other squads to brush up on their aim, his ears pricking as the electric snaps of the coilguns filled the underground facility. He had gone off with August to practice his assembly skills first, while Hunter and the aliens had moved for the shooting booths.

At some point his eyes eventually wandered over to Samiha, as they sometimes did now that their cold war had come to a close. She was in the booth at the furthest end, and he wasn’t surprised to see her shots landing more on the far wall than the paper target. From the way her snapping beak sent harsh clicks across the rooms, he didn’t think she was giving herself words of encouragement

Cadell felt a sense of déjà vu, remembering their first visit to the range, how Samiha had brushed him off when he’d tried to help. A part of him didn’t want to go through that again, but another part of him, the one that strived to get his unusual squad through the program, insisted that he give her another chance. Shaliyya had done the same, there was nothing to be lost by following in her image.

He put down his half-assembled weapon and made his way down the booths, stopping behind Samiha’s. She noticed him, cocking her head back to give him a glance.

“Cadell,” she said, returning her eye to the rear sight of her submachine gun. “What do you want?”

She wasn’t being rude, but she was clearly frustrated with her lack of progress.

“I want to give you some pointers,” he answered. “cause you need them. The question is whether you’re gonna take them or not.”

“I…” She trailed off, shooting her weapon a hateful look. “It jumps too much in my hands, I cannot control more than a few shots, if that.”

“Don’t blame the equipment, blame the…” He was about to finish the saying with user, but decided now wasn’t the time for insults. “Never mind. Wait here.”

He dipped away for a minute, Samiha tilting her head as he presented a weapon attachment. “You and Kazlu are comfortable with the submachine-gun variant, right? Complement your shields with a fast, light-weight weapon. If I were you, I’d use a foregrip like this one. Know how to put it on?”

She attached it with practiced speed, Cadell giving her a nod.

“Okay, try that out.”

She gripped the vertical hold in her left hand, the trigger with her right. She sent a burst downrange, grumbling under her breath at the results, Cadell watching on in silence.

He watched her empty the whole magazine, then stepped into the booth with her, the alien ejecting the mag well with an annoyed flick.

“So… a couple things,” Cadell said. “You’re holdin’ it like you’re tryin’ to wrangle an alligator. It’s not gonna blow up in your face, Samiha, you don’t need to be afraid of it.”

Samiha rubbed the back of her neck, a very human gesture she must have picked up at some point.

“Hey, I’m not tryin’ to embarrass you or nothin’,” he added, giving her a sympathetic glance. “You’re workin’ with human technology, nobody’s expectin’ you to master it in a couple weeks. Or, uh, months,” he added, correcting himself.

“Thanks for the reminder,” she said, rolling her eyes.

“You just need a couple hints is all. If you want them,” he added.

She grumbled under her breath again, letting it all out in a conceitful sigh.

“Yes…”

“Let’s do it then,” he said, glad they were making some progress. She held out her coilgun, but Cadell shook his head. “No, you hang onto that for now. Set yourself up to fire.”

Samiha assumed her firing stance, gripping the coilgun like it was a stick of dynamite with a short fuse. Cadell moved to her other side, appraising her arms.

“No, no,” he muttered. “bring yourself down here, so I can reach.”

Samiha got to a knee, and even while crouched, she and him were practically eye-level, her size as distracting as ever.

“Loosen up your trigger hand,” he said. “Yeah, like that. Hold the foregrip a little higher towards the barrel. Like this.”

He reached out and took her hand, her warm feathers tickling his skin. He expected her to move back, or say some underhand remark, but none of that happened. The feathers along her arms did bristle, but she didn’t try to pull away, her amber eyes dilating as she allowed him to manipulate her arm.

“There,” he said. “Now, pull the stock into your shoulder. Firmly, but not too tight. Yeah, good. Remember, don’t hold the handle too hard, or the stress’s gonna throw your aim off.”

She adjusted herself according to his directions, Cadell encouraging her to peer down the sights. “Keep both eyes open,” he advised. “but focus your dominant eye on the rear sight. You want to keep your target just over that little pin there, see it?”

He leaned over the top rail and pointed at the front sight, his face close enough to her beak that he could feel the warmth of her breath. He detected some sort of flavour in the air, something like mint or maybe tea leaves, Cadell wondering if the aliens used toothpaste or mouthwash.

“I have it,” Samiha said, Cadell moving out of her personal space.

“Then show me.”

She leaned into the sight, her nostrils flaring as she took a shaky breath.

“Fire after breathing out,” he added. “Don’t squeeze the trigger, just pull it using your first two knuckles. Don’t anticipate the recoil, your shoulder will do the work for you. Now shoot.”

She fired off a round, the two looking down the range. The paper around the neck of the target had been ripped open.

“That’s the ticket!” Cadell encouraged, Samiha’s feathers roiling in excitement. “Now readjust, and try it while standin’.”

Over the next thirty or so minutes, the two of them split their time between fine-tuning her weapon and practicing on the targets. Over three hundred rounds later, Samiha was landing consecutive headshots. Her aim was a little off-kilter at the longer ranges, but she was using the PDW variant of the coilgun, so that wasn’t her fault.

He showed her how to improve her basic resting and aiming stances, teaching her how to take advantage of a lightweight gun and make her movements snappy. Not only had her marksmanship improved, but the usually disgruntled avian was enjoying herself, Cadell catching a few grins here and there as she customised and tested her gun. He could hardly believe the sight.

“I will admit one thing,” Samiha said after her final test fire, the heat sinks on her gun burning bright. “There is a certain satisfaction to the kick of a coilgun. Laser weaponry does not have that.” She turned to him. “I… appreciate you, Cadell, for showing me what you know.”

He blinked at her odd choice of words. Odd, but not unwelcome, Cadell grinning up at her.

“No sweat,” he replied. “Maybe one day you’ll repay the favour,teach me how to use one of your shields.”

“There is not much too it,” Samiha replied, packing up her gear, the two walking back toward the workshop half of the armoury. “There are buttons on the bottom of the sleeve to control the settings, and the hard light is practically weightless. The real issue is remembering not to touch them directly.”

“How come?”

“Hardlight protection – real ones, not the ones in the simulation – generate a lot of heat overtime, not unlike the heatsinks on these weapons. It will not singe your feathers immediately, but after sustained laser fire, the barrier captures the heat until you may as well be covering yourself with a wall of flame. And knowing the signs of when your barrier is about to break is crucial in a firefight.”

“And what are the signs?” he asked.

“The subtle change in colour, and a slight hissing sound are the most obvious signs of a breakage. You once asked me how much damage a handheld barrier can take, and the answer isn’t simple. Testing is usually done with laser fire, but when the Clan was trapped in the Nebula all those months ago, it was the first time they were used against supersonic bullets and tungsten shells.”

She placed her coilgun on an empty rack, pausing for a moment with one hand on the stock.

“Some Sala’ci fighter craft could not take more than a few moments of sustained fire,” she muttered. “Others were more fortunate, the damage spread over multiple sides of the barrier. All I know is, it did not stand up to Confederate firepower, and only a handful of our pilots made it out of that Nebula in the final battle.”

Her feathers flattened against her figure in worry, or maybe sadness. Cadell moved over to the rack so he could see her face.

“I’m sorry to hear that,” he said. “I heard it was a brutal fight, and you lost a lot of people.”

“Everyone in the Clan is a known friend,” Samiha replied. “We don’t number in the billions like you humans, our Clan is but hundreds of thousands, and every loss is felt by all clansman.”

Cadell detected the subtle undertones of an insult there, failing to supress his own remark. “And how many human pilots died out there?” he countered. “Do you think their families didn’t feel that loss, too?”

Samiha’s amber eyes burned, and then quenched, the alien rubbing her hands on her forearms as she suppressed her anger. “I… I did not mean to insinuate humans feel no loss. Talking about the Nebula is….”

“Not easy,” he suggested. Samiha nodded. He supposed having your entire community stuck in some gas clouds while the UEC picked you off would be traumatic for anyone, maybe he should change the subject. “You call your shields hardlight,” he suddenly said. “How did you do that? Even humans have never been able to make light into armour, and we’re supposed to be the advanced ones.”

Samiha noticed his little social manoeuvre, flashing him a grateful smile. “That is the thing, we did not make it,” she explained. “The original blueprints were plundered off what you call a Colossus wreckage, on the edge of the Balokar system. Our scientists theorised the entire vessel was protected by a barrier the size of a skyscraper, and we have taken the concept to heart ever since.”

“Which helped you skip you a few centuries worth of research, like the Mars wreckage did for us,” Cadell mused. “Weird coincidence.”

“Since our Clan was the one to plunder it, we became the most powerful people on all of Balokar,” Samiha continued. “We could control how much of the material and technology was exported to the rest of the planet, and every new discovered way of applying hardlight to our daily lives, we kept to ourselves. A selfish approach, but the most logical.”

“I doubt being the hoarders of C-loys made you popular,” Cadell said.

“On the contrary, our influence only expanded, with dozens of smaller Clans flocking to our borders with water in droves. My parents described it as a time of prosperity for the Kaalesh Clan, allowing us to set sail to the stars. I wonder if they have any idea what has happened…”

“Has what happened?” a voice interrupted. Cadell turned to see Kazlu striding up the workshop, her teal feathers glinting in the light. Slung over her arm was her custom coilgun, she must have just come off from the range.

“Balokar,” Samiha said. “If anyone there knows about Dur’shala yet.”

“I would think so,” Kazlu replied after thinking about it. “Of course, they took all of us by surprise, but the carriers in orbit would have had time to send out a distress signal.”

“Think they might send a rescue mission?” Cadell asked her.

“Unlikely,” Samiha replied. “As I said, the Kaalesh were the only space-flight capable Clan when our parents left the homeworld. But, if that has changed, it is not us who will need to be rescued…”

“I’m more worried about us than the homeworld,” Kazlu told her. “Our training is what matters right now, and it is the first step to fighting back. We will return home one day, clan-sister.”

“One day,” Samiha agreed. “But not this one. We still have a simulation to pass, and I still much to improve on until then.”

“All of us do,” Cadell agreed. “Speaking of which, if we have the time, could one of you ladies help me out with my coilgun? I think I misplaced a part when I was putting it back together yesterday.”

“We can do it now,” Samiha said, Cadell blinking at her. “Come,” she added, gesturing at a nearby workbench. Kazlu did a double-take on them, making a surprised little ‘K-rawwt’ sound and tilting her head, clearly confused by how much they were getting along.

“Yes, I see the problem,” Samiha said, planting her large hands on either side of his coilgun. Cadell didn’t even need to point out that it was his, she was a very perceptive creature. “You forgot to wire up the heatsinks to the coils in the proper order, yes?”

“Uh, maybe?” Cadell tried.

“You are fortunate the barrel did not melt. Watch closely,” Samiha said, her hands beginning to strip the rifle down with all the ease of a master. “I will show you the correct steps.”

-xXx-

The following weeks began to blur in a soup of war doctrine study and special weapons training, including explosives handling (Cadell remembering an especially excited Hunter taking naturally too), and basic computer slicing techniques, where each of them were trained in how to deal with electronic obstacles they may encounter out on the field, such as electronic locks or facility-wide networks. Between all the lessons and study, the platoon was encouraged to focus on their physical development, although no strict exercise plan was set in motion for anyone.

That last one was of particular interest to Cadell and his squad, having more reason than any of the other teams to improve themselves now that they were known as the outcasts, the hybrid team that couldn’t kill holograms even when they tried. The five of them agreed to an exercise regime that August drew up for them, as he had been part of a PT program during his time as a shipbreaker.

They ran laps around the quadrant, used the swimming pool lanes when there was space, and frequented the gym whenever free time was allocated. Cadell wasn’t unfit by any means, but after three weeks of this, it felt like every muscle in his body was a fire that never refused to extinguish, even the soft mattress of his bunk did little to bring relief.

Samiha and Kazlu had the advantage of being from a higher-gravity planet, their muscle mass far beyond any human powerlifter, but even they were starting to feel the heat of the constant, daily grind the squad was subjecting themselves too. Yet none of them asked for it to stop, none of them complained. They wanted to do better as much as he did, and Cadell was proud of them for that, outcasts or not.

Cadell started to feel stronger. Not by much, he’d only notice an increment here and there when he looked long enough in the mirror. They were such small changes in the face of brutal weeks of pushing his limits, but just knowing that he was healthier now than when he first stepped foot on the Hub made it all worth it.

Cadell was getting fitter, they all were, and there came a point they got to demonstrate the fact.

Lieutenant Marek said he had a special day of training ahead of them one morning, hauling Cadell and his friends, plus half the platoon, to the training yard. The yard was not inside the quadrant facilities, but out on the torus, with the naked expanse of the Milky Way hanging high above their heads like a black canvas, the cosmos split down the middle by the bends of the ringworld.

A perimeter fence boxed in the yard from four sides, similar to a basketball court, the ground a deep grey colour that was rubbery when stepped on. The squads huddled together on one side of the yard, about thirty people spread along its length.

“You’ve all trained with the coilgun platform,” Marek began, standing before the procession, his tone like a foghorn as he raised his voice. “But you’ll never know when your equipment might fail, or there’ll be no one around to top you up on ammo. That’s why today you’ll be learning how to fight with weapons that will never fail you and can never be taken away. Your own two hands.”

There were murmurs of excitement as Marek and a couple of instructors had the squads pair up in groups of ten, the men forming a rough row down the yard. Everyone had done some basic hand-to-hand training under their belts, so Marek walked them through some more advanced techniques, pushing out couple of training dummies to help demonstrate.

Cadell’s team lined up shoulder to shoudler, the five of them copying Marek’s stance. It was like their own little karate dojo, each squad member kicking out and sending punches in near-perfect synchronicity.

The lesson went on for maybe forty-five minutes, and then the instructors laid out some rubber mats for them to use for free-sparing, first on the training dummies, and then on each other. Cadell practices his sweeping kicks on August, and although he was bigger and stronger than Cadell, Marek showed him how to use August’ weight to his advantage and send him off-balance with a few well-placed strikes.

They took turns knocking each other down, Cadell fee2ling bruises on his arms and legs as the session dragged on into an hour, then two. After one especially smooth leg sweep from Cadell’s end, August hit the ground hard, chuckling despite the heavy fall. “Good stuff, boss,” he said, reaching out to take Cadell’s offered arm. “You got a mean kick. I think you could take on one of the birds.”

Cadell wiped his brow and looked over at the Balokarids, two the aliens facing off against each other. They hadn’t taken any human opponents, which was not surprising, their arms were almost as long as his torso, a punch would send any of them to the hospital.

He watched as their winged arms twitched and fluttered, the Balokarids favouring elbow jabs and open-palmed punches. They were taking to human fighting styles quickly, Cadell wondering how differently they fought on Balokar.

“Don’t know about that,” Cadell chuckled. “They’ve got legs as thick as my waist, I don’t think any of us could bring them down without an exosuit or somethin’.”

