For the briefest of instants, Acolyte 22’s upward momentum precisely cancelled out the gravity of Hive Prime, and Hercule was weightless.

Hercule remembered his first time he had undergone zero-G training. In 2172, when he’d been hoping to transfer to the JTSA, he’d gone through pre-application training in Houston. It had been summer, and he’d been miserable; the city seemed to be perpetually 45 degrees with 143 percent humidity. The Interagency Cooperative Training Center had been a relative oasis of cool, though, and he’d done very well in early training, but zero-G was another story.

It wasn’t that he’d never experienced it – he was a pilot, of course he had – but not for the extended time that he did in Houston. He had heard horror stories from previous recruits, and worse, heard that other pilots had managed to book time in chambers on their own, in order to prepare.

So he was nervous when they dialed gravity down to nothing, and his feet left the ground. For a moment, he was euphoric…and then the nausea kicked in.

He had been fortunate to grab his vomit bag in time. He was the first to throw up, and he thought certain that he was going to wash out before he had a chance to prove himself.

Fatou had been in the same training class. She’d made it through zero-G with absolutely no ill effects. She’d come and found him, afterward. She didn’t know him, but she told him that when she’d been accepted to this program, she’d received a message from the African First Minister. A form letter, she thought, but he at least took time to send it. First Minister Marechera had wished her luck, and told her that half of all recruits barf their first time in the zero-G chamber, including him.

She hadn’t had to do that. Though she was an engineer candidate, and he was a pilot candidate, they were in competition, at least in theory. They didn’t take just anyone. But she’d done so anyhow.

The next time, he’d been better prepared, and he’d realized not far into it that what had caused him to lose his cookies the first time wasn’t his inability to tolerate zero-G. It was simply nerves.

He’d thanked her properly. Oh, he and she had hooked up, but that wasn’t how he’d thanked her. He’d helped her with high-G testing, the test she dreaded. She wasn’t a pilot, she didn’t have experience with five-G turns. He helped her prepare for the tunnel vision, the feeling that your arms were lead weights. She’d passed her test where some other engineers had failed. They’d gone back to Europe and Africa, but both felt good about their chances. And when they both made it to Titan Station, both of them were thrilled for their friend, quite as much as themselves.

Gravity switched back on, and Acolyte 22 dropped.

The broken ship entered a slow spin, and Hercule shook his head to clear it. He waited for Fatou to give the situation, but when she didn’t immediately, he jumped in. “Lieutenant, we are red across the board,” he called. “All power but emergency battery to the controls is offline. No thrust…no gravs…no guns. We need to eject.”

There was no response. “Gool, transmit to Isra and Fatou. This is Desrochers, it appears comms is down as well. We have nothing, we need to eject.”

No response.

“Gool, checklink, to Isra al-Zayedeen and Fatou Bâ.”

“Checklink, both links active and open.”

“Merde. Isra! Fatou! This is Hercule! Wake up! We have to eject! We have to eject now! Please, please!”

He could hardly see through his tears. He tried to remotely autoeject them, but the craft’s computer was offline and there was no way for him to repair it in time. All he could do is say, “Gool, wide broadcast, emergency. M’aider, m’aider, m’aider, this is Desrochers, Acolyte 22, we are red across the board, unable to raise pilot and engineer….”

He eyeballed the ground. It was already closer than was safe, even with Hive Prime’s gravity. He couldn’t wait.

“Je suis profondément désolé, ma choupinette,” Hercule whispered. “Gunner, Acolyte 22, punch-out.”

The glass above him exploded away, and moments later, Hercule’s seat took off like a rocket, leaving the wreck of Acolyte 22 to drop away toward the enemy’s homeworld.

* * *

Cortexifan acts on the nervous system with remarkable rapidity. It has a number of salutary benefits, but the most important is to kick the brain’s own repair systems into hyperdrive. Cellular activity in the reticular activating system is stabilized, blood flow increases, excitatory neurotransmitters are dampened, calcium is cleaned up, and glucose is increased.

Generally, cortexifan is administered in a hospital under supervision, with the patient kept sedated until the initial kick of the drug wears off. But the field medkit was designed with the certain knowledge that anyone calling for a concussion stick was in a dire situation, and probably operating more on luck than planning. And so as the drug made its way through her nervous system, Glyta found she was aware something blocking her vision. It cleared presently, but reappeared moments later. Then cleared again.

