Prologue

The ship hummed in the peculiar way of zerospace, something you could only barely hear or feel, or sometimes even taste.

At least Brooks had always had that sense of the quasi-realm.  Even in his study, deep in the heart of the ship, he could feel it as easily as at any other location.  There was no shielding against it, and though it had long been deemed harmless, he found it both bothersome and comforting.

It was something interesting to consider, a sensation that humanity, nor any form of life had ever evolved to be used to - the feel of another dimension.

But that was not something he could focus on now.  The business at hand demanded his attention.

"What are your results?" Brooks asked the two before him.

Urle and Cutter both set out a case containing pieces of the Hev weapons and equipment that had been recovered from their boarding parties.

As Brooks looked at them, holographic data tables appeared in his HUD over each piece.

"We can't prove who made them," Urle said flatly.  "There are no direct traces of any major power's tech in them.  Not Glorian, not Aeena, not Tsabax Arms . . . none of them."

Brooks looked to Cutter.  "And this in itself tells us much," the Beetle-Slug told him in his precise, clipped voice.

"Go on," Brooks said, steepling his fingers.

"We have considered every piece of tech, symbol, design detail, material," the Beetle-Slug said.

Urle continued.  "On initial inspection, the designs are common, the parts are all off-the-shelf, they lack any symbols except those that the P'G'Maig added, and the materials were mined across numerous systems, mostly in independent space."

"But looking close," Cutter said.  "We see each piece is finer.  Fabricators used in production were better.  Sought signs of fabricator origin - but even those were not produced by any specific power.  Even tools used to put fabricators together were not identifiable."

"You can tell the tools used in the fabricators that made the weapon?" Brooks asked.

"Sometimes.  Infer from minor details - some tools may leave atomic-scale marks in certain elements of fabricator, which carry into fabricated weapon.  These marks can be connected to tool designs and alloys favored by specific powers.  No such traces exist."

"So the machines that made the weapons were themselves made to give nothing away," Brooks said.

"There is more," Cutter said.  "While all parts appear stock - they are not.  They are common designs, but with expert eyes that corrected design flaws, increased efficiency, lightened and strengthened.  They were meant to seem stock while being far more."

"A great amount of effort was taken to make excellent weapons that looked close to garbage," Urle summarized.

Brooks leaned back and took a deep breath.  "So that means Aeena."

Cutter hissed.  "I possess no proof.  But my lack of proof is my proof.  I would place a bet of all I own on this."

"You bet?" Urle asked.

"Only when I am certain to win," Cutter replied.

That the Aeena - a xenophobic and reclusive species - would do such a thing and take every possible action to hide their involvement was news indeed.  Decades ago, the Sapient Union had fought a war with them, after the Aeena ethnically cleansed several member systems.  The war had been long and bloody, but the Aeena hated to lose anything, and had ultimately sued for peace.

But only, it seemed, for the open conflict.

"Good work, both of you," Brooks said.   "Submit all your data and I'll forward it - include your conclusions and I'll add my own stamp to it."

"Have we had any more success with the Fesha ship?  Been able to track anything down?" Urle asked.

"The ship had never been seen before, her radiation leakage rates suggested she was new but meant to look older - it's the same story as these weapons."

"Too much secrecy," Cutter hissed.  "Suspicious.  Alarming."

"If we're seeing these clues, then there are surely others being found by other ships and intel teams," Brooks noted.  "Whatever the Aeena are up to - we will figure it out."

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Captain Brooks's Log:

In the aftermath of battle with the P'G'Maig, the Craton is hurting.  Though we have patched the holes and are under power, there is deeper work to be done to bring the ship back to her full strength.

As a result, we are headed to the nearest shipyard capable of effecting proper repairs, at the neutral Gohhi Confederation.  The Sapient Union maintains a small repair shipyard in their territory, in accordance with our treaties with them.

