It had been five years since the fall of Elysium, but even after a year of relative peace following the Nrac's retreat, a soldier's work is never done. Now holding the rank of Lieutenant, Jannik Novak stood aboard the bridge of the MSS FIrehawk as it decoupled from Orbital Defense Station TS-011 above New Terra to begin its deep-space reconnaissance mission.

With the ship clear of the station and the capital world of the Terran Sovereignty rapidly shrinking behind them, Captain Carth Brennan was finally free to give Novak his full attention. "You'll have to forgive the hastiness behind your team's reassignment to my vessel, Lieutenant," he began. "You were a last-minute attachment that I had little say in, and we've been preoccupied with preparations for the voyage."

"I understand, sir," Novak replied. "I'm no stranger to 'hurry up and wait.' I figured we'd be getting tapped to deploy somewhere sooner or later, especially with the riots happening planetside. Just didn't expect we'd be getting shot into deep space."

The mission seemed simple enough; Novak and his team of Vindicators would serve as a security attachment to the Firehawk for the next few months while the ship and its crew worked toward completing their reconnaissance mission. But beyond that, Novak's superiors had been tight-lipped about the FIrehawk's objectives.

"If things go according to plan, we shouldn't need you, Lieutenant," said the captain. "I don't know why somebody above my pay grade decided you needed to be here, and personally, I think it's a complete waste to shelve a Vindicator team for an op like this. But orders are orders, and I'm not about to complain to the brass about having some of our best along for the ride."

"With all due respect, sir, Vindicator units aren't deployed lightly," said Novak. "Is there something I should know about this mission? Are we expecting any trouble?"

Captain Brennan sighed and shook his head. "All I can tell you for certain is that we're headed beyond the edge of known Sovereignty territory," he replied. "A star system untouched by humanity."

Novak raised an eyebrow. "And we're not sending in unmanned probes for that?"

"The probes were already sent out," Captain Brennan explained. "But we lost contact with every single one of them before they could send back any useful data, which is why they're sending us out next. We'll make our way there, scope out the situation, and then return home to report our findings. At least, that's the plan."

Novak was starting to see why he was here. "Do we think this is where the Nrac might be holed up?" he asked.

Captain Brennan shrugged. "That's what we're here to find out, Lieutenant," he replied. "Hopefully, it's nothing so serious. But if it is... well, I'm sure I'll be glad you and your team are here. Until then, you and your team can enjoy a little vacation aboard the Firehawk."

A 'vacation' sounded relaxing after the last few months Novak had spent training with his new team in VR aboard TS-011. But he knew better than to expect anything resembling rest and relaxation on this mission. "I think it'll be a breath of fresh air for us either way, sir," Novak said with a smile. "We've been cooped up on TS-011 too long."

Captain Brennan nodded. "Well, you're welcome to make yourselves at home aboard the ship. Just don't interfere with the crew's duties while we're underway. Firehawk's a top-of-the-line vessel, but she gets fussy if we don't take good care of her."

"Aye, Captain," Novak nodded. "Do you have anything else for me?"

"Actually, before you go, Lieutenant, my OIC of Security wanted to have a word with you," said Captain Brennan. "Lieutenant MacLeod. I believe he was stationed with you back on Elysium?"

Novak gave the captain a nod. "I'll see if I can track him down, sir."

Captain Brennan dismissed Novak with a wave and took his seat at the command console on the bridge's upper level. The lieutenant made his way through a set of sliding doors that led out into the Firehawk's central corridor. It was bustling with crew members going about their daily routines, but a familiar face was already waiting for him.

"Hey, Novak! It's been a minute, huh?"

The former Serviceman Joseph MacLeod now wore the rank insignia of Lieutenant on his uniform. Four years of war on the ground with the Nrac had weathered his fair skin, but he was almost just as Novak remembered him from Elysium. His red hair, though clean-cut, made him stand out, and he still carried himself with the confidence of a raw recruit ready to prove himself. Everything about him was loud, as always.