Hunter had been watching their progress from nearby, and he seemed to take his comment as a challenge, dropping his water bottle as he stepped out onto the mat. “I could do it,” Hunter insisted. “Fact that they’re twice the size of us isn’t a problem, it’s actually an advantage. You know, bigger they are, harder they fall, all that shit.”

“That so?” Cadell said, then waved at the aliens. “Why don’t you go walk the walk, then?”

He thought Hunter was just messing around, but he surprised him by saying: “With pleasure, mate. If I tap one out, then you’ll give me squad lead. Deal?”

“You’re on.”

“Oi, Kazlu!” Hunter shouted, the alien turning her head. “You and me, let’s go.”

The alien cocked her head, glancing at the nearby Lieutenant for assurance. He’d been watching them spar with a passive interest, but now his eyebrows had risen up to his forehead.

“I doubt your opponent will ever be a Balokarid, but you’ll never know what to expect on the battlefield,” Marek said, folding his arms and gesturing with his head. “Go ahead, recruit Kazlu. If he starts bawling his eyes out, that’s on him.”

Kazlu stepped onto the mat, leaving maybe three meters between her and Hunter. “You’re certain you want to do this?” she asked him. “You weigh not even a third of what I do, I may crush you.”

“Already with the trash talk, Kaz?” Hunter jeered. “Come on, let’s see if you can protect yourself without your fancy shields.”

“If you insist, little Hunter,” Kazlu teased, taking up a martial artist’s stance. Hunter readied his fists like an amateur boxer, the two squaring off as Samiha got clear.

“Want me to go easier on you?” Kazlu suggested.

“If you want to lose,” Hunter shot back stoically. “I’m gonna be at the top of my game. Time to get serious.”

Huner made the first move, stepping in to deliver a swift cross to her stomach, as it was the only thing comfortably in reach. Kazlu palmed his elbow, redirecting his attack wide, then pushed her shoulder into his chest. She pinned his arm beneath a knee before he’d even hit the ground, neutralising him in all of three seconds.

“Ah. Bugger,” Hunter said. He struggled against her, but Kazlu was too heavy, the alien looking down on him with a sly expression.

“I tried to warn you, friend,” she said. Behind them Marek was shaking his head in exasperation.

“Never assume a fight is won until you’re sure,” the Lieutenant said. “As I mentioned, unexpected things can happen out on the field, you never know if more of your enemy will show up. Private Shaw, what are you waiting for?”

August didn’t need to be told twice, rolling up his sleeves and cracking his neck. He fell into a light run, crouching a little as he rushed up on Kazlu from behind.

“Kee-rawwwt!” Kazlu yelped, as August looped his arms round her torso. Like some sort of wrestling move, he wrangled her to the ground, Hunter rolling out of the way before she crushed him. The surprise attack caught Kazlu at her weakest moment, but even the brawny August wasn’t strong enough to pin her, and she curled one of her long legs to drive a knee into his chest, hoisting him aside like a tossed sack of wheat.

Before she could stand, however, Hunter threw himself into the fray, and with August’s help they were able to bring her down like footballers going for the tackle. He heard Kazlu’s surprised laughter rise out from the tangle of limbs as the humans threw everything they had at her. Even Samiha, who was often so indifferent, was curling her lips into a smile as she watched the tiny humans wrestle the alien giant.

“This is not supposed to be a laughing matter, elevens,” Marek sighed, coming forward and breaking it up. As he started giving each of them some pointers, Cadell wondered over to stand by Samiha, the alien’s amber eye on this side turning to regard him.

“I had my doubts, but looks like some of us can go toe-to-toe with a Balokarid,” Cadell noted.

“Do not let this display fool you,” Samiha scoffed. “Kazlu was holding back, and she still had Hunter pinned in one move. Besides, two on one is hardly a fair fight.”

“You heard the Lieutenant, fightin’ ain’t meant to be a fair thing. ‘Sides, Hunter’s cocky, impulsive, he wasn’t takin’ it seriously either.”

“Think you could handle a Balokarid in a real fight?” Samiha asked, eyes locking to his. It was hard to tell if that was a stare of challenge, or if she was just curious.

“Maybe. Why don’t we find out?”

“We certainly will.”

She moved to her half of a vacant rubber mat nearby, Cadell taking up his spot opposite her. He rolled up his sleeves up to the elbows, rolling his shoulders in preparation. Samiha was wearing the signature singlet that all Balokarids wore, the garment clinging tightly to her powerful but lithe figure.

She held out her hands, the palms open as if she meant to offer him handshakes. Cadell raised his fists, his heart pumping from the prior exertion, and from a bit of trepidation as well. Samiha had referred to him more than once as a boy, and even if they had come to a sort of peace treaty since then, this was his chance to prove his strength. He didn’t want to mess this up.

She was letting him take the first move, standing there without making any attempt to cover her weak points. Cadell inched closer, stepping toward her left side, as he knew that the right was her dominant hand. He stepped in suddenly, thrusting out with a jab. His wrist flared with pain as she slapped it aside, leaving him open, but again, she didn’t try to attack him.

He aimed lower, meaning to hit with an uppercut, but his fist found its way in the path of her palm, her feathery fingers closing over his hand. She shoved him back, Cadell stumbling away, blinking when he saw a rusty-red fist aiming for his face. He ducked beneath it, delivering a roundhouse kick as he rose from the crouch. Cadell had learned that move back on the Manildra military base, he wasn’t some fresh-faced recruit new to all this, and he was determined not to go down as easily as Hunter had.

Cadell was quick, but not quick enough, his boot catching on air as the Balokarid sidestepped the attack. The next thing he knew, he felt three sharp points on his chest.

“Dead,” Samiha announced.

Cadell blinked at her. One of her long legs was thrust forward, and he looked down to see her bird-like feet burrowing into his uniform, her claw-shaped toes ready to tear him to ribbons.

Not ready to be outdone, he gripped one toe with his left hand, and her heel with his right, making a twisting motion with both. Samiha voiced a caw of alarm as she hopped away before he could cement his grip, bouncing on the spot as she limbered up her arms.

“Still think you can take me?” Samiha teased.

“I’m just warming up,” Cadell replied, twitching his fingers in a come here gesture. “Round two, let’s do it.”

She grinned at him, but there was more than humour behind those yellow eyes. Aggression, if he had to guess. She didn’t think this was just for practice, it seemed. “As you wish.”

This time Samiha made the first move, her rusty frame zipping over the matt toward him like a bullet. The air whistled as she hooked an elbow towards his face, Cadell deflecting it aside. She came at him with another fast hit, her movements so quick he struggled to track them with his eyes. She might have skirted nine feet tall, but that didn’t mean she was slow.

Cadell found that if he stayed low enough, his shorter stature compared to hers meant he was more out of her reach than in it, forcing Samiha into a lower stance that she wasn’t used to. He weathered blow after blow, growling under his breath. He’d never get a hit in just by blocking, he had to go on the offensive.

He lashed out with a jab aimed at her beak, Cadell panicking as she felt him grip her arm. She turned him around, her other hand snaking over to hook across his neck, Samiha now standing behind him. She had him in a headlock, the soft texture of her feathers contrasting with the liquid muscles flowing beneath her bicep. He tried to pull her arm away, but she reached her hand across his elbow, immobilising him.

“Dead again,” Samiha muttered somewhere above him. “Need more time to warm up, Cadell?”

Her grip on his neck was not tight enough to choke, but he couldn’t break free through grit alone. Remembering a technique Marek had taught them not long ago, he pushed on her elbow from below, rotating his body as he twisted under her forearm. He broke out of her grip, curling his fist and lashing out with it, the blow landing right in her belly.

Her abdominals were like rocks beneath his knuckles, but as much as it hurt his hand, the attack sent Samiha reeling. She only tumbled maybe two small steps backward, but the alien looked like she’d just seen a ghost, a hand creeping to her stomach as she gave Cadell an astounded look.

“Not such a shi’ahk, after all…” Samiha murmured, and again those amber eyes burned into his own. That mockful energy behind them was gone now, replaced by a cool, calculative look.

Cadell pressed his attack, sending out kicks, punches, shoves, all of which she blocked and parried. He could just see from the corner of his eye that they were attracting a little crowd of spectators, there were even a couple of the instructors among them.

He kept himself in her personal space, her larger arms more of a hindrance in the close proximity. Just as he started to think he had her on the backfoot, she made her move. Spreading her arms out to the sides and then up, as though she was about to deliver the biggest hug, Samiha pulled her hands together in a clapping motion, her sheathed wings blooming into their full lengths, much like an eagle taking flight.

Her clawed feet left the deck, Samiha’s wings fluttering like sails catching on wind. Cadell was bracketed by a sudden gust of wind, the force nearly knocking him off his feet. He looked on as she vaulted clear over his head, landing behind him with a thump so heavy he felt the impact through his legs.

The group of onlookers murmured and pointed, all their suspicions about the Balokarids being flight-capable confirmed. She landed in an acrobatic squat, her strong legs absorbing the impact, Cadell turning just in time to block a fist aimed at his gut.

They reached another clinch of trading blows, not quite scoring hits on each other as they navigated around the training mat. As tall and brawny as she was, she was tiring far quicker than he was, her warm breath washing down on him in short instances as she began to pant. Her little flight-move had cost her a decent amount of stamina, perhaps she had been banking on Cadell being too slow to react to her sudden burst of speed.

She lanced out with a punch, and instead of dodging, Cadell caught her arm in his fists. He threw her arm backward, while driving his shoulder forward into her chest, using all his weight to knock her off balance. A combination of summoning all his strength, and her depleting energy, resulted in the Balokarid tumbling to the ground, Cadell following her down.

He straddled the alien, knees on either side of her chest, her torso wide enough he felt like he was sitting in the saddle of an oversized bull. He drove his forearm beneath her chin, applying just enough pressure on her neck to make her still, his face inches from her beak.

“Dead,” he said, a cocky grin curling his lips.

She gazed up at him with those amber eyes, then threw her head back and chuckled, her laughs coming in short, breathy bursts. She fluffed herself up just like the way she’d done back in the rage cage, letting her feathers stand on end to let the body heat beneath escape.

“It would seem so,” she breathed, propping her elbows on the mat as she leaned up, bringing her beak closer to his face. “If you possessed claws or talons, perhaps you would have slain me, but your swiftness cannot be denied.”

“Call it evens, then,” he said. He lifted his pinning arm, then offered it out to her. She seemed to find his assistance amusing, and he soon found out why. She took his hand into her own, and when he tried to pull her up, he barely succeeded in lifting her head.

Samiha smirked at him, getting to her own two feet, her hand closed over Cadell’s for a little bit longer before she let him go. Some of the humans cheered from the sidelines, pleased with the outcome of the interspecies brawl, slowly filling off now that the fight was done with.

“You’re stronger than I imagined,” Samiha told him. “Shi’ahk arra’ntal. Teaches me to judge you by your cover, so to speak.”

“Why do you keep calling me that?” he asked her. “Shi’ahk? What does that mean?”

The sweeping crest atop her head roiled a she took a second to think. “Our words do not translate so directly into yours,” she explained. “Shi’ahk is a concept, usually in reference to a male who is small or weak.” She turned and appraised him, Cadell feeling an odd sensation creep up his spine at her intense stare. “I shall have to think up a different term to call you.”

“We have one in our dictionary that might fit the bill.”

“Oh? Go on.”

“It’s a concept, much like yours, except it means someone who you know you can depend on, who will always have your back and won’t let you down. We call these people friends.”

The grin creeping up her beak faltered, her feathery tail twitching.

“Really?” she asked. “I thought…” She stared at the ground for a moment, then came to her senses, inhaling deeply. “Never mind. Of course, we can be friends.”

Her stiff reply confused Cadell, but he took it as a sign that the days of the two of them arguing and fighting were done. There was nothing like a good brawl to help burn off some steam, and he didn’t get the impression it left any hard feelings between them. If anything, it had improved his image in her eyes, even if he had only landed a handful of hits against her. Perhaps she would treat him more fairly next time around at the simulation.

Cadell felt a pang of anxiety at the thought. Would they pass at their rerun of the sim, or would they suffer another wave of embarrassment, the program cut short? Only time would tell, and there wasn’t much of that anymore. Their turn in the sim was only ten days away.

-xXx-

Cadell tapped his feet against the deck, leaning on his knees as they waited for their squad to be called. The two weeks had rushed by, the day of their return to the simulation bearing down on him like a freight train. This was it, months of training and hard work, and it all boiled down to a timeframe that wouldn’t even last ten minutes. There would be no second chances, this was their second chance.

Little chatter passed between the five of them, Samiha on his direct right, the others lining the seats beyond her. Even the outgoing Hunter had sensed the growing tension within the group and had sealed his lips, leaving only the quiet humidifiers in the room to create an ambience. Cadell couldn’t use the silence to doze off no matter how much he tried.

Since they were the eleventh out of eleven teams, naturally they were the last of the platoon to take the test. With nothing to do but wait, Cadell focused on remembering all the skills he’d learned since arriving on the Hub, and trying not to imagine what would happen if they failed again. Not being the one squad to fail the sim was one thing, but they also had to get a fast time if they wanted to appease Lieutenant Marek. He didn’t want to be negative, but those were two tough goals they had to make without error.

The door to the simulation room opened, and a group of five men filed out, chatting and laughing and rubbing sweat from their hair. They stopped to look at the giant monitor that took up one of the walls, the screen depicting the rest of the platoon’s times. Team ten had scored just under six minutes, which put them comfortably at rank seven. None of the teams had K.I.A across their scores.

The men from team ten noticed Cadell looking their way, one of them perking up as they crossed the room towards the exit.

“Check it out everyone, the lucky elevens are back,” he teased, grinning when Kazlu frowned at him.

“Maybe the winged wonders will get a little further this time,” another added, directing his attention to Cadell. “Don’t get too personal with the holograms this time, Mitchy, wouldn’t want you dying in front of your team again.”

The others joined him in their mockery, Cadell fuming as he struggled to find a meaningful comeback. To his right, Samiha climbed to her feet, moving between him and the five jokers.

“My fist will get personal with your face in a moment,” Samiha growled, using her tall height to leer at the man. “Back off.”

“Woah, hey, ch-chill out, dove,” the man said, raising his hands in surrender and stepping back. “We were just joking around.”

“I’m sure you were. Begone,” she growled, gesturing at the door.

The men left without another word, Samiha turning to give Cadell a sympathetic look. He could confidentially say that Samiha would never have done that for him a month ago, Cadell giving her a friendly tap on the arm.

“’Preciate that, Samiha.”

“Ingrate shi’ahk’s,” she muttered in their direction. “Let us go and prove how wrong they are.”

“Now you’re talking,” Hunter added, rising from his seat. Her display had seemed to raise their spirits. “We’re way more prepared this time round, team. We got this in the bag.”

A male voice crackled over the intercom. It was Marek’s, telling them that the sim room was ready.

“Moment of truth,” Kazlu muttered. “Remember your training, friends, and we’ll get through this.”