The territory, inhabited by species other than humans for several millenia, is outside of an inhabited system in an area peculiar for being the terminal point for many commonly used safe paths in zerospace.  As unnatural as it is to think of routes in ordinary space, zerospace behaves as it will, it seems, and the inhabitants of the many space stations of Gohhi have turned this to their advantage.

Though non-federalized, with each station largely minding its own business - and there being several thousand stations - the locals jealously defend their neutrality.  So long as one is willing to pay them, they will allow anyone entry - meaning people can access goods and ideas from all over known space.  The advantages to staying on good terms with them are obvious, and ultimately our trip will be diplomatic as well as practical.

I remember it well - it is a wonderful and terrible place.  I've missed it.

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Apollonia was amazed at how quickly the Equator had been repaired.

Part of it had been sealed off by heavy blast doors for a time, as the hull had been ruptured here during the battle - the entire block of transparent titanium having been blasted out in the landing of a Hev boarding pod.  Amazingly, though, in less than twelve hours it was being re-opened.

And not simply some crappy patch-work that seemed like any stray micrometeoroid would take down; the missing areas were replaced with seamless gray bulkheads that looked like armor plating from a warship.

Even the planters that had been destroyed or sucked out had been replaced, though the plants in them would take some time to grow to match the glory of the originals.

She had heard that a non-combat Volunteer team - granted, one higher grade than hers - had tried to stop the Hev here and suffered heavy casualties.

There was even a plaque to commemorate them; one of the first pieces that had been put in after the place had been pressurised, and she stopped to take a brief look at it.

On this spot, four Citizen Volunteers

Len Ackerman

Jane E. Heffo

Julio Hernandez

and

Perso Kynz

Gave their lives to protect the Craton

and her people against overwhelming enemy forces

They will be remembered and missed

Seeing the place now, she was amazed any had survived at all.  Such a large area had been taken out, and the signs of violence were still evident - bullet holes, entire walls blown out, though not even a drop of blood or drone scrap or bullet fragment.  All of that had been meticulously cleaned, and now even those damaged internal walls were being replaced.

Watchito's looked like it had been hit hard, almost gutted.  New walls were being trundled in on rolling drones, with more machines and workers inside, repairing and replacing quickly and efficiently.

Unauthorized reproduction: this story has been taken without approval. Report sightings.

She had seen a lot of work projects on her home colony, but at those times the process had been painfully slow, shutting down areas or paths for weeks or months.  Not so, it seemed, when the work was actually being planned centrally and people weren't paid by the hour.

A few of the staff were standing outside, and she saw them directing some drones towards putting up a new sign over the door, which read:

WATCHITO'S II: THIS TIME IT'S PERSONAL PAN PIZZAS

She snorted out a laugh, and one of the employees turned and smiled brightly at her.

"Oh, Ms. Nor!" the woman said.

It took Apollonia a moment to remember the woman's name - Ann, the woman from the bunker she'd gone into during the battle.

"Oh, hi Ann," she replied.  "You can just call me Apollonia.  Or . . . Apple, I guess."

Brooks had given her the nickname, and she'd kind of hated it.  But really, it wasn't bad, was it?  And it seemed odd to be so formal when the woman was being so friendly.

"Apple, all right!" the woman said cheerily, then gestured at the sign.  "We'll be back open for lunch tomorrow!  Though if you're hungry, we do have a couple things available now, and I'd be glad to get something for a Volunteer!"

Apollonia felt her stomach drop.  She had been out to get something to eat, but . . .

She didn't deserve special consideration.

"Thank you," she said.  "But that's okay."

"Are you sure?  Well, all right, but be sure to come by once we're fully open - we're giving a free desser to all Volunteers!"

The woman started to suggest some other places that were open and were giving extras to Volunteers, when Apollonia noticed a familiar person jogging by.

"Oh, sorry, gotta go," she said to Ann, trying to sound properly nice and polite.  "My jogging partner is here!"

"Have a good one!" Ann called as Apollonia sprinted after the jogger.

Jaya did not slow her pace even when she saw it was Apollonia running next to her.

"This is a surprise," the woman said, eyeing her critically.