"MacLeod," said Novak. "How've you been?"

MacLeod pointed to his rank. "Still alive. Kicking ass, taking names. Moving up in the world," he replied with a grin. "Got transferred to this boat about a year into the war. Stuck around long enough that they bumped me up to head of security; can you believe that shit?"

Novak chuckled under his breath. "Yeah, I can," he answered. "They threw medals at us every time we survived a battle. Honestly, I'd be disappointed if you weren't someone's boss by now. Congrats on the cushy position."

"Oh, it's hardly 'cushy,'" said MacLeod. "I'm still doing all the grunt work; I just get to tell the grunts what we're doing now. And I yell at the rooks when they're being stupid because when aren't rooks being stupid? I feel like an old man in a 20-something's body, yelling at these kids all the damn time. But enough about that. What have you been up to?"

"Vindicator Corps. Team leader," Novak answered. "That's probably about all I can tell you."

"Right. The captain mentioned that. Buncha psychic commandos that don't exist or whatever," MacLeod replied with a smirk. "The rumor mill says you're not even allowed to discuss the selection process."

Novak chuckled, recalling when he had been 'extracted' from his barracks and brought out to the Vindicator Corps' headquarters for evaluation. "I can tell you that they basically kidnap you and put you through the wringer to see if you have what it takes," he explained. "I was told that FOB Argos was the reason they snatched me up. My little 'outburst' got the attention of some important people, apparently."

MacLeod gave a grim laugh. "Worst day of our lives, and what do they do? Give us promotions and send us back into the thick of it."

"That's life in the Soldier Caste," Novak replied with a shrug.

"Yeah, well, I'm glad we're both still alive to bitch about it," MacLeod said. "Anyway, enough reminiscing. You're heading off to get your team situated, yeah?"

Novak nodded. "Yeah. They're probably getting antsy by now."

MacLeod reached into his pocket and tossed Novak a small plastic tube containing what looked like pills. "Before you go, take one of these, and make sure everyone on your team does the same."

"What the hell are these?" Novak asked, eyeing the container. "Meds for space sickness or something?"

"Biomonitors," MacLeod replied. "Brass started issuing them to ship crews pretty recently. You pop one, and any friendlies on your TacNET can monitor your vitals and track your location. They last a few weeks before your body processes them out."

Novak raised an eyebrow. "Is that... safe?"

"It's as safe as anything else that's General Issue," MacLeod shrugged. "If you get blown out through a hull breach or something, it'll give a recovery team a chance to find you before you die of vacuum exposure. Maybe."

Love this story? Find the genuine version on the author's preferred platform and support their work!

"Point taken," said Novak before swallowing one of the 'pills' with a gulp of water from his canteen. "I'll pass them along to the team."

"Good man. Now go see to your people," MacLeod replied with a grin. "I've got shit to do."

MacLeod quickly saluted Novak and disappeared into the crowd of crew members moving up and down the Firehawk's central corridor. Having spent most of the war on the ground, Novak was always surprised to see how much of a commodity space was on a starship. The central corridor was barely three shoulder widths wide, with arrows painted on the floor to help guide foot traffic. It was difficult to imagine moving around the ship freely with a full combat load.

As Novak approached the ship's aft, he caught a heated argument from above him. He would have ignored it, but the familiar voice of Service Chief Eric Beckett, his team's tech expert, grabbed his attention. Novak sighed and made his way up a set of stairs that led into the ship's sensors and communications array.

"Sir, I am telling you, there's something off with the comms," Beckett protested. "I can't put my finger on it, but something just feels... wrong."

"And I am telling you, Chief, that I've run our prelaunch checks about a hundred times in the last week," argued Ensign Gardner, the Firehawk's communication officer. "Everything is fine. Now, please return to your post and let me do my job."

The two stopped arguing once they finally noticed Lieutenant Novak's presence. "Bucket," he chimed in. "You giving the crew a hard time?"