The five them proceeded through the door. Just as last time, the strange layout of the simulation room drew Cadell’s attention to the walls and ceiling, the cage of metal bars forming a dome across the rectangular room. Cadell’s nose twitched as an aroma of exertion lingered in the air from all the previous groups, faint but there, yet that was the only indication the space had seen any use, everything else was sterile and clean.

The team fixed their kinetic vests and helmets, the sound of sliding loading bolts filling the room, the Balokarids taking an extra moment to fit their shield sleeves to either arm. There was no idle chatter this time around, they all knew what to expect, and their futures very well depended on what happened next.

The little light sources lining the cage bars flicked on one by one, starting as small white dots and then blooming into harsh floodlights, Cadell taking it as a signal to close his visor over his eyes. The room gave way, transforming into a large warehouse made of gunmetal-black material, far larger than what the real room would have suggested. It seemed identical to the first simulation – with the side of the warehouse packed with a maze-like set of walls, then giving way to an open-planned area as it reached the other end.

“Alright people,” Cadell announced, readying his plastic weapon. “You all know what to expect, but don’t get comfortable. The Lieutenant’s probably moved things around to try and surprise us. Let’s not give him the satisfaction. Got it?”

“Got it,” they all replied together.

Cadell took the lead, moving through the entrance to the first section of the sim at a brisk pace, his four companions flanking him. The holograms were waiting for them, firing the second he was through the arch, three targets rising from behind barricades and crates placed about the lobby, their faces devoid of any features or expressions.

He took a knee behind a nearby barrier and opened up, his coilgun sending bullets downrange with no physical recoil to accompony it. Not everything was quite as he remembered, Cadell noting some pieces of cover had moved position, and the doorways leading out of the room had also changed orientation.

The targets were easily dispatched by the five of them, August bringing two down with his automatic, Hunter scoring a headshot on the last that sent its bright body shattering. Cadell checked the ground, seeing the animated navigation line wending its way through the room to the door on the righthand wall. The other two doors on the north and west were obscured in shadow.

“Twenty seconds gone,” Kazlu reported, checking her display on the inside of her shield sleeve. “Better than last time.”

“Let’s not break our stride,” Cadell said, waving them on. They rushed across the room to the indicated door, but as they took up positions, he felt a tap on his shoulder.

“What of the other rooms?” Samiha said, pointing at the unmarked doors. “Last time, their were enemies inside.”

“We’re on a time limit here,” Hunter reminded her, the human to her rear. “We don’t have to kill everything, just make it to the end quickly, that’s the only objective.”

“If they come up behind us,” Kazlu warned. “Our shields can only do so much…”

“This is not a debate,” Samiha said, cutting them off as she returned her attention to Cadell. “What would you have us do?” she asked, Cadell blinking up at her.

He was shocked to hear her call him that, but masked his reaction by glancing away. It had taken so much time and effort to get to this point, and if she was going to call him Kith’sla, it was time to start acting like one.

Cadell weighed the pros and cons for a heartbeat, and came to a decision. “We need those rooms cleared,” he said. “Samiha, you got the experience, get on it. August, you go with her. Meantime, we’ll push ahead.”

Samiha checked the chamber of her submachine-gun, the latch in the mag well clacking as she gave him a determined nod. “We’ll meet up with you as soon as we can. Come, August.”

Human and alien turned toward the unmarked rooms, Cadell watching them go. He remembered Marek chewing him out for neglecting to clear his flanks, and he wasn’t going to make that mistake again. Splitting their force was risky, but with August’ firepower and Samiha’s shields, they shouldn’t have too much trouble dealing with any strays.

“Let’s go,” he said, waving Kazlu and Hunter on, moving into a long, dark hallway with two doors on the left, each of them about the size of an office space. This was clearly designed to test their CQC skills, with tight rooms and blind corners, the modular layout making it easy for the makers of the simulation to create hundreds of scenarios. It really was like some sort of elaborate video game like Hunter had compared it too, but Cadell wasn’t about to treat it like one.

Neither were his friends, Kazlu and Hunter working in tandem with his callouts, using her shields to create cover when there was none. The maze progressed in a zig-zagging pattern, Cadell imagining it the letter S from above, divided into hallways maybe ten meters across and filled with anywhere between two to five rooms apiece.

The urge to look at his display and check the time was hard to resist, a part of Cadell worried that if he looked, somehow time would slip by and they’d fail once again. It was hard to keep a mental clock going with all the on-and-off shooting, but it felt like maybe they were two minutes into the sim, possibly three.

They breached rooms and shot holograms just as they’d trained to, moving smoothly from room to room. Cadell could hear shooting somewhere behind them, but with no way to communicate other than by ear, he didn’t know how August and Samiha were faring. He considered sending someone to double back and help, but thought better of it. They were all soldiers of the Alliance, he had to trust in their ability, just as they trusted in his.

Another a few narrow hallways, and they reached the final leg of the maze, the tight spaces opening up into an archway which led into the vast cathedral that made up the latter half of the virtual warehouse. A minefield of barrels, crates and other bits of cover lay scattered in all directions, with bunker emplacements lining the east and west sides of the space, making for a deadly killing zone to anything that crossed.

On the far side of this battlefield was the simulation’s only other feature. Stood up against the wall was a podium about waist-high, and on top of it was a bright red button. The navigation line ended right at its base. All they had to do was press it, and the clock would stop.

The simple goal was contrasted by the number of holograms between them and the button, the memory of how agonising it had been to be shot by the virtual enemies flashing through his mind. There had to be thirty holograms out there, not including the ones in the bunkers, their weapons trained on them as the three of them took a knee behind a nearby barricade. They weren’t firing yet, perhaps whoever was in charge of their programming was holding off, waiting for them to make the first move.

“Can’t decide whether I’m happy or scared to see this place again,” Hunter muttered as he peeked around the cover. “How much time we got?”

Kazlu answered. “We’ve passed two and a half minutes,” she said, a touch of concern in her musical voice. “Should we keep moving?”

“No,” Cadell replied. “We need everyone here if we want to get through all that.”

“The platoon’s average time is five and a half minutes,” Kazlu warned. “If we want to pass that, we cannot linger.”

“We go together or not at all,” Cadell insisted. “We’re waitin’.”

They couldn’t hear any shooting at their rear, which didn’t exactly narrow down Samiha and Augusts status. If they’d been ‘killed’, they had no way to warn them, the thought starting to worry Cadell…

He was relieved when he saw a sliver of rusty colour turn the corner behind them, Samiha rushing up the hallway with August right behind her, the two looking winded but otherwise intact. Samiha pressed her back against the barrier to his right, Cadell flashing her a smile.

“Never been more glad to see you two,” he said. “How’d you go?”

“All is clear,” Samiha reported. “We won’t have anything flanking us this time around.”

“What’s the plan, boss?” August asked, switching the mag on his weapon with a fresh one.

Cadell looked over the barricade, his plastic vest creaking. He’d studied this part of the sim over and over these past couple weeks, so it didn’t take up too much of their limited time before he came up with a plan.

“We’ll move up the room in turns,” he told them. “Samiha on the right, Kazlu on the left, me in the middle. Hunter and August will cover us. Once we stop, us three will cover as you two catch up. Classic leapfrog manoeuvre.”

“I should be on the left side,” Samiha argued. He thought she was protesting, but then she added: “My left hand is my dominant shield side. Kazlu’s is her right.”

“Sure, let’s do that. Everyone know what they’re doing?” he asked. They did, so he waved them on. “Then let’s go. Cover fire, now!”

August opened up with his heavy gun, Hunter following suit as the aliens launched to their feet, Cadell struggling to keep up on his comparatively shorter legs as they rushed forward.

The holograms sprang into action, suppressive fire from the bunkers drawing lines of tracer rounds, forming X’s in the air. Kazlu and Samiha deployed their shields, protecting Cadell from flanking fire that would have turned him to mincemeat without their presence. He didn’t even have to explain that was the intention of his strategy, they were working like a well-oiled machine, a far cry from their last run at this.

They moved three levels of cover deeper into the killing zone, trading fire with the holograms. Cadell made a fist in the air, signalling his alien allies to stop. At his word, Hunter and August fell into sprints, running while crouched as they ducked and banked out of gunfire, the two humans having to rely on speed rather than Balokarid hardlight to dodge incoming fire.

Cadell braced his weapon, firing off three-round bursts at a time, the holograms behind his sights vanquishing as he aimed for centre mass. They might only be lines of code, but the holograms were moving in tandem with each other, some retreating while others stayed behind to distract.

“Move, move!” Cadell shouted over the gunfire. With the humans caught up, it was back to the Balokarids to push up and clear a path, Cadell doing his best to switch his focus to each flank and help when needed.

The holograms seemed to be multiplying, becoming denser as they proceeded up the field, popping out from seemingly nowhere. Reaching deeper into the killing zone, they were exposing themselves to more of the bunker’s lines of fire as well, further adding to the chaos.

Hunter took aim with his precision rifle, scoring a clean hit through a bunker slat on the left and presumably the head of a hologram inside. The weapons fire alleviated, but after another leapfrog, the very same bunker started opening up once again.

“Oh come on,” Hunter whined. “Fuckers are respawning? That’s cheating!”

“Stay focused, friend,” Kazlu shouted, wincing behind her shield as the hardlight soaked up a whole mag of incoming rounds. “Just keep shooting them!”

“Don’t stop movin’,” Cadell warned, pausing behind a barrel as he took a moment to reload. Their leapfrogging tactic had started strong but was losing momentum, the sheer number of enemies and bullets bringing them to a crawling pace.

“I’m pinned,” August shouted. “Someone lend me a hand?”

Samiha redirected her fire, cutting down a pair of holograms focusing on August, swiftly ducking away as bullets zipped over her feathery crest.

“This is no longer working,” Samiha yelled out. “We are wasting time sitting here.”

“You’re the one with the shield,” August shouted back. “Do something about it.”

“I can only protect one side at a time,” Samiha protested. “I am not invulnerable, fool.”

They were losing coordination, losing hope, Cadell unable to help but glance at the timer in worry. Four minutes. Their chance at making a good time were diminishing.

“Hey, birds!” Hunter shouted. “You make sandwiches where you come from?”

“Is now really the time, Hunter?” Kazlu growled, letting off another burst of gunfire.

“I’ve got an idea!” Hunter insisted. “Let’s all form up, Balokarids on the front and back, and us three in the middle – two slices of bread between three bits of ham, if you will. If we all move together, we can keep behind your shields while we shoot.”

“And bring us closer to our objective in the meantime,” Samiha muttered, nodding her head. “Perhaps that could work, but there is not enough surface area of our shields to cover all five of us.”

“But you have one on each sleeve, right?” Hunter asked. “So that’s four in total. You won’t be able to shoot, but like I said, we don’t have to kill everything to win this thing.”

“Hot dog, Hunter,” Cadell said in awe. “That’s the best idea I heard all day. You heard him, ladies, rally on me.”

The five of them grouped up, forming a tightly-knit group. Kazlu let her gun sway in its sling, flexing her feathers as she deployed both of her shields, their glittering blue surfaces shaped like giant diamonds. Samiha hesitated before she followed suit, glancing at her weapon before holstering it, perhaps coming to the same conclusion that Cadell had before – she had to trust in her teammates if they wanted to succeed.

Her secondary shield bloomed from the sensor on her sleeve, giving her wings a disproportionality larger image. She formed her hands into fists and brought them together, keeping her elbows out straight so her shields were as wide as possible. Designed to keep a Balokarid safe, the three humans were almost completely concealed behind the wavering barrier.

Kazlu copied her movements on the flank, Cadell finding himself surrounded by hard light energy. The shields weren’t quite big enough to meet at the sides and form a complete circle, small gaps of exposure leaving their east and west faces open, but it was the best they could do.

“Timin’ is gonna be everthin’,” Cadell warned. “I’ll count down from two, when I say one, Samiha step forward, Kazlu you step back. Ready?”

“Ready!” Kazlu said.

“Ready,” Samiha echoed.

Cadell started his countdown, and in perfect harmony, the two aliens shuffled forward one pace and the circle of light moved around them. Cadell found himself pressing shoulders with Hunter and August as they juggled the limited space afforded to them. Another count, and another step was taken, Samiha choosing the only path that was feasible – right down the middle.

“Watch it!” Hunter warned, Kazlu stepping on his foot on the next pace. He almost tumbled over, but Cadell hauled him up by the shoulder at the last moment.

“Mind your spacin’ everyone,” Cadell shouted over the gunfire. “Tumblin’ to our deaths like a bunch of first-time dancers is not how we’re goin’ out.”

Coordinating five people to move as one was hard in of itself, but the holograms were still pressuring them, and now their exotic manoeuvre was placing them square in the middle of the simulation grounds, tracer rounds flying over their heads from all directions. He directed Hunter to the bunkers, while he and August focused on clearing a path for Samiha, poising the muzzles of their rifles over the shield barriers, which sat at about neck-height.

Cadell wondered how much punishment the alien shields were allowed to take. If even one of them broke, they’d be finished. Calling out targets, focusing their fire, keeping in sync with the powerful strides of the aliens as their mobile cover carried them onward, there were so many things to consider that he didn’t have the option of checking their time, but he doubted they had a minute left to spare, probably less than that.

Storms of bullets assailed the squad from each side, the holograms having enveloped them as they pushed down their frontline, the cracks of gunshots not quite like those of actual weapons, but close enough that every bullet that disintegrated into the shields made Cadell flinch on reflex. Something about seeing no physical barrier between you and a bullet was just off. He wondered how Samiha and Kazlu handled that pressure.

“I see the button!” Hunter exclaimed. “Keep going, ladies, we’re almost there!”

Cadell chanced a peek ahead, noting that the button was maybe twenty meters away. The sight fuelled him on, and this attitude stretched to the others as well, Kazlu and Samiha keeping up as he increased the speed of his counting by an octave.

Cadell loosed off the last of his ammo, his rifle dangerously close to Samiha’s crest, her feathers roiling in surprise. A hologram had stayed rooted to the spot, intent on blocking their path, perhaps, the target shattering apart before disappearing into thin air like a wisp. This was roughly the place he had ‘died’ the last time, and every step from now was pure, sweet progress.

The rest of the holograms seemed perplexed, abandoning their prior tactical awareness and just standing out in the open, taking potshots at their shield wall, not bothering to reposition as the Balokarids left few angles of attack. It was like they’d glitched the system, found a loophole that the makers of this test hadn’t considered. The plan was working.

The button was drawing closer, Cadell able to see there was writing on top of it, probably the word end or something to that effect. They weaved between the barriers towards their objective like a boulder of hardlight, the holograms having no choice but to clear their path or be shot.

A couple feet from the podium, the barrier on Samiha’s right arm began to diminish, the flickering polygons turning a dim shade of grey. The holograms were concentrating their fire on her, Samiha flicking her gaze to the power meter on her sleeve.

“It will not last much longer,” she warned, her voice unusually calm given the circumstances.

“Get us to that button before that happens,” Cadell shouted between bursts.

