“It was nice of Fredo to switch for the night,” Fatou said.

“Yes, well, he may be trying to make a pass at Aram,” Hercule murmured.

“Are you from the 21^st Century? Just because he’s bisexual, that doesn’t mean he wants to sleep with everyone alive.”

“What? Non, ma chère. Not that at all. Fredo just commented once that if Aram was single…and he did break up with his boyfriend a few months ago. Of course, knowing Fredo, it was big talk, but….”

“Now this, this is what I can’t stand about you,” Fatou said, snuggling closer to Hercule in the single-and-a-bit-sized bed, her damp, bare skin adhering to his. “You have wonderful gossip and you never share! Selfish, that’s what you are.”

“Selfish, Ms. Bâ? And what did I do, for as long as you asked?”

“Hercule, we have ended up in bed enough for me to know precisely how much you enjoy it. I am not complaining, of course; you do have a talent. So,” she asked, with a slightly wicked grin, “did you try to move on the pretty linguist?”

“Now, Fatou, why are you trying to push me on a Titan? Who knows, perhaps this is the beginning of a relationship between us, eh?”

Fatou laughed. “If I asked you to marry me, you would run, naked, back into your bunk, and join in with Aram and Fredo if that’s what it took to get away.”

Desroches looked at Bâ, and ran a tender finger down her cheek. “We would be a terrible couple, ma choupinette, and you know it. I would rather remain excellent friends. That said, there are far worse fates that could befall me than to be married to a pretty, smart, and tempestuous beauty.”

Fatou returned Hercule’s tender smile. “I know, habibi. And if you were to propose marriage, I would not run…but I would say no, for the same reason as you would. Which is why I am curious; I know your type. A pretty girl with blue hair? I was surprised you could keep your focus.”

“She was lovely, true,” Hercule said. “But you know me; when I’m on duty, I’m on duty. Besides, we have just spoken via viewscreen. I have not seen the whole package.”

Fatou rolled her eyes. “And when you do, no doubt you will make your move, no?”

Hercule sighed. “Fatou…can you keep a secret?”

“What, you’ve already moved on her? You little….”

“No, no, it is…I am a bit…intimidated. Of them. I say I would love to explore one of them, but in truth….”

“They are as large as a ship,” Fatou said, after a long silence. “Of course you have reason to be intimidated. You think I am not?”

“I can work with them,” Hercule said. “And admire them? Well, to be sure. But…to take a Titan as a lover…I am brave, but I am not sure I am that brave.”

“In this you are like most of us,” Fatou said. “So why is this a grand secret?”

“Because,” Hercule said, with a sheepish smile, “I have a reputation to maintain. If it turns out there is a female of any species that I am unwilling to pursue, it would ruin my legendary status.”

“You are, as the Americans say, truly a legend in your own mind,” Fatou said with a grin. “But do not worry, I will keep your secret. I have told no one of the time you said you would like to meet a nice girl and settle down; this is far less damaging to your mythos that that.”

“You are a true friend, Fatou. For that, I will grant you a favor.”

“Mmm. Well…I am just about recovered, you know.”

“Say no more,” Hercule said, pulling back the sheets. “Say no more.”

* * *

“I’m worried, Iz.”

“The Acolytes will do their job fine, Red, don’t worry.”

“Not what I’m worried about,” Lauryna said to the woman reclining in her cleavage. “Worried about Olthympo. Worried about getting the Flypaper onto the surface. Worried about what happens if we have to start fighting.”

“You get to fire the big cannon. You’ve been dying for the chance.”

“Iz, I’m serious.”

“I know, and that’s why I’m not being serious. Lauryna, what do you want me to say? Of course this is risky, it’s all going to be risky. The potential payoff is worth it.”

Lauryna sighed, causing the flesh around Izzy to shudder slightly with the inhalation. “It’s the first battle we’ll be in since Tau Ceti.”

Izzy smiled. “Well, you’d be nuts if you were looking forward to it.”

“I know. I just…I know we’re at war now. And I know what I have to be willing to do, what risks I have to take…what lives I have to view as expendable.”

“And the answer is all of them,” Izzy said. “You, me, this ship, and everyone on it, if it helps defeat the bugs.”

“Right,” Lauryna said. “I…I don’t want to start feeling like…like it’s okay. You know? Like I’m not sending people out to die. Like they’re numbers.”

“You won’t,” Izzy said. “You’ll do what you always do, you’ll make the cold calculation and then when it’s over, you’ll cry and hug me, and I’ll hug you, and probably cry too. And then I’ll try to wipe your tears away and half-drown in saltwater, and you’ll laugh a bit, and take a deep breath, and go back out and do it again, until the day that death finally wins, and then we’ll all go down together. No matter what…I’ll be with you, Lauryna. To Hell and kingdom come.”

