“I always hated fire team training,” Glyta muttered. She was trying to remain quiet, and frankly accomplished her goal. But quiet is relative when you have a person riding in the pocket of the left bicep of your flight suit.

“You had to go through fire team training? I thought you were exploration.”

“We all did in the academy. And…sorry, didn’t mean to say that out loud,” Glyta said.

“Why?” Herclue said. He was glad he had the constitution of a pilot; the steady swinging of her arm might drive a lesser man mad. “We may as well talk, after all, we are just trudging. Well…you are trudging. I am riding. Which I appreciate.”

“I don’t think we can wait for you to catch up,” Glyta said, before wincing. “Sorry again, I hope that didn’t….”

“Mademoiselle, if you said that humans were stupid, I would take offense. Noting that we are short, well, faute de mieux le roi couche avec sa femme.”

“That must be idiomatic,” Glyta said. “Didn’t get the translation. ‘Gnaw the bone that falls to you?’”

“It means that you must deal with the facts of your situation.”

“Ah, like the English, ‘Play the hand you’re dealt.’”

“If you must be gauche, yes,” Hercule said.

“French is one of the languages I want to work on next,” Glyta said. “After I finish Mandarin. Then Spanish, because the roots are the same. At least, if I remember right.”

“Yes, and while French is the greatest of all languages…learn Spanish first. The pronunciations are easier, if not as beautiful.”

“Thanks,” Glyta said. “And what French I’ve heard sounds pretty. I just realized, you’re speaking Archavian, aren’t you? I’m not getting a translation.”

“I’m doing my best. I remember during training, Gen. Martínez said that it was important to learn it. Not that the translators aren’t good, but there are more of you than us, and we need to be able to speak without gools or translators. We learn more by speaking directly.”

“I agree. And you’ve picked it up well,” Glyta said. “You’re sure you don’t want to consider linguistics as a field?”

“I like flying too much. Well…I did,” Hercule said.

“Why…oh. You were the survivor of the crash.”

“Oui,” Hercule said.

“I’m sorry,” Glyta said.

“Thank you. We both share that experience. You deal with it…better than I do, I think.”

Glyta shook her head. “No. I just didn’t know them that well. They both seemed like good officers. Even Crewmate Olthympo, she chewed me out a bit, when me met, but she was….”

Glyta sighed. “I should feel worse about it than I do. I don’t think I’ve had time. But you…you all went through training together. That’s different.”

“I keep thinking…was there something else I could have done? I don’t know if there was, but…I know Fatou would chide me. Tell me that I was wasting time thinking of her, when I should focus on getting the others back safe. But….”

He wiped away a tear. “She was, I think, my best friend. I do not know as I will ever get over her loss.”

“Then don’t,” Glyta said. “Mourn her for years and years.”

Hercule looked up at the mass of woman he rode on. “You know,” he said, “we say that reason does not come before age. You look quite young, Mademoiselle, but you are wise.”

“Don’t forget, I’m about, what, 130 Terran years old?” Glyta said. “We age differently.”

“Indeed,” Hercule said. “Vive la différence.”

* * *

“Come on, gorram it,” Laurna said, pacing the bridge, and occasionally glowering at the fore display, which showed the slow approach of the Omicron’s shuttle.

That it was approaching at near-combat speed was no consolation. Time was wasting, and she needed to get back to the Sol Insectoid system. But this handoff was more important, alas.

“Turmoil Dropship Omicron-1 has entered the hangar, and is grounded,” Commander Riases said.

“About time. Make the transfer.”

“Aye, ma’am,” Lauryna said. “Bridge to shuttlebay 9, make the transfer.”

“Aye, ma’am,” Crewmate Polia said. “Is the shuttlebay pressurized?”

“Aye, sir,” the watch officer said.

“Good. Mr. Krntkg, Ms. Absobry, with me.”

An officer stepped off the ship, her artificial right arm and glowing eyes quickly identifying her to anyone familiar with the Omicron’s crew. “Commander Haedta, welcome to the Aertimus Bass. I regret that we cannot ask you to stay.”

“Crewmate Polia, thank you,” Mija said, “but based on what Captain Gwenn told Captain Alyias…well, if she doesn’t have the warp drive already spun up, I’d be surprised.”

“Indeed,” said Polia. “Wait here,” he instructed the security detail, and per his instructions, hand-carried the data sticks onto the dropship.

