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Justinius boarded the gunship that was to serve as his transport.

The pilot was busy in the cockpit, running his pre-flight diagnostic. To his surprise Justinius recognized the pilot. The aviator's helmet was decorated with paint and chalk, in the visage of a fox spirit , a Kitsune, from ancient Terran myth. It was common for pilots to adorn their flight helmet with such decoration, Justinius knew. Usually the affectation was a point of pride for pilots, and often it was related to the callsign of the pilot, or the name of the airframe they flew.

The pilot completed the last of his checks and turned to regard the warrior. The lenses of the flight helmet that served as the eyes for the fox were green and glossy, like dark green emeralds.

In the old myths, it was reckoned that Kitsune were wise, but mischievous demons. As they aged, this wisdom and power increased.

This Kitsune needs to select it’s mission’s more cautiously, Justinius thought, if it wants to keep growing.

Justinius nodded in recognition of the pilot, and he returned the gesture. Over the ship intercom, the pilot radioed directly to Justinius’ helmet communicator.

“How was Iunthor?” The pilot queried. “Did you see the sights? Sample the local cuisine?”

Justinius chuckled despite himself, “The hotels left something to be desired.”

The pilot laughed a cheery and carefree laugh, his response dripping sarcastic humour.

“And you didn’t even bring me back a souvenir. Typical.”

The ramp began to raise, and Justinius took a seat in the empty crew bay.

The commander felt the need to say something to this man. They likely wouldn’t be returning from this mission. Old guilts and self-recriminations bubbled up in him, spilling out as a quiet voice.

“You know,” He began, “This might not go as smoothly as Iunthor. This is likely a one way trip.”

There was quiet for a long period, and the sound of engines cycling up to speed drowned out even Justinius’ melancholy thoughts.

The mechanical launch drivers engaged, and the ship was flung outward with a neck-snapping lurch. Suddenly, they were out in the void, and the loud clamour drained away to a barely perceptible drone.

The pilot's voice came back over the intercom. The voice was soft and low, and all the cocky sarcasm had drained away.

“Every time we go on a mission we take that risk.” The fox-pilot responded, “The enemy throws all their tricks at us, and we respond with our own. There’s not much else to think about than that. Sometimes I like to pretend I die the moment I strap in, and that makes it easier. When I come back, it's almost like an old-school magic trick.”

Justinius did not find that answer very comforting.

“The odds are pretty long on this one.” Justinius reminded him.

“I don’t roll with house dice.” The pilot chirped, his cheerful tone returning, “I always keep a loaded set up my sleeve.”

Justinius thought about this for a long while. He looked at the rectangular kitbag he had brought with him. He unzipped the bag and lifted out the tactical nuclear warhead. He keyed its control panel to life, and set it to remote detonation mode. He took two detonators, placing one into a concealed compartment under his chest armour, and handing the other to the kitsune pilot.

Unauthorized duplication: this tale has been taken without consent. Report sightings.

“Your loaded dice for this roll.” Justinius told him, “In case luck isn’t on our side.”

The pilot weighed the detonator in his hand, testing the weight.

“Let’s hope it rolls well.”

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As they approached the Ubiquitous Justice, guide drones ran out to meet them and guide them into a hangar berth.

The hangars vents cycled out the exhaust fumes of the transport, and the pilot lowered the crew bay's ramp. Justinius faced the ramp as it lowered, and was greeted by a squad of Huronite soldiers, rifles raised. Justinius raised his arms slowly.

The Kitsune pilot showed his hands by way of two peace signs he threw up in the cockpit doorway. The soldiers entered the gunship, and checked Justinius for weapons. They had stowed the nuke in a hidden cargo space under the crew bay’s floor prior to docking, and the soldiers walked over the powerful ordinance none-the-wiser. Justinius allowed them to deprive him of his combat blade, the only weapon he had brought with him.

They gestured with their firearms, ushering him wordlessly out of the vessel. The pilot’s voice crackled in Justinius’ helmet as he exited the craft.

“Good luck Justinius. I’ll see you on the other side.”

From there they escorted him through the vessel, towards his meeting with G’Nax.

He’d spent a long time aboard this vessel, waging the Committee’s war. He recognized every hallway and bulkhead. Several times the crew would turn to behold his passage, and he would briefly see recognition flicker across their faces, before they turned away and busily hurried to be elsewhere.

It felt for all the world like he was a ghost, haunting the ship he had once served upon. The crew fled before the revenant spirit of him.

Eventually they came to the room they had earmarked for his meeting. He knew it as interrogation room three, though someone had tactfully removed the steel plaque that usually adorned the reinforced door of the room.

That bode well, Justinius thought, no point preserving the dignity of a trapped animal.

The room was as he remembered. Two chairs sat at opposite sides of a plain metal table.

One of the chairs was occupied by G’Nax, who stood as he entered.

“Justinius,” The admiral nodded, gesturing to the chair opposite, “Please take a seat.”

Justinius nodded, taking his place.

G’Nax waved his hand dismissively at the guards, and they left the room in neat order.

G’Nax took his seat, and a long silence passed between the two officers.

G’Nax broke it first.

“Let me just say Justinius, for the record, I am sorry to meet you again in such circumstances.” The admiral produced a small pouch from his pocket, and pinched out a small measure of a dried herb. The alien carefully placed the herb under his front lip. “I had hoped we might meet again as allies, or comrades of long standing.”

Justinius cocked his head slightly, “Are we not still comrades and allies, G’Nax?”

G’Nax stared levelly at Justinius. “Comrades? Certainly. Allies? That remains to be seen.”

“Oh?” Justinius queried. “On what basis?”

“A quiet simple basis really. I’ve been sent by the Committee to investigate some…concerning reports that we’ve received.” The admiral dusted his gloves on his long cloak. “They’ve asked me to figure something out, and then act appropriately.”

Justinius felt the hairs stand up on his neck. This was not the way he had hoped this would go.

“Figure out what?” He asked.

“Figure out why, after so much patience and assistance. After all the help the committee has provided humanity. After all the shared experience and bloodshed. After all that…”

The aliens nostrils flared wildly, and he removed his gloves slowly, placing them neatly on the table in front of him.

“Why would humanity betray us so?”