Samiha didn’t need to be told twice, hastening towards their goal. Her pace fell out of step with Kazlu’s a little, but any holograms that could get an angle, August dealt with swiftly.

They reached the far wall of the simulation, the button standing proudly to their right. They were in the heart of the enemy forces now, and Cadell could have sworn there had not been this many holograms a few moments ago. The people surveying the sim must have decided to go all or nothing.

“Samiha,” he said. “As soon as your shield breaks, you hit that button hard and fast. It’ll be our turn to cover you.”

“Understood,” Samiha replied.

When the moment came, it happened in as much time as it took to blink an eye. Samiha’s weaker shield shattered, the unusual shapes that composed the barrier projected into the air like shattered glass, losing their opacity until they were utterly gone.. Samiha had launched herself at the same instant, her long legs carrying her across the small space that separated her from the button.

The three humans ceased their bunching up, fanning out to form a rough perimeter around her and the podium, covering one cardinal direction each at Cadell’s instructions. Kazlu dropped to a knee to allow August to fire over her barriers, her protection saving them from a barrage aimed at their rear.

From the corner of his eye, Cadell watched as Samiha raised a fist, and brought it down on the button. The click it made was very loud, like it was being projected through a surround sound system turned to max. The dozens of holograms firing on them suddenly stood up straight, like they were fresh recruits who’d just seen an officer walk by, letting their guns hang by their sides.

After near-constant gunfire, the silence left a ringing in his ears, Cadell turning to glance at his companions. They were leaning on their knees, struggling to get their breathing under control, adrenaline bleeding away to leave them heavy with fatigue.

“Holy shit,” Hunter stammered, sitting down heavily on the floor. “I can’t believe the Balokarid Sandwich actually worked.”

“We,” Samiha grumbled. “are not calling it that.”

The four of them turned to stare at Samiha, and then with no words spoken or any obvious reason, they all started laughing. August came up and tapped Samiha on the side with a friendly punch, the alien’s surprise fading as a smile broke through and she grinned down at the human. Seeing her smile was a rare treat that was always infectious.

Hunter and Kazlu high-fived, the alien chirping in what must have been her version of a laugh, the relief palpable. Cadell joined in their celebrations, pulling off his headset and glasses and letting the sim vanish in the face of reality, sharing pats on the back with his friends. To his surprise, Samiha came up and took his hand into hers, Cadell reminded of their first day here, in which the alien had refused to shake his hand.

Relief, excitement, tiredness, these were emotions they were all feeling at the moment, but there was one other thing that troubled this otherwise proud moment for Cadell.

“Did anyone get a look at our time?” he asked them. “Anyone see our score?”

“I was a little preoccupied,” Kazlu answered. She placed her augmented reality headset on, trying to steal one last look in the sim again, but she shook her head. “I saw it in the corner of my eye, but I think it said five minutes. It’s gone now.”

“So much for Balokarid super vision,” Hunter muttered. She made to grab him and he danced away. “I’m kidding, I’m kidding!”

Cadell’s energy died down as the tension he’d felt before the sim returned, this time with twice as much strength. They’d completed the sim, but how well had they really done? He didn’t have to live with this question for long, however. The door slid open, and in walked Lieutenant Marek in his signature officer’s uniform. His body language was stiff and trained, conveying nothing as to what he may be thinking.

“Front and centre, elevens,” he ordered, and the five of them lined up, breaking eye contact to give each other strained looks. Any notion of excitement had died in that instant.

“You’ve completed the simulation, and for that you deserve congratulations,” Marek began. “Of course, comparing anything to the absolute travesty of your first attempt isn’t worth one pat on your back. As for your time, that is another matter entirely.”

Cadell glanced up at Samiha, the alien remaining stoic, save for the twitching feathers on her headdress. He knew those twitches weren’t ones born from a calm mind.

“Squad four has the best time, at four minutes and forty-two seconds,” Marek said. “Squad eight has the worst, at six minutes and fifty-five seconds. From the way you’re all staring at me like sheep, my guess is you don’t know your time yet, so I’ll tell you myself. You completed the simulation in, four minutes…”

Marek left the words hang in the air, Cadell and the squad waiting with bated breath.

“… and nineteen seconds,” Marek finished. “Which puts you firmly at the top of the board.”

The squad’s enthusiasm returned tenfold, Hunter and August exchanging excited fist bumps with the aliens, the birds chirping in amusement as they quickly caught on to the meaning of the gesture. Cadell found himself in the centre of it all, chuckling when Kazlu wrapped one of her wings around him and pulled him into a tight, one-armed hug.

Even Marek wasn’t spared from the celebrations, a grin breaking out on his gruff face as he shook hands with all five of them, congratulating them on a task well done.

“I’m not sure how you did it,” Marek continued. “breaking out from dead last to first, but you’ve set an example I cannot deny. Don’t let it get to your heads,” he added. “You can break as many records as you want here in the Hub facilities, but when the real shooting starts, don’t think for a moment it will be as easy as this, or that moment will be your last. All the tech in the Galaxy can’t simulate a real gunfight down to a tee, remember that.”

“We will, Sir,” Cadell answered.

“I can’t say I’ve ever seen tactics like that employed in my sims before,” Marek added. “but that’s the point of the program, seeing what results from your mixed team composition. I’ll relay the news to the Kith’sla and the Senator, I’m sure they’ll be eager to hear how you did.”

“Any chance of a nice reward waiting for us, Sir?” Hunter asked. “Something like, oh I don’t know, some time off base? For a job well done, of course?”

“One thing at a time, Private,” Marek said. “Was going to get you down to the airlocks for another space-walk, but that can wait. Consider yourselves relieved for the rest of the evening.”

It wasn’t clearance to get out on the Hub, but it was the next best thing. Cadell could sure use the rest, he felt like he’d run a marathon, despite the simulation room being just that, a room. How those projectors made it seem so much bigger once he lowered the helmet, he had no idea.

They were dismissed, and they returned to the lobby after depositing their gear. Nobody was outside, as all the squads had likely been assigned off to their training duties, so nobody but them saw squad eleven rise to the top of the leaderboard display. The news would spread quickly, however, Cadell knew that Hunter would make sure of that, judging by the way he talked on and on about how prime a marksman he’d been.

“Check us out,” August said, gesturing at the board. “Squad numero uno, that’ll teach the platoon to talk down to us.”

“A fitting place, considering we have two ones in our name,” Samiha noted.

“We should celebrate!” Kazlu suggested. “Going from killed in action to top of the platoon is no small feat. We have to treat ourselves.”

“Nobody’ll be in the rec centre at this time of day,” Cadell said. “We’ll have the whole place to ourselves.”

“Then lead on, Kith’sla Sir,” Hunter said. “I never asked what that means, by the by. Someone fill me in?”

“It roughly translates to one who possesses the qualities of a leader,” Samiha explained, locking eyes with Cadell for a moment before he looked away, which seemed to amuse the alien.

“But that other bird, what was her name? Shaliyya? She’s called a Kith’sla as well.”

“And?”

“So you give the same title to every big wig? Doesn’t that get confusing?”

“Are there not multiple Lieutenants and Captains and Commanders in your military?”

“Ah… Touche, Sammy, Touche. Let’s go get something to eat, all this winning we’ve done has made me hungry as hell.”

-xXx-

They made their way downspin to the recreation centre, the gentle mutterings of voices and the faint scents of cigarette smoke welcoming them as the doors swished open. Cadell always appreciated how less sterile this place was compared to the torus – the soft carpets and the yellow lighting providing a warm onset to the eye.

At this time of the afternoon, only a few other soldiers were milling about, concentrating mostly around the card tables and dart boards, one of the men holding up a hand in greeting as they passed by.

“Who’s up for a round?” Hunter asked, gesturing at the bar at the far end of the facility. “Get on the piss for a job well done?”

“’Piss’?” Samiha asked. “why do you call everything such vulgar words?”

“Because that’s what having Australian ancestors does to you,” August replied for him. “I’m down for some booze. How about you Cadell? Kazlu?”

“Why not?” Kazlu replied, her feathers twitching in excitement.

“Is this really such a good idea?” Samiha asked, her interjection stifling the mood. “We just proved to the Lieutenant that we are capable soldiers, if he saw us drunk out of our wits…”

“Déjà vu,” Hunter sighed. “Every time we try to have fun in here, old Sam turns into a buzzkill. We’re not gonna be getting shit-faced, just a little buzzed, that’s all.”

“Come on, Sam,” Kazlu added, patting her counterpart on the shoulder. The nickname that Hunter had given her was rubbing off on the alien. “You must try some, human drinks have just the right amount of bitterness to them.”

“Very well,” Samiha conceded. “I suppose I did not get to try some the last time we were here.”

Hunter went to order from the barman, the rest of them searching for a booth, which wasn’t hard considering all the vacancies. Cadell squeezed into one side with August, Hunter sitting opposite when he returned carrying a tray laden with pint glasses filled with frothy beer. It seemed one round in his book really meant two. Since they were too big to fit, the aliens chose to pull up some stools and sit outside the booth, the springs of their seats wheezing under their weight.

Hunter passed around the drinks, Cadell clutching the ppleasently cool glass in his hand. He noted Samiha’s sceptical reaction as she gripped her glass in both her hands.

“What did you get us?” she asked, peering into the foam.

“It’s ale, they have it on tap,” Hunter replied.

“And what is ale?” she pressed.

“There’s no need to be suspicious, Samiha,” Kazlu cut in, lifting her own glass to her beak. She opened her mouth to a sliver, allowing a small gulp to pass inside. “Drink, you’ll like the taste.”

Samiha pushed aside her reservations, Cadell watching as she morphed the end of her beak not unlike a pair of lips. It looked like it was made of keratin or bone, but the aliens seemed able to control its shape to some degree. She titled her head back, a visible lump travelling down her long neck as she drank.

“Hm,” was Samiha’s report. “It tastes not unlike the berries of the Salt Flats.”

“Told you you would like it,” Kazlu said, then started to chuckle.

“What has got you giggling like a hatchling?” Samiha asked.

“You have foam on your beak. Makes you look like you have one of those human moustaches.”

Samiha’s arm was a blur as she reached up to wipe the mess away, the rest of them laughing at her reaction. She was a good sport about it, taking it in her stride, looking down in an attempt to hide her grin.

“Still can’t believe the sandwich strategy worked back there,” Hunter muttered, sipping at his glass.

“But it was your idea!” Kazlu laughed. “You should be the last person to be doubting out of all of us.”

“I didn’t bloody realise you’d all just go along with it,” Hunter replied. “It’s like when you’re at a party, and you say to all the blokes that we should go to a brothel. You don’t think anyone’s going to do it, but then everyone does and you just kinda have to go with it.”

The group looked at him with a wild mix of shock and confusion, August breaking the silence. “I remember that night. Good times.”

“Human males are truly a strange lot,” Kazlu muttered, her crest flickering as she flicked her eyes to each of them. “Making up combative strategies on the spot, visiting brothels on their own. You’d see none of that on the homeworld or the colony.”

“How come?” Cadell asked.

“Our males do not play such a proactive role in our Clans as the females do. That is not to say their work is unimportant – medicinal sciences, dew harvesting, caring for the young – that is the kind of delicate work that requires a male’s touch. I cannot express how unusual it is to see all your soldiers are male.”

“You Balokarids don’t have any dudes in your armies?” Hunter asked. “What about medics, or support corps?”

Kazlu shook her feathery head. “It is forbidden. Our males are just not suited to combat roles. They are far weaker, and much shorter in stature.” She demonstrated by levelling her hand at around shoulder height, which was still more than a head taller than the average human.

“They cannot take flight, either,” Samiha added. “Which naturally makes them weaker compared to a female. In a contest of endurance or strength, we would outclass them every time.”

“It’s like a complete one-eighty to our society,” Hunter noted.

“Not exactly,” Cadell added. “We’ve got women in our armies. Not as many as men, sure, but they’re there.”

“You do not forbid them, then?” Kazlu asked. “I suppose your genders are not too dissimilar from one another, the range of your capabilities isn’t as broad as ours.”

“Forbidding women from enlisting would upset a few people,” August said, taking a hearty gulp from his ale. “Don’t think the prospect would ever make it to legislation.”

“Why?” Samiha pressed. “War destroys everyone it touches, would you not be glad to be stopped from going into it?”

“Joining the army is more of a career to some people,” Hunter explained. “You get a fat paycheck, and get to learn a trade to take back to civvie life. Not everyone’s a frontline soldier like us.”

“And yet they enlist them anyway,” Samiha muttered, taking another swig and ending the topic there. “Joining an army, but expecting to not face an enemy. What an odd concept.”

“I think it’s odd knowing you don’t have men in your army,” Cadell began, steering the conversation back on topic. “Kinda explains why I’ve only seen female Balokarids on the station.”

“It is equally weird seeing only human men training to fight,” Kazlu retorted. “On Balokar and the Dur’shala species, the native mammals al;ways defer to the bigger females in most cases. Is that not the case on Earth, or your colonies?”

“She’s got a point,” Hunter said. “There’re loads of species where the females take charge. Spiders, mantises, even some Earth birds. We primates are the odd ones out when you think about it.”

“What’s a Balokarid male look like?” August inquired, Samiha deigning to answer.

“Their colours are much brighter than ours. They lack the darker stem bases, instead favouring more aggressive colours like orange, red or yellow. Their headdresses are also far more ornate, with a narrow shape that complements their slim bodies. They lack wings, as I said, and their beaks are much shorter, no more different than the snout of a human, don’t you think, Kazlu?”

“You’re right,” Kazlu replied, giving Hunter a look. “If your massive nose was a little bigger, it wouldn’t be far off the mark.”

“Screw you,” Hunter said. “If your feathers were a bit more yellow, you’d be a spitting image of Big Bird.”

“Who?”

“A character from this old children’s show, I’ll tell you about it later. How’s your drink, Samiha?” added, turning to the other alien. “You’re getting through that pint, want me to shout you another?”

“One would think you were trying to get me drunk, Hunter,” Samiha replied. “I’d desist on that intent if I were you, I am twice your size, even your most potent drink wouldn’t faze me.”

“It’s like that, is it?” Hunter said, Cadel knowing that tone anywhere. “Then I guess you wouldn’t mind a round of shots then, right?”

“I thought you said we weren’t gettin’ shit-faced,” Cadell said.

“My integrity has been insulted,” Hunter replied with a smirk. “I must defend my honour, Sir.”

“Just don’t go crazy,” Cadell relented as Hunter made to leave the booth.

“As the squad lead commands,” Hunter said with an embellished salute. “I’ll go see what they got. Coming with, Sam?”

“I am content right here,” she said. “A juvenile drinking game, as I suspect you’re suggesting, is not for me.”

“So you’re chickening out?” he said, laughing at his own joke, but he wasn’t trying to mock her.

“I would be a fool to turn down free water,” Kazlu interjected, getting up from her stool. “I’ll join you.”

“Shots are the furthest thing from water,” Hunter added. “At least, I hope they haven’t watered anything down.”