Lauryna took a deep breath. “All right,” she said, finally. “But just in case, let’s go over the plan one more time, you and me. Just to make sure that I’m not missing something.”

“You aren’t,” Izzy said. “But we’ll do it anyhow.”

* * *

Glyta was in a fitful, dreamless half-sleep when the communcations system buzzed.

“Crewmate Idisoko?” a voice said, pulling Glyta to the awake half.

“Idisoko here,” she muttered.

“Sorry to wake you, crewmate,” the junior comms officer said, “but we have a Priority One personal call for you.”

“Frak,” Glyta muttered. Priority One was set aside for emergencies, and given the situation, it was the only kind of personal call that would get through. To even place one would take significant effort and wheedling of the Dodecahedron; even emergencies would usually end with simple messages.

Glyta didn’t even have to ask who had placed the call, or why. “Send the call from Senator Idisoko through,” she said, sitting up and turning on a light.

“Certainly. I hope it isn’t serious, crewmate,” the comms officer said.

“Don’t worry, it isn’t,” Glyta said. She used her pad to turn on her viewscreen, and waited for the triple-tone that signified the call was active.

The woman who appeared looked quite a bit like Glyta, though she currently wore her curled hair in a natural auburn. It happened to be her natural color, in fact, though only a few close family members knew that. Like many wealthy Aementi, Lady Joceusa Idisoko rarely kept her hair any particular color for very long.

“Hello, Glyta,” Joceusa said. “I am sorry to wake you, but I received some news that I needed to share.”

“Mother,” Glyta said, “unless dad or Jola is in the hospital, this can wait.”

“Not at all, not at all. I just received a call from the Dodecahedron – I understand that Captain Gwenn is blocking your transfer to Tuaut! This simply won’t do.”

“I know she’s blocking it,” Glyta said. “I asked her to.”

Joceusa blinked. “What do you mean, ‘you asked her to?’”

“I mean Captain Gwenn told me that you’d asked the Dodecahedron to transfer me out of harm’s way. I told her I did not want to leave the Bass, and that I was annoyed that you were intervening in my career, and that I would tell you to stop when I talked to you next, so mother, please, in the name of Nemosa, stop.”

“You are ridiculous,” Joceusa barked. “I told you to go to Idisoko College, like your ancestors. To prepare to run the family when I die. But here you are, gallivanting about, risking your life for creatures who are not worth your time. You are far too irresponsible, Glyta. If I could transfer your birthright to your brother….”

“He can have it. Seriously,” Glyta said. “But you won’t, because you’d have to explain that you were doing it because of your daughter’s service to the Empire, and you don’t want the family looked down upon. So instead, you’ll stuff it, and you’ll tell everyone who will listen that I’m so very honorable and noble, because that’s what you do.”

“If I could transfer your birthright, I would,” Joceusa said. “But the rules of the family prohibit it, unfortunately. Still, your place is here. There is much that you need to understand before the day you succeed me in the Senate. They…they swore in a human last week, you know.”

“Right, Senator Carey, Captain Carey’s dad. I saw the ceremony, his opening speech was funny, for a speech by a politician, anyhow.”

“It was a mockery,” Joceusa said, “of everything this Empire was. A human married to a Titan, with a half-breed daughter, sitting in the Senate.”

“Mother, what would people think if they heard you talking like this? You don’t sound like a cultured, wise, sophisticated Aementi, you know. You sound like a gorram Federationer.”

Joceusa sighed. This was an old and tiresome argument. “The problem is not humans, Glyta. They’re people, I agree with that. The problem is humans and Titans who are…look, if they couldn’t have children, I wouldn’t care. But those half-breeds…who knows what they are? Do you want human DNA spreading through our species? Making us half-human? What will become of Titans, when it is all over? Our species will be half of something…other. And do not think that I am alone in this discomfort, Glyta. There are far more who worry about this than you know.”

“Well, I for one don’t care,” Glyta said. “Titans and humans are both evolving, and maybe the next step is for us to combine our genetic resources. But look, it’s late, and tomorrow is a very important day. I really, really need to sleep. I need to be at my best.”

Joceusa blanched white. “You’re going into combat?”

“I didn’t say that, and I didn’t say we aren’t. There’s a war on, at some point I’ll be fighting, that’s what war is. You know what’s public, we’re pushing toward Hive Prime and Second Hive. They aren’t going to let us do that forever without pushing back. And I need to be up in…five hours, so I need to get this last bit of sleep if I’m going to be ready for duty at 0600.”