The skinny, brown-haired young man was quick to answer his team leader. "Sir, there's something weird going on with the communications," he explained. "I wanted to go over everything again with the Ensign here."

"With all due respect, Lieutenant," said Gardner, "I've been running through the prelaunch all week. What Chief Beckett is asking for is unnecessary."

Beckett had found his way into the Vindicators largely thanks to his ability to interface with and control machinery. As a technomancer, he could even manipulate the unfamiliar technologies that the Nrac wielded, making him a highly sought-after asset during the war. Still, his power had its limits, and technomancers had a reputation for being rather eccentric, to say the least.

"Sorry, Bucket, but I have to agree with the ensign on this one," Novak apologized. "I just talked to the captain, and he asked that we keep out of the crew's business while we're underway. I need you to stand down."

"But, sir—"

Novak held up his hand. "Listen, this is their house," he said. "We're the guests. We can't come in here and start telling them how to run everything."

Somewhat defeated, Beckett let out a sigh. "Understood, sir."

After the argument settled, Novak returned to the main corridor and continued on his way. His next stop was the armory, where a brawny man with a deep complexion hovered over a workbench while the Firehawk's quartermaster secured various supplies for the impending flux jump.

Gunnery Chief Duncan Emerson, Novak's second-in-command, was cleaning the team's weapons for what was neither the first nor last time today. Novak stepped into the armory to greet him. "How's my NCOIC holding up?" he asked.

Emerson looked up and gave Novak a quick nod before returning to the task at hand. "Just keeping busy, sir," he replied. Truth be told, I'm not really a fan of deep-space travel. Weapons are green if we run into any trouble, though. How about you, sir?"

Novak shrugged. "Sounds like we're on vacation for a bit, but you never know."

While the Vindicator Corps was typically reserved for espers who demonstrated extraordinary power, Emerson was one of those rare exceptions. Though he had not shown any observable psionic abilities, the unusually high number of close calls in his war record suggested that he might have some subconscious control over probability itself. Or, to put it simply, he was inhumanly lucky.

Emerson finished cleaning his mag chaingun and was now in the process of reassembling the weapon. "One can only hope, sir," he remarked. "Because if we do run into trouble out here, we're all on our own. Nearest help will be weeks away, if at all."

"You always know how to cheer me up, Gunny," Novak said with a grim laugh.

With his weapon fully assembled, Emerson performed a quick function check to ensure he had done everything to standard. "I do my best, sir."

Novak approached the rack holding his team's weapons and picked up his mag carbine. He quickly glanced through the holo-sight, aiming at a point on the back wall of the armory. "Have you seen Amari around anywhere?" he asked.

Emerson shrugged. "Probably engineering," he said. "You know her. Likes to hide in the dark."

"I'm about to get ambushed again, aren't I?"

"Probably."

Departing the armory, Novak continued along the main corridor of the Firehawk until he reached the stairwell that led down to the engineering deck. The head engineer, Lieutenant Cranston, silently waved to Novak as he passed, but the greeting went largely unnoticed. Novak's attention had shifted to the various mechanisms that helped the Firehawk defy physics and hurl itself through outer space.

Novak found an odd comfort in watching the inner workings of something as complex as a military warship. Maybe it was the perfect coordination between hundreds of moving parts, all working toward a single goal; maybe he just liked seeing how things worked. Either way, Novak was always fascinated when he visited a ship's engine room.

He stopped momentarily, resting his weight against the guardrail overlooking the massive metal orb that was the Firehawk's flux core. Though its inner workings were far beyond his understanding, Novak harbored a particular appreciation for the device that allowed a ship to travel faster than light, free of ill consequence, by shifting it into flux space.

A whisper in the back of Novak's mind made his neck hair stand on end. He whirled around just in time to see a palm engulfed in crackling electricity shoot toward him. The masked woman launched from the darkness, but Novak deflected her strike. His heart pounding, he gripped her wrist tightly, but the familiar flash of a combat knife gave him pause.