“What’s wrong with that?” Kazlu asked, their conversation fading as they made their way to the bar.

“I gotta to the bathroom,” August said, Samiha making space for him, the leather cushions creaking as he shimmied out. Being left alone with Samiha would have bothered Cadell a couple months ago, but sitting in silence with her wasn’t as awkward as he’d thought, and he didn’t feel any real need to fill the void with conversation.

Samiha picked up her glass once more, Cadell trying not to make it obvious he was looking at her. There was something odd in the way she drank, her beak was so long and could hold so much liquid, yet she took only dainty sips, as though she were savouring a fine wine. He recalled how precious water was in her culture, guessing maybe the same principle applied to all liquids. There was no danger of dehydration on the Hub, but maybe taking no more than a tentative sip was something of a habit among her species.

She met his eyes over the round lip of her glass, Cadell quickly focusing on his own drink.

“Cadell, how did you get here?” she began, and he quirked a brow at her. “You say you grew up on a farmstead. How does one go from that, to Kith’sla of a squad of troopers?”

He considered his answer, then said: “I suppose I was never really satisfied being a farmhand. It’s hard work, day in and day out in the hot sun, livin’ on a schedule that goes all year round then repeats itself the next. Guess I wanted to break free from that.”

“You were unsatisfied with your colony?”

“Nah, it’s not that. Manildra’s a beautiful place, I miss it all the time.”

“Surely there were other avenues open to you?” she asked. “You are young, fit, was there no other work for you?”

Something was off about how she said fit, but he didn’t think too much on it.

“There were openings for expeditionists, sure,” he said. “People who go out into the wilds, scout the land and stake out good settlement spots, but Manildra’s pretty much the same climate all over the globe. I wanted to get out and see the Galaxy, not just fields of grass.”

“So this isn’t a career to you, like Hunter said some humans see the military as. But, isn’t human space enormous? Do you not have thousands of trade routes, ships you can hire?”

“You think a farmhand like me could afford to hire out a ship?” Cadell chuckled. “I suppose if I saved up I could have hitched a ride an old rigger, but after spendin’ my teens hearing about how the Confederates were raiding the Outer Reaches, that they were makin’ weapons that could destroy planets, I knew that even Manildra wasn’t safe, I got to thinking on how I could help. If I signed up for the Alliance, they’d take me in, and I get to see parts of the Reaches I’d never get to see as a rancher. Win-win in my books.”

“They promised you adventure,” Samiha noted, her tone calculating, as though she were assessing something. “but war is not adventure, Cadell, it is the process of turning the innocent into the guilty. Working the land for a burgeoning colony is a noble task that doesn’t ask much of you.”

“My Pa said something along those lines too,” Cadell mumbled, remembering his final days on Manildra. One parent furious, the other deathly quiet, Cadell unsure which he found more heart breaking. All his siblings lined up at the porch, looking up at their older brother as though they’d never see him again. They didn’t believe him when he insisted otherwise.

“Didn’t take you as being so against fighting the UEC, Samiha,” he continued. “You’re a soldier, too.”

“That is because I do not have a choice,” she said. “I have nothing else to live for but to fight. You on the other hand do, that is why I have called out your naivety multiple times. To walk willingly into this life, and throw away the chance to live on a peaceful world…” She shook her head. “I will never understand it.”

“What do you mean, you’ve got nothing to live for?” he asked, concern in his voice. “You shouldn’t say things like that.”

“And why not? It is true. What happened in that Nebula, it…” She hesitated, tapping her fingers against her glass. “My old life died in that place, and it is one I will never get back.”

There was emotion in her voice, like she was using all her willpower to say the words. Cadell pushed aside his drink, looking her in the eye. “You lost someone there,” he said, Samiha’s feathers standing on end. “Someone close.”

“W-What? How can you…?”

“I’ve seen the signs, Samiha. The evasiveness, the implications. I don’t want to force you or nothin’, but if you want someone to talk to about it, if you need to get somethin’ off your chest, I’m all ears.”

“You are remarkably perceptive,” Samiha noted, reaching up with a hand to hold down her crest feathers by force, like how a human might brush their hair when they were indecisive. It was a long while before she spoke. “Fine. As my Kith’sla, you would have to know eventually.”

Samiha took another swig of her drink, more generous this time, as though she were using the alcohol to steel her nerves.

“My Takeela was so carefree,” she began. “Younger than me by only a rotation, yet she had this positivity that made coming home after a hard day worth every moment. She could never figure out what she wanted to do in life, so she decided to follow in my stead. When I became an artisan, she was in the same classes. When I joined the Guard, she would be right behind me in the queue.”

“Guard?” Cadell asked.

“Dur’shala Guard. We had detected strange radio signals from the far side of a nearby canyon – what we would eventually discover to be Confederate scouts – and the Kith’sla decided that bolstering the Guard was the best course of action. I signed on only because the Kith’sla needed someone to teach the recruits, and I had handled weapons before. I kept telling Takeela there was no point following me, it was pointless to know how to handle a laser gun in a time of peace. How wrong I was. If she hadn’t been so adamant, she would never have survived the exodus from Dur’shala.”

She traced the sides of her drink with her nails, sweeping up the moisture sweating from the glass.

“The first time she stepped from my shadow was after the exodus, just before we fled into the Nebula. The Clan had a desperate need of pilots at that point, and she wanted to join. I told her no, she told me yes. I said took years to become qualified, she said she didn’t care. I said she would hit the first asteroid that came her way, and she said she wanted to finally make her own path in life.” She paused. “It is strange. I had told her for so many years to stop following me, yet the moment she strayed, I tried to reign her back. I suppose that is why I ended up conceding. In the end, she was a natural inside a Sala’ci fighter, I was so proud. By some fortune, I was assigned to maintaining her craft, so I got to keep a close eye on her. Things were going well.”

“But when the first Hub ships contacted us, we quarrelled. I didn’t trust your kind. She did. We argued, and that was the last time we spoke together.”

Now she gripped her drink tightly, as if she were trying to crush it.

“The Hub planned a major counterattack on the Confederate ships chasing us. Takeela was to be part of the main force. She got into her ship, and I watched from nearby, neither of us saying a word. We knew where the other stood on this suicidal plan. I watched the battle on the external monitors. At first we held the advantage, but then the Confederates threw all they had at our main strike groups. Takeela was right in the middle of it all.”

“I had worked on her craft multiple times, so I knew how to tune into the frequency her group used. Mistake. She had gone barely two minutes into the engagement when an alien fighter got on her tail and…”

Her throat clicked as she swallowed.

“Her ship caught a torpedo, and she screamed. It only went half a second before the signal cut off, but I remember it so, so clearly. That is my last memory of her – not of something pure, like the final goodbyes of our parents, but a scream of pain… chased by static.”

That second last bit struck a deep chord in Cadell. Takeela was her sister.

“I’m so sorry,” Cadell murmured.

“She is why I did this, you know?” Samiha added, the words coming out a little harder. “She spoke so fondly of the Hub-Clan. She would have wanted me to complete the program. Instead, I… almost ruined it all. Almost got dismissed by the Kith’sla herself for taking forbidden reagents, I treated you and the others like you were the enemy. She would have done far better in my position.”

She sniffled, placed an elbow on the table and covered one side of her face with her hand.

“It should have been me,” she whispered. “Should have been me. But I put her in that fighter, and she was out there while I watched from safety.”

She went to say more, but nothing but a hitching breath escaped her lips. Cadell couldn’t bear to sit still any longer. He got up, crossed the booth towards her, and put his arm on her fluffy shoulder.

“It isn’t your fault,” he insisted. “The Confederates killed her, that wasn’t your doing.”

“Untrue,” she said, her chest hitching again. “I could have tried harder to dissuade her from getting in that fighter, but I didn’t. Our parents’ last wish was that I take care of her, but I didn’t. How can I be your shield when I c-cannot even save my own family?”

Her features twisted in misery, Cadell watching as a drop of moisture fell from her lower eyelid, hitting the table with a tap. She muttered something that might have been Takeela, but Cadell didn’t quite catch it, as her gentle sobs followed it, slowly picking up in intensity.

“Hey,” Cadell murmured. “Samiha, listen to me.” Her eyes were buried in her hand, but he pushed on. “I won’t pretend to understand what it’s like to lose family, but you’ve done so much good for your sis’s memory. This program wasn’t easy for any of us, but you never gave up, did you? And look at us now, we got put at the top of the platoon and that’s all thanks to you and Kazlu. You’ve come so far since day one, and I’m proud to have you on my team, and you can bet Takeela would be proud, too.”

Samiha began to sob harder at this, but this wasn’t quite a bad thing. She had probably kept a tight lid on all this since the battle itself, and now that the floodgates had opened, Samiha needed to let it all out.

Cadell did the only thing he could do in that moment. He reached out with his other hand and grabbed her other shoulder, bringing her into his embrace. She came willingly, her long arms looping over his sides and meeting at his spine, her warm breath enveloping his neck as her beak leaned on his shoulder.

“You don’t have to carry all this weight on your own,” Cadell said. “We’re in this together, Samiha, we’re always here… I’m, always here.”

“I…” She sniffed, clutching him a little closer. “Thank you.”

Cadell was distracted by her softness, her feathers far more delicate than any down pillow he’d ever felt. He did his best to accommodate her weight, the taller alien wrapping around him from above as well as in front, her hammering heartbeat felt through his palms as he placed them on her back.

At that moment August returned, pausing a few feet away as he noted their odd entanglement. Cadell motioned with a hand gesture, one that said we need a moment.

August picked up on this, nodded, and turned to the others, who were at the bar and hadn’t noticed he and Samiha hugging each other. He paused to look back, Cadel giving him a reassuring nod, then left.

After a while, he felt Samiha move, parting from him a little but still keeping a hold on his arms. “Well, that is it,” she whispered. “It is all out in the open. Do you… still want me in this squad?” she asked. “Even after knowing what… what happened to my sister?”

“That was out of your control,” he replied. “But us fighting side by side, that’ll be different. I couldn’t ask for a better Balokarid. I know I literally can’t because you two are the only auxiliaries here, but you know what I mean.”

“Indeed,” Samiha chuckled, the slice of humour lifting her spirit. She wiped the tip of her beak, glancing from his eyes down to his chest. She looked abashed by how close they were.

Before he could open his mouth, Cadell saw movement in the corner of his vision. A chuckling Hunter was making his way back to the booth, the rest of the team following behind.

“Old Kaz’ can wolf down tequila like it’s nothing,” Hunter informed them as he leaned on the table. “I had her try some after… Hello, what’s going on here?”

Cadell and Samiha exchanged glances, realising they were still holding one another. Cadell muttered and apology and retracted his arms from Samiha’s shoulders. He felt a touch of embarrassment heat his cheeks, and he didn’t know why. He was just consoling a friend, it was nothing more than that.

It may have been his imagination, but Samiha let him go after a little longer than she should have. She wiped her beaked with her palm once more, composed herself, then turned to face the others.

“We were just talking,” Samiha answered. “How did you fare? Manage to drink Kazlu under the table?”

“Not quite,” Kazlu answered, sidling up from behind Hunter. She gave her counterpart a curious once-over. “Are you well, Samiha? You look…” She trailed off.

“I am fine,” she answered, flashing Cadell a look. “More than fine now, actually. How are the shots?”

“Spicy. Did you want to try them?”

“Yes, I could use a chance to take my mind off things.” Samiha rose from her seat, and extended a feathery hand to Cadell. “Coming?”

Cadell took it, feeling the microscopic feathers brushing his skin, some of her rusty plumage spilling between his digits. She led him over to the bar along with the others, celebrating their win in the simulation in earnest.

They had at last found some semblance of synergy and cohesion, Cadell having a good feeling that their success at the program was practically assured. Samiha’s retelling of the Nebula was tragic, but looking beyond the pain, he finally knew and why she’d been so hostile to humans given her history. Now he understood her on a personal level he didn’t imagine she had let many see, maybe except for Kazlu. And that, he found, was a greater reward than even the results of the simulation.

Chapter 5: First Strike

The events surrounding the Cordon Incident degraded aboard the shipyard like a forgotten dream. The stationed crew would force excitement out of the smallest of things – rumours that the cargo bay was haunted, interpersonal affairs and relationships were discussed at length and behind the backs of certain people, and station-wide bets were held for those who could correctly guess what class the next docking starship would be. Not exactly exciting topics of discussion, but for those who’d been assigned to work at the oversized pitstop for starships on their way to the war, excitement had to be made up from anything they could get.

That was why Eleanor found it so frustrating that the rest of the crew took her incident with the Cordon with a grain of salt. “It’s not like we don’t believe you,” they said, which was the most obvious prelude for someone with doubt on their mind. “but how long’s it been since someone came down there to run some checkups? Six months?”

The story had spread for maybe two weeks, and then it was dropped in just as much time. People stopped talking about the Cordon around her for fear of bringing the topic back up. For a crew who could talk about who slept with who for days on end, she found this very strange, and a sense of foreboding overcame her. She couldn’t deny what she’d seen on the monitors, but she almost wished she could. Her handy proverb – ears open, eyes closed – had followed her to her quarters via a portable communicator she placed on her bedside dresser. She prowled the bands every night and got so little sleep that she could feel the bags weighing under her eyes.

True to his word, Steven had sent a technician to make sure her equipment was in working order. She could see in the way the techie moved that he didn’t expect to find anything. Neither did Eleanor, neither did anyone on the shipyard, for the matter. This whole thing was just a gesture to placate her.

The technician said that everything was in working order, and his report as Steven’s go to response ever since. He said it like it was a reassurance, but Eleanor saw it as more of a gloat. No messages had been sent to Alliance Command, and contact with the Cordon remained unventured.

Maybe it was a simple glitch, Eleanor thought. But that warning – , connection lost with Post-299 – there had to be failsafes in place so the system didn’t display that warning readily. And why hadn’t the people on 299 said anything? They must have known they were offline for a few minutes, didn’t that warrant a check-in?

But that could be explained away. The rules for sending signals in and out of the Cordon were ironclad, nobody would break them unless it was the last option. All her troubles had excuses, but she was satisfied with none of them, and this duality battling within her was constant and drained her of her already limited energy.

Her regular sleep schedule was already a depressing mess of mismatched times, but there was one place she knew she wouldn’t be bothered too much. They had designed the operator chairs to be a nice balance between practicality and comfort, and if Eleanor angled herself just right, leaned just the right way, she could lull herself into the pull of exhaustion within twenty minutes. Napping on the job was bound to get her in more trouble than she could imagine, but who would care? Steven didn’t believe her, the crew didn’t either, and the chair was her one respite.

Eleanor awoke in the green light of her monitors, that foreboding presence clinging to her shoulders tighter than ever. She glanced at the clock, her sluggish eyes comprehending she had slept for just under three hours. Spikes of fear coursed through her, and she straightened up, fumbling for her headset. All those weeks of training to get here, and she let her tiredness get the better of her!