"Uh, hi," Apollonia said.  They hadn't spoken since Jaya had chewed her out for being too afraid and hiding during the battle.

But she found herself glad that the woman would still talk to her.

"Do you . . . mind if I join you?" she asked the commander, starting to breathe hard from the effort of running.

"You may.  But as I recall, previously you turned down my offer to go jogging together," Jaya replied, and not sounding even the slightest winded, despite the sheen of sweat on her brow and bare arms.  "You referred to the idea of running when unnecessary as 'a cruel and unusual punishment, devised in the deepest pit of hell'."

"And I stand by that," Apollonia said, panting more.  "But the only thing worse is an awkward conversation."

Jaya studied her through half-lidded eyes, then picked up her pace, leaving Apollonia struggling to keep up.

"Slow down!  I'm not as strong as you," she said.

"Exercising is how you get stronger," Jaya told her.

"I don't have-"

"I know you don't have muscle enhancements.  But do you think those simply make you strong?  No.  You still have to work at it, make your body understand how you wish it to be - and then follow through.  It takes willpower."

Apollonia bit back a retort, but on some level felt stung.  Jaya was absolutely right, and she knew she was being whiny.

But it was just so easy for the other woman, wasn't it?

"I never ran or exercised before," Apollonia said, trying to force it out simply as a statement.

"I can tell."

"Because I never had the energy to spare," Apollonia continued.

Jaya didn't have a retort to that.  But she slowed slightly, and it made it easier for Apollonia to talk.

"You're right - it's in my head, the ability to make myself do it.  It's just . . . beyond me being unfit and noodly, it's against everything I've ever learned.  I always knew I had to conserve."

She reached up and tapped her head.  "So I guess this is the real struggle."

Jaya slowly came to a stop, and Apollonia gladly stopped with her, hands on her knees, panting.  She didn't know how much longer she could have kept up even that light jog.  Her lungs and chest were burning with exertion.

"And though you don't need to go hungry again," Jaya said.  "Your body does not know or accept that yet."

Apollonia nodded, not saying anything.

But when she could, she looked up to Jaya.  "I'll run with you."

"You still want to go on?  I typically lap the Equator Ring two times each morning," Jaya said.

"I can't do that.  But I'll run for as long as I can," Apollonia replied.

"And then next time, perhaps you could run just a bit further," Jaya added.

Apollonia nodded, feeling physically miserable, but hoping that maybe someday she wouldn't.  "That's the best I can do."

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Pirra's head was pounding, an ache in the center of her forehead that was the result of too much work.

She checked her system for how long she'd been at it; she'd come in early, far more so than normal, hoping to knock out this bureaucratic work before her proper day started.

How naive she'd been, thinking she could power through bureaucracy.

She understood its existence, of course.  Even with a thousand layers of minor AIs trying to cut the clutter and reduce such work to a minimum, you could not run an interstellar society with quadrillions of members without a bureaucracy to match.  Organization on this scale was probably their greatest invention, even moreso than breaking the laws of physics.

It was near the hour she should clock out, she noted.  So much for getting to her normal work.

She didn't feel as if she had really achieved much.  Only homeostasis within the system, which could be considered a feat so soon after a major combat event, but it felt like treading water.  Not forward movement.

And she'd just taken over command; there was a lot to do to continue to bring the position fully into her own before she could feel things were really back to normal.

Iago had had his own system, and . . .

The thought faded as she considered the man.  He'd had such a hard time after that mission to Terris.  Elliot, too - like a nephew to her.  They were from the same island, after all, weren't they?

A world of archipelagos like her homeworld of Enope meant people became attached to those of their island in a way that she didn't think most humans understood; perhaps those from islands did, but to her people it was far more than that.  To be from the same island as another meant a kinship that was as deep as blood.

And what was the Craton, if not their island?

The paperwork could wait, she thought, standing, and folding her wing drapes around herself.  Iago had been strange even during the combat, and she'd barely seen him since.  Part of her had been angry with him, with how he'd run into the action instead of away, as she had ordered.