She turned, but felt like her body wasn’t moving as fast as it normally did. She knew she had to get out of here – the back of the ship was a wall of flame, and the temperature in the cockpit was already growing dangerous. But as her head and eyes finally got to where she wanted them, she saw that she had more time than she thought.

The flames were moving in slow motion.

No…no. She knew this. The flames were fine. Her brain was moving faster than it was supposed to. That’s the darkness. She was blinking. There it was again. Just side effects of emergency cortexifan include overclocking of the brain’s frontal processing, disjointed thoughts, as well as hives, nausea, and fatigue, call your doctor if these continue more than four hours, Idisoko? So why don’t tol-bot competitors use this to give them an edge? Good question, because the brain is a delicate mechanism, it’s not supposed to be overclocked, different parts of the mind move at different speeds, and then you end up up up toward the hatch, have to focus, have to get out. Have to…Gods, are those…those are bugs, shooting, shooting, I could shoot, phase cannon should have a good ten to twelve shots with current battery lives, lives are at stake, they need suppressive fire, if not, they could die, and if I die, at least I’ll save some people.

Controls are online, online, line, draw lines on the screen, controls, show me the bugs, show me the bugs, show me the bugs, the fire. Fire is getting closer. Don’t have much time. The fire….

Fire.

* * *

The Acolytes were alive, and firing at the bugs, and it was a glorious sight, but it wasn’t enough.

In less than a minute, they’d torn through a full third of the Insectoid fighters, and drawn off another third. But that left twenty fighters inbound, plus the gunship.

The gunship was dropping toward the ground, with four fighters on its wings. The bugs had a clear shot at the refugees, but they wouldn’t take it. Mpola understood why. The bugs wanted them alive. Wanted to find out why they were on Hive Prime, what they were doing, what they knew. They would be tortured, then killed. The endgame was inevitable.

“Those of you with weapons,” she said, “you may want to be ready to turn them on yourselves.”

The gunship extended its landing gear, and then a ball of fire engulfed it.

The dying Flypaper loosed a shot, then another, and another, and another, until the gunship wasn’t hovering, but falling and crashing to the ground with a thud and a crunch. The fighters which had been guarding the gunship paused, and hesitated, waiting for their new orders; before they reacted, an Acolyte came screaming out of the sky, guns blazing, picking off the four nearest the ground.

“Gorram,” Mpola said. There was not much else to say.

“Acolyte 24, splash four!” Jerome Nallapati cried out. “Nice shooting, Odsa!”

“Nice work 24, 26, take the north group, we have the south group,” Ahek barked.

“They are as good as dead,” I Young-ja said. “Saga, fire at will.”

“My favorite words, I think,” Saga Elsasdottir said, spinning her turrets to catch the stragglers.

“Twelve, inbound, our targets are completely destroyed,” Lauren Wilson called.

“Nine, splash one…we are showing all bandits destroyed. Repeat, Wing Two, all bandits destroyed. Check in.”

“24 check.”

“26 check.”

“Twelve, check.”

“Do we have telemetry on the 22?” Ahek said.

“Ship impacted less than a klick away, ma’am,” Lauren Wilson said. “Impact was enough to destroy it completely. Only one punch-out reported, LT Desroches.”

“Damn it,” Ahek replied. “Do we have a bearing on Hercule?”

“We have a tracker,” Nallapati said.” Three klicks downrange, from CAAG attitude five-thirty-four-carom-zero-zero-niner.”

“24, you have the tracker, go pick him up. Twelve, high watch, 26, follow us to ground,” Ahek said. “Let’s see if there’s some way to unfuck ourselves.”

Mpola watched as two Acolytes broke off and headed toward their positions. Another circled, while a fourth went screaming forward.

There should have been five of them, but Larasin shouldn’t have died just as the gunship hit the ground. War wasn’t safe for anyone. Not even the humans.

The Acolytes landed at their feet, but only one central canopy opened. “Krator-Imperator, how are you?” Ahek asked.

“Well, the eight of us are alive. Crewmate…Olthympo? She died immediately, and Crewmate Larasin…he was able to get some shots off, at least.”

“What about Crewmate Idisoko?” Ahek asked.

“Who?”

“Probably the officer climbing out of the ship,” Nasti said. “Embassy-Guard, on the hop!”

The two officers ran toward the woman climbing unsteadily onto the top of the Flypaper. “It’s okay!” Nasti called out. “You can jump, we’ll catch you! And nice shooting, by the way!”