She expected something had happened during her lapse; the Cordon blaring out radar warnings, enemy boarders were on intercept, an attack of some sort. Yet all was quiet, the shipyard gently stirred in the background of her viewport, the bands silent except for the occasional Alliance chatter, and her heart rate slowed.

If something had caught her while she’d been unawares, she’d never forgive herself. She needed a coffee.

She peeled off her headset, putting through a call to main that she was taking her two-minute leave. She stepped over the bulkhead that sealed off her station, turning left down the corridor. Exposed pipelines and nests of wires surrounded her on all sides, her boots clocking against the metal tiles. Shipyards were skeletal and minimilistic by design, especially in the arms furthest away from the docking ports and living modules, where only the occasional crewmember or two were needed to run the rounds.

Fortunately, this didn’t mean she was completely without amenities. A small storage area down the next turn had been repurposed into a mess hall, complete with a refrigerator and a coffee machine. Eleanor was the only one close enough to use it regularly, and while she didn’t mind having her own quiet space, she wished some of the crew visited more often. Working the secondary radios was a lonely task.

She placed one of the caffeine capsules into the machine, listening to it hum against the wall as she placed a mug below the faucet. She glanced up at the viewport built into the back wall, an angled view of the shipyard taking up the lower half of the glass, while empty space took up the other.

She sipped at her steaming drink, the bitter taste tingling the roof of her mouth. She sat on a nearby crate and watched the view for a while, thinking about Balokarids and the images she’d seen of them on the intranet. Maybe they’d get posted to the shipyard one day – she’d read that they made excellent engineers and worked remarkably fast – now that would be something worth talking about.

She saw a star flicker on the upper corner of the viewport, remembering how meteors and comets had enthralled her when she was a girl. Nowadays she’d seen enough shooting stars that there was very little magic left in them.

She clutched her warm mug in both hands, watching the star burn brighter, and then wink out, almost like it was pulsing. Perhaps not all the magic was gone after all.

The white dot reappeared, a little more to the left of where it’d last been. No, that wasn’t a star, it was something else, something moving close enough for her to detail its course with her eyes alone, and burning brighter.

She concentrated on that dot, and she saw that it wasn’t pulsing in and out, but swerving to the sides, the light vanishing behind its bulk. A ship? She couldn’t remember anything on the manifest about an incoming ship, perhaps it was a private vessel passing by?

The dot blinked out, became shaped, and the white light was not from a star but from a single propulsion thruster. That premonition of foreboding dug a pit into her guts.

The plume of flame burned brighter, but that was the last she ever saw of it. At speeds of upwards of twenty kilometres a second, no human eye could track something that fast except for a vague kind of blurring shape across one’s vision.

The incoming projectile ripped into the conning tower that jutted from the heart of the shipyard, Eleanor covering her eyes as a bright explosion tore the structure in two, the flames dying almost immediately to the vacuum. There was a sudden, powerful tremble as the shipyard recoiled from the blast, pipes rattling all around her as the force of impact travelled down the lengths of the crane arm she was in.

Eleanor gasped in horror as she watched the little pieces of debris shoot into the void, and some of those pieces had distinctly human shapes, limbs curling in odd directions. A terrible thought in the back of her mind warned that Steven’s post was in the conning tower…

She dropped her mug, the ceramic shattering between her feet, Eleanor racing for the door. Not a star, not a ship, but a torpedo.

Her arm of the station was shaped like the letter L, and she was sprinting up the long arm towards the corner, her ponytail flapping between her shoulders. Walking to the mess had taken no more than a minute, but now the far wall seemed to stretch away before her, like something out of a bad dream.

Another great tremble rocked the station, and at first Eleanor assumed it was another torpedo. She tried to sprint harder, but her foot never connected with the deck. She cried out, the feeling one gets when they’ve stepped off a ledge permeating her chest as her body began to drift in the air. The generators controlling the centrifugal spin must have been knocked out, Eleanor flailing in microgravity.

It was fortunate that she had been so close to the wall at the time, or else she’d have been stuck there with no form of propulsion to save her. She gripped an exposed pipe tight enough to turn her knuckles white, trying to get her breathing under control. Her station. She had to get back to it before the shipyard was ripped apart.

Kicking off the wall like a swimmer, she launched herself down the length of the hallway, eyes tracking a red toolbox that had been laying on the deck a couple minutes ago as it floated by her head.

She reached the bulkhead that sectioned off her station, Eleanor hitting the panel that opened the door. It was a mess. She wasn’t a clean as you go person, dozens of crumpled papers and plastic cups tumbling from corner to corner, but at least her equipment was intact.

Up through the viewport, she got another view of the shipyard’s central structure. Only the lower quarter of the conning tower was still connected to the yard, everything else had disappeared into space. Chunks of the hull had been chewed out near its base, probably secondary explosions from the generators, as they were located roughly around those modules.

Trying not to think about Steven’s fate, she pulled herself up to her dashboard, her hands dancing across the keyboard. She discarded the warning and evacuation mesages, opening up the three-dimensional map of the shipyard and the sector. Her station leeched off the main power grid, but it also had a couple secondary battery banks built into the hull below her feet that would allow her to stay operational in the event of an emergency.

She pulled up the digital representation, zooming out towards the vector she’d seen the torpedo come from, using the shipyard’s orientation for reference. There were proximity warnings in that direction, warning boxes flickering over four more incoming masses. Were those more torpedos?

As she watched, the four projectiles began to streak through the void in different directions, three of them swerving around the shipyard in wide arcs. The station had no jamming capabilities, only a handful of point-defence cannons, or PDC’s for short, and it seemed nobody was manning them. With the main communications tower destroyed and the power crippled, it would take a while before anyone knew what was going on.

One of the incoming targets closed in on the station, Eleanor preparing herself for another blast, but it never came. She looked out the viewport, spying an oblong, dart-shaped vessel cruising towards the yard, just barely skimming the outer torus. Using the bulk of the shipyard as reference, the unidentified ship it was about the size of a bus, its dark panelling coated in a sheen of black paint.

It careened towards one of the docking yards, and she assumed it would barrel straight into the station like a knife, but right as it touched the station, it stopped. It turned its nose towards the outer docking clamp, which was a flat deck where engineers could go to access a parked spaceship’s hull and do minor repairs.

A panel on the strange craft slid aside, and a group of people piled out, legs snapping to the deck at the moment of contact. She couldn’t glean much detail at this distance, but she recognised the shapes of guns in their hands, and their padded gear indicated they were wearing combat vacuum suits.

They walked along the flat deck like they were in gravity, guns sweeping along as they moved to one of the airlock doors. Boarders.

In her fear, Eleanor was struck with a moment of clarity. That was why there had only been one torpedo. It would only take a small number of explosive ordinance to level the shipyard, but that wasn’t the Confederate’s goal. They had knocked out their communications intentionally, and those other three other contact warning must be more craft with their own boarding squads.

Post 299. These people had neutralised it, opened a door leading them straight into the sector. How they had done this, how they hadn’t been detected on the inside of the border, these were questions that didn’t really matter now.

She had been right along, but Eleanor didn’t feel the slightest bit satisfied. At least one of her friends was dead, and she would be too when they found her.

To say she had planned for this moment wasn’t quite correct. Eleanor had taken precautions, despite her and everyone else’s doubts. She’d been forbidden from sending any messages, but that didn’t mean she couldn’t get a data package ready and have one of her dishes aimed towards Alliance space.

Her warning could be sent whenever she was ready, but she took a moment to prepare some additional information. Four boarding ships, one torpedo launched, one compromised listening post – these were all things that could help her rescuers get an advantage, assuming help arrived in time.

A little scream left her lips as she heard gunfire behind her, the shots travelling loudly up the arm. Time was a resource she did not have. She rushed to compile the package, hearing heavy footsteps draw closer and closer as she watched the loading bar fill.

The bar crawled slowly towards one hundred percent, and she pushed the send prompt. Despite her situation and everything that was happening, she let relief wash over her floating body. Today was very likely her last one alive, but the Confederates wouldn’t take the station so easily now.

Another gunfight echoed up from the hallway, one exchanged with some of the security guards, probably. Eleanor’s eyes darted to the footlocker by the door. There was a pistol and three magazines of ammo inside it, but she had never touched it. Hell, she’d never fired a weapon since basic weapons training six years ago. She wasn’t a soldier, she wasn’t trained to repel boarders.

More boarding craft drifted across her viewport, disappearing behind the station to other access points. Everyone knew how bloodthirsty the UEC was when dealing with rebellion and traitors, but would they shoot a simple radio operator? If she was armed, definitely, if she wasn’t…

It was cowardly, she knew that, but her fight was in wavelengths and transmissions, and in that regard, she’d fought to her very best.

Eleanor faced the door, her palms open and floating by her sides. There, she awaited her fate.

-xXx-

“Rise and shine, elevens!” Lieutenant Marek said, his grizzled body framed against the lights as the door whirred open.

Cadell blinked through groggy eyes, memories of being woken up in the middle of the night by angry drill Sergeants flashing through his mind. He threw off his bedsheets, standing beside his bunk as he wiped his hair, noting the rest of the team were slowly coming to. A quick glance at the clock beside the door confirmed it was an hour before their scheduled wake-up time.

“What is happening, Lieutenant?” Samiha asked, swinging her legs out of her oversized bunk.

“Briefing in the mess right damned now,” Marek snapped back. “Get dressed and meet me outside immediately.”

As quick as he’d came, Marek stormed out, the door sliding shut and plunging the squad into darkness. Cadell walked over and hit the light switch, turning to pull his boots from his locker.

“What briefing?” August asked, hurrying to get dressed. “You hear anything about a briefing, boss?”

Cadell shook his head, knowing that he was being referred to.

“Maybe we’re finally gonna get some action,” Hunter suggested.

“Whatever it is, it must be important,” Kazlu added, pulling on her sleeveless tank top. Despite coming from a different planet, the aliens did have underwear that preserved their modesties. They wore a band of cloth that wrapped around their chests, not too dissimilar from a human brassier.

Once everyone was dressed, they hurried out of their quarters, Cadell leading the way. Marek was outside waiting for them, talking into his earpiece. He ended the call when the five of them were ready.

“Everyone set? Good.” Marek turned, leading them down the hallway. “Briefing’s in the mess hall, let’s go.”

“We at least getting some breakfast beforehand?” Hunter ventured from the back of the group.

“You’ll want your full attention on this one, Private,” Marek said, keeping a tight lip on whatever was going on.

They arrived at the mess hall to find it packed, a sea of people struggling for space in the hundreds of extra chairs laid out between the tables. Cadell noted he saw a few familiar faces from groups one to ten, but not all of them were here, or at least, he couldn’t see them from where he was standing. The rest of the troopers had probably been pulled from different platoons.

With the help of the sizable Balokarids, the team merged with the crowd, quickly finding five vacant chairs for them. Despite the number of people, there was little talk, a lingering sense of tension drawing over the room.

At the side of the mess hall where the chairs had been arranged, Cadell spotted a pair of engineers lugging a projector into the room, the device sat on a trolley. Lieutenant Marek moved over to them, reaching down to press a button on the near side of the device. The emitters flared to life, and a wavering blue projection radiated towards the ceiling, hanging above the soldiers like a cloud.

The sudden appearance of the massive projection quieted the room, and Marek’s voice rang out like an announcer before a sports game.

“Sit down and shut up, people, we’ve got a situation on our hands,” Marek began. “At nineteen hundred hours yesterday, a distress signal was transmitted from one of our shipyards in this sector here.” He gestured at the projection.

The holographic depicted two spherical shapes, one blue and the other red – Alliance and Confederate-controlled space respectively. There was a grid view overlay, dividing the Reaches into hundreds of little squares. When Marek waved, one of the grids was highlighted, the projection zooming into it. The sector was maybe half a dozen squares from the border of the Confederacy.

“Whoever sent the signal warned of an impending attack,” Marek added ominously. “Details of the report are still being deciphered, but from what we can gather, hostile forces managed to break through our lines and take the station completely off guard. Torpedo strikes and boarding craft have been confirmed. Outside of the SOS, there has been no contact from the shipyard since.”

Soldiers about the room murmured among themselves worriedly, the Lieutenant raising his hands to silence them.

“It’s obvious the Feds want to capture the shipyard intact, and likely use it as a staging ground to strike deeper into Alliance space. How they managed to penetrate the satellites and the listening posts of the Cordon, that doesn’t concern us. What does concern us, is the recovery of that shipyard. If we lose it, damaged ships returning from the front will have to venture further afield for repairs, which will significantly hamper the war effort.”

He motioned again, and the projection zoomed out, highlighting another sector a couple of grids North of the shipyard highlighting. The word Hub appeared over this box.

“Supply lines have already been diverted from the yard, and defences have been strengthened at other nearby installations in case of further attacks. The Navy is planning an immediate counterattack. As you’ve probably guessed by now, this is where you all come in. I know, I know,” he added as more murmurs started to rise. “This phase of your training still has a couple weeks left in it, but this is a critical moment for all of you. If you were chosen to be part of this brief, then your superiors consider you to be ready for action. Normally we’d hold a formal ceremony for trooper promotions, but that will just have to wait until you get back.”

“Hear that, guys?” Hunter whispered, nudging August in the arm. “Marek just called us ready. Never thought I’d see the day.”

“You’ll all be reassigned to the crew of the Freedom, effective immediately,” Marek added, turning off the projector with a click. “Her Captain’s prepping her to leave dry dock as we speak, so start packing your things and keep your phones handy. I’m not sure how long until she’s set to launch, so I’d take this chance to stretch my legs if I were you. Dismissed.”

-xXx-

Cadell and his team had returned to their bunks to start packing, loading all their essentials into their bags. Finally, after months of being pushed to his limits, he was going into combat. It was nerve-wracking, but kind of exciting in a way. He was finally going to get his shot at adventure, and do his part in protecting the Reaches from the Confederation. Saying he’d dreamt of this day wouldn’t be far from the truth.

The door to their quarters opened, and for the second time today, Marek strode inside to greet them. “Attention,” Cadell called out, and the team assembled into two lines in a moment.

“At ease,” Marek said. “Wanted to stop by and check on how you’re all faring after the brief.”

“That was quite the bloody bombshell you dropped on us, Sir,” Hunter replied from the far end of the room.

“Indeed, but it’s easier to tell the whole platoon once, rather than each squad in person,” Marek explained. “And believe me, the news of the attack surprised me just as much. Feds sure know when to time their shots,” he grumbled. “I’d have preferred to have you all finish your training, but the more we wait, the more time they have to dig in.”

“You’ve taught us well, Sir,” Kazlu added. “We are as ready as we ever will be.”

“I’m glad to hear that, recruit,” Marek replied. “Some have taken to looking at this as a critical point for the program. You succeed in this operation, and you’ll erase all doubts in the Senator’s mind about integrating human and Balokarid forces into team compositions.”

“Our final test, in other words,” Samiha murmured.

“Correct. If any of you feel like you need more time, if there’s even a shred of doubt in your mind, speak up now.”

Nobody said a word, and Marek gave a nod of approval.