But she would have to learn not what people should do, but what they would do.  She put him in the situation where he'd been presented with combat, and expected him to go against all his training and desire to help.

If she was going to have him out there, she should have put him in a team that could keep up.

Thankfully, Kessissiin had been with him, to give him someone equally brave, equally talented-

She felt annoyed thinking of the young Dessei officer.  He was capable, well-trained, disciplined, and bold.  It was a fantastic and terrible combination, as it meant he knew he could be more and would reach for it, even before he was ready.

And she did not know whose side he was really on.

Not that there should be sides; the fact that her opponent here was her brother - which really meant their mother - who were both from her island, too.

But her mother had always had ideas of just what Pirra should do with her life.

Realizing her crest had gone up in indignation, she soothed it down with a hand, then left her office.

She couldn't do a thing about Kessissiin right now.  Hopefully, once his Detachment Training was complete, he could just go back to the Dessei Republic Fleet and not bother her anymore.

She began towards Iago's cabin, trying to focus on the issue at hand.

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Pirra's hand had barely pulled away from the entry request button when the door opened.

"Iago!" she chirped, pleased.  "It's good to see you!"

The man's face had looked excited, even eager, as the door opened, but in just a moment it changed - closing to her, his eyes darkening.

In fact, everything about his body language, as far as she could tell of another species, had just turned borderline hostile.

"Oh, Pirra," he said.  "I didn't realize it was you."

The room behind him was dark, she noticed.  All the lights were out.

"Expecting someone?" she asked.  "Maybe Watchito's?  I heard they just started up again."

"Something like that," Iago replied passively.  "What can I do for you, Commander?"

Pirra blinked, surprised and uncomfortable.

"I just wanted to see how you were doing," she said, now feigning her cheer.  "It's been some time since we just talked.  I miss you."

The last words were not very . . . her.  At least not something she'd care to share with anyone outside of perhaps Alexander.  But they came anyway, and a part of her felt hopeful it would have some effect on the man.

But nothing changed on his face.  "It has been awhile, yeah," he said.

"May I come in?" she asked.  "I thought we could catch up, and-"

"No, sorry," Iago said curtly, cutting her off.  "I'm afraid that Elliot and I are kind of busy.  Just waiting for a drone courier."

"I could . . . just wait with you until it arrives, then?" she asked hopefully.

"Best if not," he said.  "We're growing Lily of the Valley in here.  Pretty sure that Dessei have an allergy to them, don't they?"

Something prickled in the back of her mind.

'Lily of the Valley' was a very specific plant for Iago to have, one that she was particularly allergic to.  He knew that.

It was serious enough that she was automatically informed by the ship's system if anyone grew them.  The risk of her having a severe reaction to the pollen was too high.

She hadn't gotten any such notification.

"Oh, of course," she said.  "Sorry for bothering you.  But . . . perhaps we could get a drink on Gohhi when we get there?"

Iago nodded sharply.  "Yeah.  That'd be great.  See you then."

The door shut.

Pirra stayed a moment longer, wondering what else she should do.

Turning, she began to walk away.

Then, on a spur of the moment, she checked her system, looking for Elliot.

He was on the garden level, it seemed.  She checked back to look at his room.  Nothing looked wrong, but she connected to the Response system and checked the room again.

It said that there were two occupants; Iago and Elliot Caraval.

She paused trying to figure out why there would be an anomalous reading such as that.  Checking the power usage logs, she saw that the room had been using a normal day/night cycle, like every other room.  In fact, right now it should be brightly lit, and at no point since last night had the lights been off.

But she had seen that they were off.

There was only one explanation she could think of; Iago was spoofing the data with a Blank Box.

Whatever he was doing in there, he didn't want anyone to know.

She started walking again, quickly.

"Pirra to Dr. Y.  May I see you?" she asked.

"Of course!" the doctor replied.  "I am in engineering, but I can-"

"No.  I'll meet you there."