“Just tell them that as heir to the House of Idisoko, you require more time before you start your duty. They should give you that.”

Glyta shook her head. She knew her mother would never understand why that wasn’t the case. She was so very grateful that she did.

“I do love you, mother, and I know you worry,” Glyta said. “But what I do honors our family’s record of service. Please, I beg you: let me do this, my way. When the time comes, I will come home and learn everything I need to learn. But for now…the Empire needs good people defending it.”

Joceusa looked down, briefly. “Service is our family’s mission, this is true,” she said. “But I do not want to lose my daughter. As much as we disagree, Gly…I love you very, very much.”

“I know. But love me enough to trust me with this,” Glyta said. “Please.”

“I will love you enough,” Joceusa said, “to stop pushing this. For now. I am not sure I can promise never to revisit the matter.”

“That is all I ask,” Glyta said. “Give dad and Jola my love.”

“They send theirs, daughter of mine. Call me soon.”

“I will. I promise. Bye,” Glyta said, pressing a button and waiting for the three-tone signal that the line was clear, before letting out a huge sigh. She looked back at her chronometer.

“Frak, not going to get back to sleep after that,” she said, standing up and stripping down. “May as well get a shower in, and get dressed.”

* * *

The watch officer and the three others in the Acolyte control room came to attention as Ahek entered the room.

“Commander, Acolyte Air Group on Deck!”

“As you were, Mr. Zopaal. How are we looking?”

“Very good, Colonel. All six Acolytes are holding at step thirty-two; we’ll be ready to launch on Captain Ibanez’s order.”

“Excellent news,” Uɉa said. She paused, just for a second, before adding, “I may just be hearing it translated, but are you speaking English, Mr. Zopaal?”

“Aye, ma’am. Learned it as a kid, figure I should use it around people who speak it. Evidently it’s not as good as a translator, though, or you wouldn’t have noticed.”

“No, no, it’s easily as good as mine. I just was surprised. Your accent didn’t sound Avalonian. Your people usually sound a bit like Germans speaking English, or maybe Russians. You sound a bit like General Martínez.”

Loren Zopaal smiled shyly. “Well, ma’am, I’m not from Avalon. Not originally.”

“Oh! I’m sorry,” Ahek said. “I didn’t know you’d been…uh….”

“Not a pet either, ma’am. Wouldn’t be ashamed if I was, of course. Nobody’s fault if they’re born into that.”

“Not at all,” Ahek replied. “So where are you from?”

“Archavia. Grew up in Korafia, on a farm….you ever have Royal Berry schnapps?”

“General Martínez bought me some during the Alcubierre’s mission to Avalon. Wait…you’re part of the Tribe of Tribe Maris Farms, then?”

“Aye, ma’am,” Loren said. “Never sure if people have heard of us.”

“I should think most people have at least heard of your company. At least most people who like royal berries. What led you to Avalon?”

“What leads anyone to do anything, ma’am? It was about a girl. Went to Avalon for school, got life-extended. She…wasn’t as impressed as I hoped she’d be. But I ended up in the Avalonian Guard, so it worked out well. I am a descendant of Degu Rockfist, one of the great Defenders in Tribe history. I think Great-Great-Great Grandfather Degu would have been proud to see me working to defend others…even if it was on Avalon, or in deep space. And I think Grandfather Luke would have been happy to see me working with Terrans.”

Ahek blinked. “Grandfather Luke…you mean…Luke Palmer? You’re descended from one of the 2013 Abductees?”

Loren grimaced. It was not that he was not proud of being descended from Luke Palmer. He was, and rightly so. But the specific memory that this triggered was far more bitter than sweet.

“I am,” he finally said. “He’s the reason I speak English like an American. The ones of us who wanted to learn…he ran the English class. Said he had studied the language back when he was young, on Earth, in addition to speaking it.”

“Well, he clearly was a good teacher.”

“That was his job, ma’am. In the Tribe. He was the first dedicated teacher. There’ve been many more, of course, since then, but…well, I’m told we worked very hard before Grandfather Luke arrived on Archavia. And we certainly accomplished a lot. But I wouldn’t have gotten into the Avalonian Military Academy without the education I had. And I wouldn’t have had that without Grandfather Luke.”

“Remarkable. I assume the Tribe today is stronger than ever?”

“We’re…well, we’ve reached the point where we aren’t really a Tribe anymore, I guess. Gonna reorganize as a city and a company. I guess that’s what the Great Spirit has planned, but I’m not sure I like it that much. I mean…I like Avalon. I like tech. But the Tribe….”