“I didn’t really need to ask that, did I?” he chuckled, showing a rare slip of humour that didn’t seem to belong on the grizzled veteran. “I’m not sure when you’ll be shipping out, but for those of you who haven’t already, take this chance to explore the torus at your leisure. Once you’ve been assigned to the Freedom, you won’t have the chance for several months. Consider this my last standing order.”

“Yes, Sir,” the team chorused.

Marek saluted them, Cadell grinning as he returned it. They had had their ups and downs, but without Marek’s faith in them, they’d have never been given the chance at participating in this counterattack.

Marek departed, the team sharing glances at one another as the door closed.

“Bloody Nora,” Hunter exclaimed. “We just got free reign of the station, what are we waiting for?”

“Aptly put,” Samiha added. “I have a feeling we will not have access to many distractions on a warship.”

“All the more reason to do something special,” Kazlu added. “And I think I know what.”

From her locker, she pulled out a small pouch that looked like it was made of leather, with a string around the neck. It wasn’t unlike the one he’d seen Samiha with back at the airlock after their first spacewalk, and Cadell knew exactly what Kazlu was suggesting.

“What’s that?” Hunter asked, pointing at the bag.

“Herbs, from Dur’shala,” Kazlu explained. “I’ve been saving these for a rainy day, and I think today fits the criteria for that.”

“You’re telling me you’ve been hoarding ganja this whole time?” Hunter asked. “I think I might just have to report you, Kaz.”

“I’ll let you smoke some,” Kazlu bartered.

“Fuck yeah, smoking some alien doobies has always been on my bucket list.”

“You don’t even know if it’s safe for humans,” August sighed.

“Do not worry,” Kazlu anwered. “I’ve researched, and they do not contain any properties that humans cannot ingest. However, since you are far smaller than us, you shouldn’t match us smoke for smoke.”

“Let’s do it,” Hunter said. “You got some too, Samiha?”

“I can bring my own supply, yes. That is, if it is alright with our leader,” she said, sparing Cadell a curious glance. Again, Cadell marvelled at her newfound politeness, it was like she was a whole new person after getting the weight of her grief off her chest.

“I’m not here to dictate how you guys have fun,” Cadell said. “You want to smoke the alien drugs, go on ahead.”

“Sounds as if you won’t be joining in, Kith’sla,” Kazlu noted.

“Somebody has to make sure you all don’t go crazy out there,” Cadell added.

“The designated driver. Good idea, Sir,” Hunter said, clapping his hands together. “Right-o, now where should we go? Smoking in the quadrant’s probably not a good idea, we need someplace private, preferably with some decent food.”

“I know just the place,” Samiha replied with a grin.

-xXx-

“Welcome back, miss Samiha!” Jim called, hurrying over to the reception desk and holding out an arm. “And mister Cadell, always a pleasure. What’s it been, two months? Three?”

“Somethin’ like that,” Cadell replied, shaking the offered hand. “How’re things?”

“Oh, couldn’t be better! People talked about you two coming in! Whole place became sort of a tourist attraction. Very few quiet days for us since, as you can tell.”

He gestured behind him to the restaurant floor, where a decent chunk of the tables were packed with couples and groups, hurrying waiters bouncing from the kitchen to the hungry diners. The clanking of cutlery and the reserved conversations completed the dining experience.

“See you’ve brought some friends along as well,” Jim noted, peeking over Cadell’s shoulder. His eyes grew larger. “With another Balokarid to boot! I must have been doing something right.”

Kazlu held out her hand, introducing herself. “It is nice to meet you, Jim. This is Hunter, and the big one is August.”

“The whole gang’s here, eh?” Jim asked. “What’s the occasion? Alliance give you a secret mission?”

“We are being deployed,” she said. “but that is all I can tell you.”

“I get it, classified stuff and all that,” Jim agreed, tapping at a display behind the counter. “Table for five?”

“Looks a little busy,” Hunter noted, sniffing at the air. “Damn but it smells good in here.”

“Don’t worry, I’ve been planning on your return,” Jim explained. He picked up a stack of menus. “This way, please.”

The six of them weaved between the tables, Jim bringing them towards the rear of the establishment. The chatter died down as the customers began to notice the aliens, men and women pausing with forks hovering before their mouths as they turned to ogle.

“Here we are,” Jim announced, pausing before a booth. It was different from the other seats, as though it had been scooped out from a completely different restaurant. One half of the booth was normal, but the other half had cushions that were pushed further away from the table, the seating deep enough it rivalled the size of a mattress, the backrest upscaled to support a sitting giant. It didn’t take a genius to know who it was made for.

“I recall you saying you would make some accommodations,” Samiha commented. She slid into the upscaled booth, propping her elbows on the backrest and testing its firmness. “It has been too long since I’ve sat in a proper lounge. You have done well, Jim.”

The owner placed his hands proudly on his hips, beaming at her.

The rest of the team slid into their seats, Cadell finding himself with Samiha and Kazlu on his right, and his human counterparts on his left. As Jim handed out menus, Kazlu reached into her belt, producing the little baggie that contained her reagents. She didn’t try to conceal it, in fact, she placed it on the table, addressing Jim directly.

“Do you mind if we smoke in here?” she asked. “On Balokar, it is customary to calm ourselves with reagents before deploying to battle.”

“Well…” Jim mused, scratching his chin as he debated. “Usually we don’t permit smoking in here, but since business is booming thanks to you… I’ll let it slide. I can always turn up the scrubbers to reduce the smell.”

“We appreciate you, Jim,” Samiha added.

“What kind of owner would I be if I didn’t respect your customs?” Jim replied. “I’ll be back in a few minutes to take your order.”

They thanked him, Jim departing to greet another group that had wandered inside. When he was out of earshot, Cadell turned to Kazlu. “Was all that true?” he asked. “Is smoking before a fight a custom?”

“Naturally,” Kazlu replied. She opened the baggie, pulling an odd device from the neck. It fit snugly in her palm, about the shape of an eggshell with a rounded face on one side, and a small nozzle on the other. There were dark holes placed randomly over one face of it, about five in total. It looked a little bit like an ocarina to Cadell. “Hundreds of different spices and herbs grow on the homeworld,” she added. “some help us to relax, whole others induce states of hyperfocus and concentration. The latter are consumed in the prelude of a fight, while the former are for more casual settings.”

“Hyperfocus?” Hunter asked. “What’s that, like dialling all your senses to eleven?”

“In a manner of speaking,” Samiha replied. “You reach a new state of being under the effects. You hear every grain of dancing sand, see the dunes shifting over the course of a day, smell the dew on the rocks. Our pilots used them extensively during the skirmishes against the UEC.”

“Combat drugs,” August mused. “I can see it now, two whole Clans stimming up before a war. Imagine how brutal two birds going at it would be…”

“By the sands, the Clans do not war against each other,” she chuckled, as though the notion were ludicrous. “Our reagents are only a temporary measure to enhance ones abilities, we only used them for things like competitions or races. It assists us greatly in combat, true, but that’s only a recent application, as we’ve never been in a conflict before.”

They watched as Kazlu slid open a panel on one side of her ‘ocarina’, producing a pinch of leaves from the baggie. She placed the herb inside, shut the panel, then flicked a small mechanism. A low bubbling could be heard from inside the casing.

“You tellin’ me there’s never been a war on Balokar?” Cadell asked. “Not even for resources? Water can’t be the only thing that’s scarce on a desert planet…”

Samiha answered while Kazlu busied herself with her device. “Some Clans have had disagreements, yes, but open conflict? That is mankind’s answer to disputes. Certain parts of Balokar are more generous than others, and the Clans trade what they cannot produce themselves. To war over so much open desert is just not feasible. A Clan would waste more water than they would gain if they were to overpower another territory.”

“But you’ve got laser guns and weaponised starships,” Hunter pointed out. “Plus shielding tech. That doesn’t sound like peaceful technology to me.”

“Isn’t it?” Samiha argued. “Lasers to hunt wild game, starships to break down asteroids for resources, shields to supress the heat of the sun? Yes, they translate well enough to war, but its origins were to aid life, not take it.”

“Hadn’t considered that, good point.”

“It is ready,” Kazlu announced. She held up her odd device in one hand, opened her beak and angled the nozzle toward her mouth. There was a sound like a decompressing airlock, and little plumes of smoke began to rise out of the holes that Kazlu hadn’t covered with the pads of her fingers. She inhaled, paused for a moment, then exhaled, her breath visible as a deep grey cloud.

“Ahhh, that’s good,” Kazlu sighed, her feathery head twitching in excitement. “Shame we were forbidden from smoking within the quadrant.”

“What’s it taste like?” Hunter asked, leaning his hands on the table eagerly.

“See for yourself, friend,” she replied, sliding the smoker across the table. Hunter caught it, lifting it up in a way that suggested it was heavier than it looked.

“How on earth do you work this thing?”

“Hold it like I did, palm on the casing, fingers on the other side. Yes, like that. It’s got its own heating element, so all you have to do is aim the flute towards your mouth, and inhale. You can control the strength of a pull by covering those holes there. Block more for a stronger drag, less for a weaker one. I wouldn’t recommend plugging more than two, if I were you.”

“I can hold my own, this isn’t my first rodeo,” Hunter said. He followed her instructions, holding the nozzle of the ‘flute’ between his lips. He drew out the herb, then released his breath, a rough circle of smoke sighing into the air above their booth. “Huh, tastes like blackberries.”

“How did you do that?” Kazlu asked, watching the smoke ring dissipate.

“Advantages of having lips, Kaz,” Hunter chuckled. “C’mon, August, your turn.”

August started his own pull, Samiha reaching into her vest, taking out her own flute and starting to prepare it. August tried to form a ring of smoke, but he choked and coughed halfway through it, much to the amusement of Hunter.

“I can never get it right,” August grumbled, sliding the flute back to the alien. “And that’s not blackberry, it’s grape.”

“Get out of here, grape?” Hunter asked. “How’d you get grape from that?”

“This particular herb confuses the senses a little,” Kazlu explained. “Everyone experiences a different flavour. Humans included, it seems.”

“Let Cadell have a go,” Hunter said, waving at him. “Let’s see what he thinks.”

“Not today,” Cadell replied. “Someone’s got to get you all back to the quadrant safe.”

“Probably lemon, cause you’re souring the mood,” Hunter said. That got a couple of chuckles from the others, Cadell shaking his head in mock exasperation. The fumes smelled like pineapple, but he kept this to himself.

With Samiha’s own flute prepared, a cloud of vapours quickly formed above and around their booth, earning them a couple stares from their neighbours. Deep down Cadell did feel a little left out of the fun, but at least Jim came back soon enough to take their orders and hand out their drinks, so Cadell had at least something to occupy himself with.

The team was subdued by a pleasant buzz, which was chased by idle conversations about nothing in particular. Cadell noted that Samiha and Kazlu switched back to their native dialect every now and then, chattering away like songbirds. Every time Hunter or August picked up a flute, Kazlu would snicker under her breath, while Samiha just lazily smiled.

Cadell took a swig of his drink, pausing before addressing them. “What are you two laughing about?” he asked after another girlish giggle.

“Kazlu was making some… odd comparisons,” Samiha answered, Kazlu nudging her friend with a feathery wing.

“Odd? How is it odd? They’re aliens, but still…”

“You just answered your own question, Kaz.”

“Someone want to fill me in?” Cadell interrupted, trying to regain their focus. They had smoked enough that their mannerisms were shifting, becoming more distracted and easily humoured by the smallest things. It was good seeing his friends loosen up, despite Cadell’s reservations about the herbs.

“We have – had – places on the colony with a similar kind of setting as this,” Kazlu explained, picking up her flute to demonstrate. “Places to go smoking, drinking, socialising. They are not the most… professional places like Jim has made, but if you wanted to getter better acquainted with someone, all between friends of course, you went to them.”

“Why’d they have a bad rep?” Cadell asked. His question seemed to amuse Kazlu, the alien taking another draw from her flute.

“She is saying you go there to impress upon a male,” Samiha explained. “It is where the bachelors can always be found.”

“Oh,” Cadell said, embarrassed that he hadn’t caught her meaning sooner.

“Usually, but not always,” Kazlu added. “You’d be fortunate to find just one eligible male, since only one male is born for every four females. But now…” She chuckled, taking a gulp of her drink. “Now we’ve got three males in our booth, and they’re partaking of our herb, and we have more water than we can ever imagine. It’s nothing short of downright decadence…”

“It is strange, when you put it like that,” Samiha agreed, taking another pull from her flute.

“Is that how Balokarids find a guy?” Cadell asked. “Take him out to a dive bar, get him drunk on water and weed?”

“If only one were so lucky,” Samiha replied, looking up at the hanging vapours wistfully. “Our males are critical in who they choose as a partner. Courting takes months, years to complete, and even one wrong impression can result in them looking elsewhere. There are outliers, males who purposefully seek out temporary companionship, but on the whole males require a lot of work to keep around.”

“Which isn’t surprising,” Kazlu added. “If I had to raise hatchlings for the rest of my life, I’d draw out the prelude as much as possible. No wonder our pilots got so excited during the aftermath of the nebula…”

“How so?” Cadell asked. Again, his questions seemed to amuse the pair of birds, Kazlu especially.

“He is a naïve thing, isn’t he?” Kazlu muttered.

“It is a little endearing, in a way,” Samiha replied. They weren’t exactly whispering, but there was an effort, albeit a very poor one. She spoke up when she continued. “After the battle in the nebula concluded, your human pilots and our own started to mingle, and it seemed some of their chemistries matched. Rumours of a couple of pilots taking human partners circulated around the Clan, but since we weren’t part of the air groups, that is all we heard.”

“And it had only been a few weeks since our Clans formally met,” Kazlu said. “Weeks. Taking someone to your bed in that short a timeframe… It’s unheard of.”

“Woah, woah, woah!” Hunter chimed in, silent up to this point. “You’re saying a bird hooked up with a human?”

“Several did, so I’ve been told,” Kazlu replied, nodding. “Perhaps it was because of the debt our Clan owed you that started the trend, or perhaps they found qualities in you that they enjoyed. Our pilots are the most outgoing of the Clan members.”

“What about you two?” Cadell prompted, gesturing with his glass. “You been around humans longer than most. We have any good qualities?”

“I suppose I would find you all cute,” Kazlu admitted shamelessly, the herb loosening her lips. “The short statures, the little noses… you’re not so far removed from our own males. Minus the feathers, of course. What do you think, Samiha?” she added, shooting a grin at her counterpart that came off as mischievous.

“I think…” Samiha trailed off, looking at the three humans pointedly. Her gaze lingered on Cadell’s a little longer than the others, but that was probably just the fumes dulling his senses. “… I think that I need something to eat. Where is Jim?”

As though summoned, a pair of waiters came up to the table, setting down platters of food and snacks. The team had elected to just order a bit of everything and share it all around.