Years of martial training and honed reflexes took control as the knife hungered for his blood. His hands moved like lightning, and within moments, he had twisted the knife from his assailant's grip and forced her to the ground. "Nice to see you too, Amari," Novak greeted.

"Almost had you that time, sir," the woman replied.

"Almost."

Novak released his grip on Senior Service Chief Yasmin Amari and helped her to her feet. "You know you can't surprise me at close range," he said, tapping a finger against his temple. "Not until you learn to keep your head clear."

Amari pulled her mask down, revealing a frown. "Telepathy's cheating."

"Didn't happen to forget we're psi ops, did you?" he asked with a grin.

She shot him an annoyed glance and rolled her eyes.

Novak winced and shook his head. "Don't."

"Sorry, sir," she apologized. "I keep forgetting you don't like the 'loud' thoughts."

"It's fine," Novak replied. "Just... tone it down a bit."

Amari nodded. "Yes, sir."

Novak returned to his perch against the guardrail. "It's good to see you keeping sharp, at least," he said. "I know we haven't had time to rest since they threw the new team together and pawned us off on the Firehawk, but how are you holding up?"

Amari ran a hand through her short, chestnut hair before stepping forward and coming to rest at her CO's side. "Speaking freely, sir? This whole op feels off. You don't stick Vindicators on a ship unless you're expecting trouble. What little intel we've been given suggests we shouldn't expect trouble, but you know how I feel about that kind of intel."

"Grain of salt?"

She answered with a silent nod. Senior Service Chief Yasmin Amari was a psychomutation specialist, an esper able to manipulate biological functions in various ways. Amari often used her abilities to project weaponized bioelectricity and mend wounds, but punching holes in Nrac power armor and similar feats of inhuman physicality also fell within the scope of her power.

Unlike the rest of the team, who began their careers as soldiers on the ground, Amari cut her teeth as a field agent for SCID, the Soldier Caste Intelligence Division. She caught the attention of the Vindicators when an unfortunate series of events left her stranded behind enemy lines and cut off from friendly forces. Thanks to her psionic abilities, she waged a one-woman guerilla war against the Nrac, surviving for several weeks until the area was finally reclaimed.

"So, Lieutenant... how are you holding up?" Amari asked.

"The quiet is nice," he answered. "Not as many voices find their way into my head with a crew this small."

Amari glanced at him, an inquisitive look in her eyes. "With respect, sir, that's not what I was asking about," she told him. "I understand the brass had to give you official orders to see the brain doc about your baggage."

A frustrated sigh escaped the lieutenant. "Are we going through the team's personnel files again, Amari?"

Amari held a hand out before her, watching electricity as it arced between her fingers. "Old habits from the SCID days, sir. It's surprising what my old clearance still has access to," she explained with a coy grin. "You still having the dreams?"

"They come and go," he replied flatly. "And lately, it feels like I'm being watched. But I've been cleared for normal duty if you're worried about that."

"I'm not worried, sir. The same goes for the rest of the team."

"Why bring it up?"

Amari shrugged. "Just wanted to make sure we're all on the same page, sir," she answered. "I know it's none of my business, but I'd hate to see you fall apart because you don't think you can ask for help."

"You're not on this team to be my damn shrink, Amari," Novak growled. "But... I appreciate the sentiment, I guess."

An alarm blared as red light flooded the engineering deck, and an announcement came over the ship's PA system. "Attention all personnel: shift to flux space will commence in two minutes. Standby for shift to flux space."

Amari frowned. "That's our cue to get buckled in somewhere," she remarked. "I've done a lot of space travel but never liked this part."

"Nobody likes feeling their insides get scrambled," Novak smirked. "Think I puked my guts out for a solid ten minutes after my first jump."

The pair chuckled before heading back through the engineering deck to find seats for the flux shift. The ship's engineers had already secured themselves in the available seating, but luckily, there were a few seats set aside for stragglers. They took their seats and strapped themselves in just as the final countdown began.