“We will deliver these directly to the Xifos. Amazing, this much data on the insects. I’m hoping against hope Vidol gets to receive the Imperial Clade for this. I mean, she will. I just hope she takes it in person.”

“As do I,” Polia replied. He paused, just briefly, before departing.

“Commander, you’ve worked with Captain Gwenn before. Is she always so….”

“Driven?” Mija said, with a chuckle. “Crewmate…Lauryna Gwenn was a buttersquare back when I was a young security officer. Everyone just thought of her as the nice-but-flaky kid who had accidentally kidnapped Izzy Ibanez. Gwenn ended up on a raid with us, of an insectoid ship. She and me with two warriors, I managed to stun one, but the other took my arm off with a blast. Gwenn was unarmed, and Izzy was too, and the warrior decided it wanted to eat the human.”

“Why was Ibanez there? Wait…no…you’re talking about the roe incident! I didn’t know that’s how you were injured. My people owe you a great debt.”

“Nah, I just got my arm blown off. Gwenn…she put herself between the bug and Izzy, and when the bastard kept trying to get Izzy, she hit the gorram thing so hard she ripped a leg off. Then she picked up my sidearm and killed the frakker. So is she driven? Most of the time she’s sweet and kind. She’s only driven when she’s trying to protect others. Then she’s a gorram force of nature, and thank frak she’s on our side.”

“Yes, I think so,” Polia said. “Thank you, Commander.”

“Thank you, Crewmate,” Haedta said, closing the hatch and sliding into the pilot’s seat. “Haedta, Turmoil Omicron-1, request clearance to disembark.”

“This is Aertimus Bass actual, you’re cleared. Thanks for making the run yourself, Mija.”

“Thanks for not cursing out the laws of physics, at least more than you had to, ma’am,” Mija said, lifting the dropship from the floor of the shuttlebay. “Request permission for combat departure.”

On the bridge, Lauryna smiled. She’d always liked Mija. She was a fighter.

“Permission granted. Give Tatu my best,” Lauryna said. “Commander, the warp drive is spun up?”

“It’s been ready since the dropship cleared the bay doors. And the ship will clear our warp shell influence space…now.”

“Engage,” Lauryna said, “maximum warp,” and the Aertimus Bass screamed back toward Hive Prime as fast as it possibly could.

* * *

Mpola Vidol walked purposefully at the head of the small group. The street, or path, or cut-through, was quiet. The Acolytes continued to circle ahead, occasionally firing on possible targets. But by and large, the coast was clear; the bugs had clearly planned to take them back at the chokepoint.

She knew that the clock was ticking. Based on the data she’d seen, the Insectoids on Hive Prime had lost about 40 percent of their number, but that still left well over 100 million alive, at the very least. Indeed, she suspected they were only alive because the bugs wanted to take them alive. They knew enough to know that Titans could not switch themselves off to avoid interrogation, and she knew that the bugs had figured out that individual Titans could give them information.

There was, she thought, no shortage of serendipity that had Captain Gwenn on the ship running this op. Gwenn had been stuck behind enemy lines, her crew wounded, facing an enemy that wanted to take them alive. Everyone, Gwenn included, agreed that had the Drazari simply wanted to destroy the Tez Magilna, they would have been able to.

At some point, the Insectoids would decide that the cost of capturing them was too high. And at that point, what would they do? Maybe let them go – it was possible, she knew. The bugs would not lash out in anger or revenge. Every warrior on an attack must be expendable, and they wouldn’t mourn them any more than she’d mourn the blood that seeped from a short, ragged cut on her cheek. It would hurt. They’d get over it.

But the fact that they would not seek revenge did not mean that they would not strike back. If they believed it was better to destroy their group, for whatever the reason, the bugs would have no problem raining down bombs from above, until the area was scoured clean.

There was a soft whooshing sound, and the buffeting of air, as a dark figure dove from the sky and alighted next to her.

“We are close,” Ambassador Ssutassa said. “Perhaps another ten minutes of walking.”

“I do wish you wouldn’t do that, Ambassador,” Mpola said.

“You said yourself, I do not draw more attention than the Acolytes already do.”

“The risk is not to us, but to you,” Mpola said.

“There was risk when you took me in, Imperator. You did not have to protect me. You do not have to protect me now. We are working together against our common enemy, and we must both risk ourselves for each other. There is a word for that in my language, and yours. And the languages of most sentient creatures.”