“Thanks…trying…cortexifan…little…off….”

“Gorram, you’re on cortexifan?” Nasti called. “All right, try to fall forward.”

Glyta didn’t have to try. She tripped over her own two feet, pitching forward onto the slope of the ship; she bounced and rolled, but that was what Nasti had hoped she’d do; it killed enough momentum that she and Embassy-Guard were able to absorb the rest, the three of them collapsing into a heap on the ground below.

“Sorry,” Glyta said. “Like I said, the cortexifan…am I talking? I hope I am.”

“Had a friend get emergency cortexifan on a training mission,” Nasti said. “You’re doing well…Ms. Idisoko.”

“How do you know…oh, right, uniform,” Glyta said. “Sorry…I’m….”

“You’ll start making sense in about ten minutes,” Nasti chuckled. “Hopefully, we won’t be dead by then. Come on, let’s get back to the group.”

Glyta got up, and walked forward, her gait awkward and stiff. Something did occur to her, though.

“Olthympo? Larasin?” she asked.

Nasti shook her head. “Sorry.”

Glyta was glad that her thoughts were still racing and fractured. She knew when she finally processed that correctly, it would make her very sad.

* * *

Hercule heard the whine of gravitics even before he saw the Acolyte inbound.

He wasn’t hurt. He’d landed hard, but he’d landed much harder in training. He was bruised up, a bit. But physically, he was fine.

Physically.

The center canopy opened. “Mr. Desrochers!” Nallapati called out. “Can you walk? Do you need help?”

“Non, I am all right,” he said, forcing out a shout. “Fatou? Isra?”

“The 22 went in unpowered, no sign they ejected. Hurry, we haven’t much time.”

Hercule didn’t feel much like hurrying. He felt like sitting there on the ground, forever. But he knew that three other officers needed him to hurry; he knew what Fatou would say if he put Odsetseg at risk because he was mourning her. He got to his feet, and jumped onto the nose of the Acolyte, pulling himself along and into the jumpseat behind the pilot. He pulled his restraints on by rote practice, and jacked his helmet into the comms system. “Secure,” he muttered.

Nallapati willed the 24 off the ground, and turned back toward where the others were gathered. There wasn’t much chatter, not immediately.

“Hercule,” Odtsetseg said, “I’m glad you’re okay.”

“I tried…I couldn’t get either of them to answer,” Hercule said. “I feel like…I feel like a coward.”

“Fatou would have wanted you to punch out. Just like you would have wanted her to punch out if your situation was reversed. You know that.”

“Oui, but I don’t like it.”

“None of us do, Mr. Desrochers,” Jerome Nallapati said. “None of us do.”

* * *

“Why not have them send another shuttle?” Sibel Idilidi asked. “But this time with real fighters escorting it?”

“The Insectoids tracked the humans, clearly,” said Jolus Regda. “They knew exactly where to strike. I agree, our people should send a shuttle. It would only make sense for us to receive competent assistance.”

“With due respect, Dr. Regda,” Ahek Uɉa said, “without our incompetent assistance, you’d be dead now, or captured by the bugs.”

“We’re dead anyhow,” Regda said. “I know you can just fly out of here, but as you clearly don’t understand, we can’t.”

Mpola Vidol had kept her emotions even through the discussion so far. To be sure, the Titans, the Avartle, and the Tusolan were facing a rather hopeless situation, the Flypaper was damaged beyond repair, and they had no way off the planet. But she had kept her group together. They would find a way. Assuming they wouldn’t was no help.

But she couldn’t keep quiet about this. “Dr. Regda,” she said, “shut your frakking mouth. You too, Sibel.”

She looked at them both, then at the eight other non-humans. “I’ve seen what a scilith fighter can do with a skilled pilot at the stick. If we’d had six sciliths defending us, with the six best pilots in the Imperial fleet, we would all be dead now, including the pilots. You obviously don’t understand that they could have flown out of here already, instead of trying to keep us alive. Frak, two humans died defending your arse, Regda, don’t you frakking act like they’re gorram tupps!”

Regda blinked in surprise. “I am merely saying,” he said, “that whatever their merit, the humans cannot save us. With the safehouse destroyed, I think perhaps we should consider surrendering to the Insectoids. If we share what we know….”