August ordered another round of drinks, and the five of them got stuck in. Jokes and laughter rose in volume as the night progressed and more alien herb was smoked. Some of their neighbouring tables had got up to leave, shooting the group of friends annoyed glances, but Jim never once came over to ask them to settle down. Their ever-increasing pile of empty glasses was probably a major factor in this, but what was money compared to a fun night out with friends?

Last night, a thought corrected.

His inebriated mind was finally registering the day’s events. The five of them had lived together all these months, been through everything the Hub could throw at them, and the only way left now was war. He’d come to appreciate the strange way of living on the station; the sight of the galaxy above his head, the gentle curvature of every surface, the smell of recycled ozone, the sounds of air-scrubbers that provided an undercurrent of noise so persistent he could no longer pick it out unless he concentrated. The Hub would be the last shred of civilian life he’d take part of, before he was called to the front.

It was exciting, but also unnerving, a tinge of insecurity making him drink a little slower, participate in the conversations a little less.

Samiha glanced at him from her side of the booth, watching him. She waited for Hunter to start off another of his bad jokes, grabbing the group’s attention so she could speak with him one-on-one. “Cadell, what is wrong? You look troubled.”

“I’m just thinkin’. This is it, y’know?” he said. He was slurring his words a little on account of all the drinks. “We’re gonna be in our first combat op a couple weeks from now. No sims or holograms, the real deal.”

Samiha seemed to sense what he was getting at. She slid across the cushions to lounge beside him, propping one giant arm onto the backrest.

“We are ready,” she insisted. “Marek says so, Shaliyya too, and all the Kith’sla’s who have prepared this counterattack for us. They would not send us out if they knew we could not prevail.”

“I know…” Cadell muttered, downing the rest of his drink. He could hear the uncertainty in his voice.

“We have trained for this moment,” Samiha insisted. “Did not start off so well, admittedly – the failed simulation, you and I always arguing – but now we have hit our stride, have we not? As long as we bring these skills to the battle, we will succeed.”

“Pretty sure I’m the one supposed to be handin’ out the pep-talks,” Cadell chuckled wearily.

“perhaps you need to placate your thoughts,” Samiha replied. “And that human drink isn’t doing so well.”

She lifted her flute to her beak, furthering her insinuation by taking a deep breath of the fumes. She exhaled, the vapours swirling out of her nostrils and the corners of her mouth.

“Look around you,” she said with a wave of her hand. “The coming fight is on all our minds, but do you see anyone else worrying?”

He couldn’t. Hunter was trying his best to make bad puns work, while August looked on the verge of sleep. Kazlu was full of energy, and she was keeping the mood alive with her positivity.

“No…”

“I do not mean to pressure you,” Samiha assured. “but I’ve been in your position before, Cadell. Taking charge of others is a heavy responsibility, and stress is an enemy far worse than any weapon. Besides, the herb does not seem to have any adverse effects to humans.”

Considering Samiha had been through a genocide of her Clan, and was still keeping it together, she was probably onto something.

“Screw it,” he said, shrugging his shoulders as she smirked at him. “Might be our last day on the station, gotta make the most of it.”

“There is the spirit,” Samiha laughed, the sound oddly musical, like a tropical bird calling out its song. She refilled the flute, then passed it over. She was already sitting next to him, but she slid closer still, as though eager to watch his reaction.

He did his best to replicate how the others had used the flute, pursing his lips over the nozzle and taking a shallow, long breath. A thick air filled his chest, and he held it in his lungs for a heartbeat, then coughed it all out, Samiha chuckling at him.

“What is that swill?” he asked, handing the flute back.

“An’kelu leaf,” Samiha replied, taking his question seriously. “You covered too many plugs, Cadell. Try again, but only seal one of them.” She took another draw and demonstrated, then handed it back, watching him expectantly until he followed suit.

He followed her advice, and this time managed to keep his faculties under control, Samiha grinning down at him. “That’s it,” she chuckled. “Good boy.”

In the past, whenever she’d called him a boy, it had been derogatory, an insult to his youth, but this time it was different, the way she breathed the word out making his chest flutter.

“So, bet you’re eager to get some payback,” Cadell said, taking another puff of the weighty herb. “This’ll be your first shot at goin’ toe-to-toe with some Feds since Dur’shala, right?”

“Yes. They caught us off-guard on the colony, but times have changed. We have the weapons, the supplies, we have integrated the human ways of warfare into our Clan. This time, it is us who will do the hunting.”

“First the shipyard, then Dur’shala,” Cadell said. “Alliance Admiralty’s gotta have somethin’ planned to take back your planet. Might not happen anytime soon, but one day, you’ll see your home again.”

“I will hold that to you, Kith’sla,” Samiha replied, raising her glass like she was raising a toast. They downed their drinks in unison, Samiha clicking her beak like a human would smack their lips. “Destroying the Confederates wherever we find them will be satisfying enough, but I lost everyone I cared for on Dur’shala, and I aim to be a part of its rightful liberation.”

“You’ve got people who care about you now,” Cadell insisted.

“I know,” she said. “I was talking about my family… my sweet Takeela. Once the colony is ours, I will build her a shrine on the tallest canyon, so that she may be as close to the stars forever.”

“They’ll need artisans to repair the damage,” Cadell said. “Maybe you’ll get a shot at getting your old life back.”

Samiha shook her head. “War is a wound not even the most advanced medicine can heal, and I’ve seen so much of it that I cannot unsee it. No, my old craft is gone, fighting is my life now.”

“Don’t you wanna settle down at some point?” he asked. “Soldier life ain’t a permanent thing. Takin’ Dur’shala back could be your last hoorah, maybe you could settle down once the dust settles, maybe start up a new family.”

“I doubt any bachelor would be willing, or able, to deal with the kind of emotion I carry,” Samiha said. “I have lost too much to be a romantic. And besides, I am well past my prime.”

“C’mon,” Cadell chuckled. “surely there’re some young birds out there lookin’ for an experienced woman. Some humans have a kink for that, y’know.”

“You must remember that from where I come from, males are shielded from violence and battle, innocent. They want suitors who are stable and caring, not killers who can would a gun better than a newborn hatchling. Males don’t understand what war is like. At least, no Balokarid male…”

She turned onto her side, stretching her long legs out beneath the table, exposing her curvy profile as she faced him. She leaned her arm on the cushions beside his head, posing like she was on the cover of a swimsuit magazine, the rounded curves of her hips and chest more pronounced at this angle.

“What about you, Cadell?” she asked, the question focusing his eyes, which had started to wander. “Is there a mate waiting for you back on Manildra?”

“Nah,” he replied. “Weren’t many visitors to the farmstead, and there were no women in boot camp.”

“How strange,” Samiha commented. “You are young, well-built, and now an official Alliance trooper. Do human females not desire these qualities?”

“It’s not that, I just never had the opportunity to go datin’ or meet someone. Farming was busy work, and boot camp even more so.”

“If this were a Balokarid installation, I doubt you would have the same problem,” Samiha chuckled. “Particularly if our pilots were out and about.”

“They do seem like a thirsty bunch, judgin’ by what Kazlu said before,” Cadell admitted.

“Do you disapprove?”

“I ain’t sayin’ that,” he replied. “If they think we’re cute or what not, that’s their prerogative. To each his or her own, as they say.”

“Cute,” Samiha echoed. “Your accent, now that is cute. I have met a fair few humans before, but none with the same inflections like yours.”

“That’s just how we Manildrans go about it,” he replied.

“You know what we think about your species. But, I wonder,” she added, taking another smoke from her herb. “Do you find anything… cute… about Balokarids?”

He caught onto the fact she wasn’t quite referring to the Balokarid pilots anymore, and was asking for his opinion specifically.

“Well, I can’t speak for everyone,” he began. “but you’re pretty easy on the eyes, and your feathers add this kind of… exotic–ness to you, if that’s even a real word. Don’t really surprise me that humans and Balokarids have been gettin’ along like that.”

“Do you think you could ever see… yourself, in such a position?” Samiha pressed.

Cadell might not have had too many love interests in recent years, but he had enough experience under his belt to know exactly where this was leading.

“It’d depend on the Balokarid,” he said, feigning disinterest with a pointed shrug, but deep down his heart was starting to quicken. “If we really knew each other very well, and we liked spending time together, then yeah. And she’d gotta have red feathers,” he added wryly. “Nice deep ones, like the colour of a warm sunset or somethin’.”

Samiha’s amber eyes stretched, her feathery headdress puffing up. “I…” She scooted across the couch a little, exhaling warm breath on his neck. “I am shocked, Cadell,” she murmured. “I treated you so poorly before, I did not think we would reach this point in even a hundred rotations.”

“Me neither,” he admitted. “but I’ve gotten to know you better since, and even though you were prickly on the outside at first, I liked who I found on the inside. I… maybe I shouldn’t say that,” he stammered, but despite his words the confession kept tumbling out. “I’m technically your superior in all this, I don’t want to complicate things by addin’ my feelings into it.”

“It will only be complicated if you let it be complicated,” Samiha replied. “We’ve spent much time together, us more than the others,” she added, sparing a glance at their friends, lowering her voice to a whisper as she continued. “It is only natural that we should start to be attracted to one another. You are attracted to me, yes?”

“Y-Yes,” he replied stiffly, taken back by her boldness. “but, I’m supposed to be responsible for you, how can we make something like… this… work?”

“I do not know, truly,” she said, an embarrassed chuckle slipping from her beak. “But what I do know, is that if this is to be my last day before we go to war, I want more than a mere friendship between us. If you’re against that, if this truly makes you uncomfortable, then tell me now and I will speak no more of it.”

She fixed her eyes to his, waiting, perhaps even dreading, his response. Cadell’s hesitation was there, but her words fought through and made it a very brief moment, and he raised his hand toward her face. He would have cupped her chin were she human, but instead, he held her from below the beak, hearing Samiha draw in a breath as she let him feel the cool, scaly texture of her jaw.

“Let’s figure it out, like we always do,” he said.

Samiha’s rusty feathers preened to their fullest lengths, her eyes burning into his as she was left speechless. One of her hands came to rest on his knee, her touch like an electric bolt coursing up his leg. She traced his skin through his fatigues with her avian nails, the alien swallowing as she built up the courage to speak.

“You are too good for me,” she cooed, her voice straining as she glanced away. “When we were on our first space-walk, you helped me despite the insults I put your way. I disobeyed you in the simulation, and yet you still tried to work alongside me. I shamed you when I built your coilgun without teaching you properly, and yet you still showed me how to aim my weapon. I’ve wronged you on so many accounts, Cadell, I don’t… I’m not worthy of your affection.”

“You’re wrong. You’ve lost a lot, Samiha, you of all people deserve to be happy once in a while.”

Samiha smiled, and he saw both sadness and gratitude in that smile, his heart melting the more he looked at it. Cadell seized the moment, leaning closer, but Samiha did not reciprocate the movement. He encouraged her closer, the hand on her beak drawing her in, her expression shifting to one of confusion as his lips brushed her snout.

He brought his mouth to the beak’s tip, planting a small peck on her upper lip, the cool, scaley texture of her mouth prickling his skin. Samiha was like a statue, completely paralysed as she watched him down the length of her face, her golden eyes blooming.

It was the worl’d smallest kiss, yet Cadell felt elated beyond doubt, pulling back to gauge her reaction. “What… What are you doing?” Samiha asked, her features breaking out in a curious smile.

“Kissing you,” he replied, meeting her two shining coins for eyes. “Don’t Balokarids do that?”

“Not… really,” she said. “Is that what humans do? Place their mouths together?”

“Not a fan?”

“I never said that. Show me again.”

This time, Samiha reached out to him, bundling his face in her giant hands, encouraging him closer. He tilted his head to the side, Samiha slowly closing her eyes as she mirrored the gesture. A bare inch separated him from her parting mouth.

“Yo, Sir!” Hunter exclaimed, slamming his hand on the table. The suddenness of the act startled Cadell, and he turned to face his team. The noise had awakened the dozing August, who turned to scowl in the way anyone did when their nap was interrupted. “This place is too quiet. Why don’t we go down to that Solargate place you told us about? Hit the casino?”

“That is, if you’re not too preoccupied at the moment,” Kazlu added, flashing them a cheeky wink. Of the three of them, she was the only one to notice Cadell and Samiha’s closeness. He didn’t know if she’d seen them kiss, but her smile suggested it was certainly possible.

“Yeah… good idea,” Cadell answered, coughing awkwardly as he let Samiha go, the alien following suit. “Let’s sort out the bill first.”

He waved one of the waiters over, the woman sliding them their tab. The five of them had accumulated quite the bill, but none of the humans complained as they took out their phones and wallets. It wasn’t like they’d be spending much money on their deployment.

Jim saw to their departure, the man once again thanking them for his booming business, and wishing them luck on their mission. Cadell felt a little disappointed as they walked down the steps into the adjacent food court, his thoughts turning to Samiha and his little private moment. He wanted to express his feelings to her, but there wasn’t much privacy to be had with their friends, or the numerous crowds for that matter.

His doubts were swayed when Samiha pulled him aside, signalling for their friends to wait.

“I think I left my flute back in the booth. Would you help me look for it, Cadell?”

Cadell, who had seen her pick up her flute, smoke it, and then place it in her pocket right before leaving, was confused.

“Huh? What do you…?” He paused, watching as she smirked mischievously at him. “Oh, sure thing, I’ll help.”

“We’ll catch up with you all at the Strip,” Samiha added, addressing the others.

“You sure?” Hunter replied. “We can wait up for you.”

Kazlu stepped in, looping her arms across Hunter’s and August’ shoulders. She seemed to have overindulged in both the herbs and the drinks, but nevertheless, she seemed privy to what Samiha was getting at.

“Come on, friends, there’s no time to waste! I must have more of this human culture while the night is young.”

August shared a look with Hunter, who shrugged back. “It’s fine, fellers,” Cadell added. “Go save us a seat at the roulette table. We’ll be along.”

That seemed to satisfy them, Kazlu leading the two humans away and into the crowds, her feathery headdress visible over the throngs of pedestrians. With that, Cadell turned to Samiha, the alien clutching his hands into hers as she grinned down at him.

“That’s one way to get some privacy,” Cadell said, chuckling awkwardly as he didn’t know what else to say.

“I wouldn’t call this private,” Samiha said, glancing at their surroundings. They were in the middle of the food court, some of the people at the closer tables staring at them. “but I know a place that is,” she added, guiding him to follow her as she moved towards one of the exits. “Come, I will show you.”

Cadell felt like a whole swarm of butterflies had settled in his stomach. Was she referring to a place they could kiss more, or perhaps something more? The thought elated him but made him equally nervous. Here was a creature nearly twice his size and about as far removed from a human as was possible, and yet the attraction between them was mutual. She didn’t even know what he was doing when he’d kissed her, could something more… intimate, even work?

He discarded such thoughts, who was he to jump to such conclusions, assume that was her train of thought? Perhaps he’d had too much to smoke.

“W-Where are we going?” he asked as she led him along. “Back to the quadrant?”

“No, but it is back that way,” she answered. “come, you’ll see for yourself in a moment.”