“Indeed, Ambassador. I cannot make promises for my government.”

“Nor I for mine,” Ssutassa said. “But I can recommend, and I will, especially having seen these human fighters, and your willingness to work with them. I am but a functionary; I do not know what the stars will recommend. But I believe you kept me safe for a reason. I believe that I sought you for a reason. And I believe fate draws our peoples together for a reason.”

“I would like to believe that,” Mpola said. “I’m not particularly religious, though.”

“I will always find that amusing,” Ssutassa said. “To my people, that is like saying you do not particularly believe in gravity. But then, there are faithful Tusola who will tell you that they believe that we see in the stars what we want to see, and the spirit that we worship is an idea, not a thing. They still worship, and are still faithful.”

“I have read some of your history. I believe it was Ssassela Tusol the Second who said that faith shouldn’t be compelled by force.”

“’One can have a faith of all peoples in two ways,’ spoke Ssassela the Wise. ‘One can make bigger guns, to force all to submit, or die. But this is against our basic teachings, to not kill those who do not threaten us with harm. This would be a sin. The other way, the proper way, is to make a bigger faith, that even those who question and argue may have a home, and be welcomed as fellow seekers. And as we welcome them, let them challenge – for no truth is truth which cannot withstand a question.’”

“That almost sounds like something I could get behind.”

“He believed, as we all believe, that to question, to doubt, to challenge – these are the ways that truth is found. We believe that we will someday find the truth that all creatures, everywhere will agree is real and true. But we know we have not found it yet, and the stars say it will be many ages before we do.”

“I wish I had that faith,” Mpola said. “To believe that the officers who died on the ship, the Acolyte pilots who got shot down – all the decent people killed on Tau Ceti – that they were all living in a paradise somewhere, or waiting to be reborn, or one with the dream, or what have you.”

“I do, Imperator,” Ssutassa said. “But I still fear death. Perhaps that is just my spirit clinging to this shell. Or perhaps I have doubts, and questions.”

“Fear is what keeps us alive,” Mpola said. “And if there’s a purpose to our living, well, you need to stay alive.”

Ssutassa hissed – a calm, contented noise not dissimilar to the purr of a Terran cat. “You are a kind woman, Imperator Vidol. And if my faith is correct, then you are bound for an afterlife that is pleasant, and that offers the opportunity to grow further. None of us must believe, it is there for all who are kind. I hope to see you in it. When we are old, and have died in our sleep.”

“That,” Mpola said, “sounds like an excellent plan.”

* * *

“Keep blasting away,” Uɉa said. “We’re damn close.”

Acolytes 24 and 26 skimmed low over the path, leveling anything that could be used as a lookout or cover. They didn’t know if bugs were here, and they didn’t care. They were cutting a scar through the habitation, one that their friends on the ground could walk straight through. And they were remarkably effective. Indeed, it almost surprised Odsa when she pulled her trigger, and watched the last building fall away, opening the entrance to a large plain.

“Acolyte Nine,” said Lt. I, “we’re clear through to the port.”

“Nice work, everyone,” Ahek said, with a smile. “Krator-Imperator, this is Acolyte Nine. You’re clear all the way in.”

“Thank you,” Mpola said. “All right, everyone, let’s pick up the pace.”

“Hope I don’t shake you to death while running,” Glyta said to the man on her arm.”

“I’ll take the risk,” Hercule replied, “if it gets us off this godforsaken rock any faster.”

The small platoon broke into a jog, save for the Ambassador, who flapped his wings and took off. It was but five minutes later that they reached the edge of the starport, with Acolytes standing guard above them.

They stared for a long, long moment. “Gorram,” Mpola said.

“I…where do we even start?” Johkanan asked.

The starport was more a junkyard than a starport. A fair number of ships appeared together…more or less. But far more of them had been stripped down, taken apart by the bugs for whatever raw materials they needed.

Vif wasn’t focused on the debris field ahead, though. He was focused off in the distance, and after a moment, he nodded.

“The Rusely, it looks like it’s mostly intact,” he said, pointing.

“Jona class, huh?” Sibel said.

“Hey, it ain’t a Regulus IV, but it’ll fly. Well…it should, depending on what the bugs have done with it.”

“If it flies, It’ll be more posh than the Starblazer VII,” Mpola said. “So let’s go get it flying.”