Uɉa smiled, and clapped a hand on Loren’s shoulder. “Mr. Zopaal, I grew up as part of a tribe, myself. Most people will not understand why these things are worth preserving. But those of us who have been a part of it…we know. Even those of us who travel across the stars. I am tied to the Rock. You are tied to that farm.”

“And to the Great Tree,” Loren said. “That…it’s the heart of our home, ma’am. It was home to the entire Tribe, back before I was born.”

“Indeed. When we have more time, I should like to discuss how your Tribe has adapted. My people…we are trying to keep one foot in the past and one foot in the future. I worry we will be torn apart by it.”

“I’d be happy to, ma’am,” Loren said. “And if your people are like mine, they had to fight for every minute of their lives. The descendants of those kind of people are damn near impossible to break.”

Uɉa laughed, and nodded. “That is the truth, Mr. Zopaal. That is the truth.”

* * *

Shagda Olthympo was somewhat surprised to see that she was not the first officer to make it to the Flypaper. A junior officer was sitting in the comms chair, making bizarre noises that sounded like she was choking while trying to sing, punctuated by occasional slaps. After a moment, she paused, and listened, and repeated the process.

“Ms. Idisoko?”

Glyta started, winced, hit a button, and rose, coming to attention. “Sorry, ma’am, didn’t hear you. Ship’s pilot on deck!”

“As you were, Ms. Idisoko. You were working on the translator?”

“Uh…aye, ma’am. The Insectoids follow a strict comms protocol, I just wanted to test the response, make sure that if we’re hailed we give the proper responses. I’m programming some autoresponses, too – they expect a rapid response, I want to make sure we give one.”

“You aren’t due for another four hours, you know.”

“I know, ma’am, but…well, I was awake anyhow. I thought I should be useful.”

Olthympo nodded. “Same reason I’m here, Ms. Idisoko. I’m going to do a walk around the ship. You carry on. How long will this be, by the way?”

“Programming is mostly done, just testing right now. I should only be about twenty minutes. But if you need me to end sooner….”

“No, no, you do what you need to do, Ms. Idisoko. I’ll take twenty minutes, at least, checking things over. And if you’re still working when I come in, I can always put on noise-cancelling headphones.”

“Aye, ma’am. I’ll still try. Insectoid sounds ugly enough when Insectoids are speaking it.”

“True, but you get us through, it’ll sound beautiful to me. And Ms. Idisoko?”

“Ma’am?”

“I always have believed that a good way to follow up a day of screw-ups is to show up early and get to work the next day.” Shagda ran a hand through her short hair. She seemed about to say something more, but simply said, “Carry on.”

Glyta nodded, and said, simply, “Aye aye.”

The ship’s security officer walked out of the cockpit, and Glyta permitted herself the barest hint of a smile, before returning to her duties.

* * *

Six hours later, in the CIC of the Xifos, Pymbi Esesa said, “Navarchos, we have received the code from the Bass, they are beginning Operation Unceasing Faith. Their expected launch is one hour.”

“Transmit acknowledgement, code only, Crewmate Esesa,” Lemm Tam said.

“Aye, ma’am. Ma’am, we’re receiving a communication from Terran Central Command. It’s priority three, but it’s coded from Admiral Xú.”

“Right on schedule,” Kridu Merulon muttered.

“Blame the Dodecahedron for that, Archiploiarchos.”

“Believe me, Navarchos,” he said with a grin, “I do.”

“I’ll take it in my ready room. Kridu, the fleet is yours.”

“Aye, Navarchos,” Merulon said.

Lemm walked into Aerti’s office, and sat down behind the desk. She had tried to think of it as her office for several weeks before deciding that it was his office, and always would be. Of course, in conversation she called it her ready room – she knew full well that it wouldn’t help the fleet if she appeared to be unable to move past his death.

She was able. But she wasn’t willing to do so. Not completely. She wanted this to always be Aerti’s office. Because she wanted to be the officer that Aerti had helped her to become. And because the fleet would always be better off if a piece of Aertimus Bass remained within it.

She sighed, tapped her desk, and looked at her screen. “Admiral Xú, to what do I owe the pleasure?”

“Navarchos Tam,” Xú said, “It is good to see you. I understand that Unceasing Faith is go.”

“I’m glad to hear the transmission reached CentCom. We will update you as soon as we receive further information.”

“Now, that is the thing,” Xú said. “I want to know exactly how much information we will receive, given that our pilots are on the tip of the sword.”

Lemm leaned back, and sighed. “Mùlán, I’ve shared as much information with the JTDI as I can.”