“Dr. Regda,” Mpola said, “what we know is extremely classified. We don’t surrender. We’ll try to figure something out. But surrendering is not an option.”

“They’ll eat us anyhow,” Myo said. “You saw it. You know.”

“Blaster’s a lot less painful than a mandible,” Nasti said. “At least, it seems like it should be.”

“There’s another option, you know.”

“Says the criminal,” Regda said. “Stauseo….”

“Let him talk, doctor,” Mpola said. “What’s your idea?”

“Look, I just saw those fighters kick the shaka out of the Insectoids. We’d have to move it, but we’re what, two kilounits from the foreign shipyard, right?”

“Doesn’t do us any good if the Insectoids have pulled the ships apart,” Sibel said.

“Yeah, but have they? Doubt they cared about mine. They wanted to eat the pilots, but the ships, they didn’t seem worried about. Why would they be, right? Mostly freighters, nothing the bugs don’t have, really.”

“Freighter would never get off the ground,” Nasti said. “They’d intercept long before you reached orbit.”

“Right,” Ahek said, “but you’d have us on your wing.”

Mpola looked at the tiny pilot, and grinned. “Well, beats putting a blaster to my head. But getting there won’t be easy. Especially with the Acolytes in tow. You said before, they can read your energy signature.”

“Recommend we fly a rotating scatter pattern, ma’am,” Lauren Wilson said. “On a wide swing. Defend them from above, but try not to give away their position until they’re on the tarmac.”

“Good idea, Major, but Krator-Imperator, it would mean you’d have increased risk on the ground.”

“We can get through two kap-mus with you keeping watch,” Mpola said. “Problem is what we do when we get there.”

“The Rusely was fueled up,” Vif said. “If they didn’t take it apart, it’ll fly. It’ll be crowded, but….”

“Crowded is fine,” Mpola said. “Ms. Idisoko, are you okay to travel?”

“Question is whether you are,” Sibel asked.

Mpola shrugged. “I’ve braced my ankle as well as I can, I have to be. Ms. Idisoko?”

Glyta sighed. “I’m just feeling light-headed now, ma’am. And if I’m not…we probably had better move, they’ll come back soon.”

“Exactly. If we aren’t moving, we’re dying. So everyone, grab a weapon, and let’s get moving. Col. Uɉa?”

“Ready when you are,” Ahek said. “All Acolytes, lift, scramble pattern Zulu Romeo. And keep an eye out for targets,” she added. “It’ll be a nice distraction, and we owe them for Isra and Fatou.”

“God damn right, ma’am,” Lauren Wilson said.

As the four Acolytes ascended, Regda sighed. “So we’re trusting our lives to them?”

Vif Stauseo shrugged. “Well, frak, doc. What choice do we have?”

* * *

Izzy was practically shaking, as she waited for the light to go green. The second she did, she opened the door to the dock and rushed out to the lone Acolyte at a pace.

“Crewmate Zery, welcome back,” she said.

“Thanks, Captain. Permission to disembark as soon as the data sticks are offloaded?”

“Denied,” Izzy said. “Captain Gwenn, this is Ibanez, Acolyte Six is secure.”

“We got your status update, Crewmate,” said the voice of Lauryna. “The Flypaper was destroyed?”

“Yes, ma’am,” Emidus replied. “We departed at the orders of the CAAG, but they did not have their FCFs up. We don’t know if any of them made it. If they did, they’ll probably be staying down there to find a way off for the others.”

On the bridge, Lauryna leaned forward. She drummed her fingers on the armrest. “You reported you had data sticks, plural, Crewmate Zery. How many? Two, or three?”

“Sixteen, ma’am,” Emidus said. “Fifteen are apparently completely filled, sixteenth is about half-full.”

Lauryna’s eyes went wide. “You’re telling me we have fifteen-and-a-half zettabytes of data from the Insectoids?”

“That was Krator-Imperator Mpola’s estimate, ma’am. Some might be duplicate, but….”

Lauryna looked forward to the viewscreen. Every fiber of her being was telling her to set course for Hive Prime, to bail out the people on the ground.

But her duty was clear.

“Crewmate Polia,” she said, “set course for EM-zero-zero-two-two, maximum warp.”

“Ma’am?” the Dunnermac replied.

“We have our duty,” Lauryna said. “We have to get this data to the fleet, whatever the cost.” She considered for just a moment, before adding, “That said…comms…as soon as we reach the edge of radio silence, hail the Omicron.”