“Oh, my argument is not with you, Lemm,” Xú said. “I’m simply contacting you because the Dodecahedron keeps ignoring Marshall Akimoto’s official complaints, and Tig can’t be asked to pass on any more back-channel complaints through her husband without jeopardizing her career. And it isn’t her we have an argument with, either.”

“No, I understand that,” Lemm said. “Officially, we have shared all intelligence that there is to share. And let me say, as I said last time this came up, that I will certainly continue to voice my belief that we should share intelligence fully and forthrightly. As we have done, of course.”

“You can do more than that, Lemm. We’ve agreed to share information. What data comes back should be shared with us at the same time as it’s shared with Tuaut. It’s in the Alliance Agreement, you know.”

“Mùlán, gorram it, you know the position I’m in!” Lemm barked those words, but immediately softened – or at least, softened as much as Lemm ever did. “But that doesn’t mean I don’t know the position you’re in, you know.”

Xú arched an eyebrow. “Lemm…it’s going to start affecting operations soon. That’s not coming from me, but from our governments. Please let your superior officers know that our alliance is dependent on all of us being open with each other.”

Lemm nodded. “I have. And I will.”

“I know you will. And I’m sorry to have to push this again.”

“It’s okay,” Lemm said. “I’m sorry you have to push it again.”

“Fair enough,” Xú said. “When you talk to the Bass, give Lauryna my best. And Lemm?”

“Hmm?”

“I have to push. I have a duty to push. And you have duties, as well. I know where you fall on this, really. And I appreciate it.”

“Like I told Kridu,” Lemm said with a half-smile, “I blame the Dodecahedron. But do understand…we haven’t had an ally to share information with in several centuries. And compared to you, we move slowly. But we are moving. I promise.”

“That, at least, is something I can tell Goro and Undersecretary Xylander. Good hunting, Lemm.”

“Good hunting, Mùlán,” Lemm said. She closed the communication, and waited two minutes before sending the already-prepared, encrypted dispatch to the Dodecahedron. She wanted them to know that the Terrans were upset, and that they were pushing her to live up to the agreement, even if the Dodecahedron wouldn’t.

And she wanted them to know that she was considering whether her duty required her to do so, no matter what her orders were. Not because she would. But because simply telling them to move faster wasn’t getting them to move faster.

She hit a button on the desk. “Crewmate Esesa, anything below Priority One from the Dodecahedron can wait. A very delicate operation is starting.”

“Aye aye, Navarchos.”

This was pushing it, to be sure. They’d certainly be livid with her. It would probably get her yelled at, though she’d been careful to avoid getting into real trouble.

Yeah, she was pushing it.

She smiled.

She thought Aerti would be proud.

* * *

The Aertimus H. Bass floated on the edge of the dual-star system that contained Hive Prime, about 160 astronomical units from their target. From here, Gliese 676 A was just a bit brighter than a full moon on Earth, just bright enough to cross over from star to distant sun.

“Captain,” Xianara Riases said, “The Flypaper is in position.”

Lauryna rose from her chair.

This was no small thing, what they were about to do. This was an attack on the Insectoid homeworld. Yes, if all went to plan, it would be painless. But Lauryna Gwenn’s entire career had taught her that things never go to plan.

She wouldn’t be there on the tip of the sword. She couldn’t be. That wasn’t her place. She was trusting her officers, and more than that, she was trusting the Acolyte officers. They would have to make this happen.

“Very good,” Laurna said.

Lauryna was glad she got to make this call. There were captains in the fleet, good captains, who would have hesitated to put a mission like this in the hands of humans. But she had given her soul over to a human long ago, and she had never had cause to doubt that decision.

“Comms, get me Joint Ops,” she said.

There was a pause, and then Izzy’s voice. “Ibanez.”

“This is Actual,” Lauryna said. “Flypaper is in position. Launch the fighters.”

Izzy nodded. “Affirm, Captain Gwenn. Mr. Zopaal…launch the fighters.”

“Wing Two, Wing Two, this is Bass Acolyte flight control, you are clear for launch, standard departure. Say again, you are clear for launch, standard departure.”

“Affirm, Flight. We’ll be back very soon. All right, all Acolytes, full departure, order Alpha, pattern Blue.” Ahek willed Acolyte Nine off the ground, and backed it to the center of the bay. She turned toward the door, and willed it forward, slowly at first, until she saw Acolyte Six make the same maneuver. At that point, with the door open, she willed the craft forward, into the black of space.

Six Acolytes left the safety of the Bass, and one by one, they made the short journey to the Flypaper, settling one by one into the cramped cargo hold.

The small delta-shaped craft closed its doors, and turned toward the dim red sun lighting the velvet black, and borne by the faith of its crew, human and Titan alike, it jumped to warp.