Up and Coming: Stories by the 2016 Campbell-Eligible Authors

The Doom Of Sallee

Originally published by Grantville Gazette

Grantville

August 1635

“Grantville.”

It was a strange name to Mohamed Amine Radi’s ear, and as outlandish as the stories told of these foreigners. Yet at the moment, Radi struggled more to fathom the order and cleanliness of the mysterious Americans’ incredible city. Even the roads were impossibly smooth, almost as if the entire city was paved with slabs of cut granite.

Beth Van Haarlem, his translator, pulled him from his bemused reverie. “I am sorry, Vizier. What did you say?”

She enunciated her Arabic well despite a heavy Dutch accent, addressing him as she always did by his Diwan honorific. Radi hadn’t realized he’d spoken loud enough for her to hear him.

“This town,” Radi gestured inclusively at the long, straight lines and crisp angles of the streets and buildings. “It is a wonder. I hope it might become a model for Sallee.”

Van Haarlem’s pale blue eyes were more rounded than usual, and her head turned constantly to take in the peculiar sights of Grantville and its people. In that one regard, he supposed that the woman looked much as he did. Yet at his mention of Sallee and the republic he helped govern, her eyes narrowed and she turned her attention away from the oddly dressed people around them.

“Sallee,” she said, “is a port town. She will always turn her face to the sea.”

“Even so. But given time, the Diwan—under the guidance of the Qaid—can create such marvels as these. Finally, we will visit the libraries of Grantville, and you will read for me what the future holds for Sallee.”

“What future do you hope to find here, Vizier?”

She had asked him this. Many times in fact, on the ship north from Sallee and during the trip from Hamburg. Radi didn’t dare tell her that fear drove him to seek the nearly mystical knowledge rumored to live in Grantville. Neither he, nor the other Andalusian viziers, would give voice to those fears, lest word get back to their Moriscos counterparts in the Diwan. To speak openly of fear would reveal weakness, possibly inviting a return to open bloodshed in Sallee.

No, Radi chose to keep that concern to himself. He replied instead with generalities that had grown comfortable as an answer to her recurring question. “If these Americans truly possess a book that contains the future of all countries, I want that I should know the path of Sallee.”

“So that you might rise from the Diwan to rule as Qaid?”

An impertinent question from an employee, and a woman at that. Far more bold than any asked during their travels. She surprised him at the oddest times with small insights into the machinations of the corsair republic. It endeared her to him, but perhaps he indulged her too much.

“The Diwan will endure.” Radi was cross, and he let it show in his voice. “A year has passed with no word of the tyrant Janszoon, nearly two since he set foot in Sallee. His Rovers are the tool of the Diwan now.”

“How quickly you forget that you and your fellow Diwan were also pirates before turning politician.”

She dared to compare him to the barbarous Dutchman, Janszoon. Radi opened his mouth to spit something venomous, when a sputtering roar like a hundred rigging lines snapped in rapid succession sounded from behind him. He spun, pulling a thin and wickedly curved knife from his belt. He had an arm out, moving his translator to safety behind him when a nightmare machine rounded a corner of the strangely smooth streets.

A man sat astride the machine. His arms were brown from the sun, and his legs were bare below the knee. Upon his head, slick and black like the carapace of some enormous beetle, was a helmet. Where Radi expected to see a face was instead an eyeless, mirror-like visor.

Noise from the thing slapped at his ears. It was like cannon fire, but ceaseless with each blast coming more quickly than the last. The machine screamed toward him, and Radi stood transfixed in the center of the road. He stared, unable to pull his eyes away from the faceless rider on the wheeled machine.

Then Radi was moving, pulled from behind and nearly lifted from his feet. He tore his eyes from the man on the thundering machine and stumbled into Van Haarlem. She was a sturdy woman, but even still her strength surprised him. He dropped the knife lest one of them get cut, grabbing hold of her waist to keep them from tumbling to the ground in a heap.

By the time they had righted themselves the machine was gone. A lean woman with close-fitting pants and a man’s work shirt hurried toward them. She was speaking quickly and extended a hand to steady them.

“What is she saying?” Radi asked.

Van Haarlem’s blonde brows drew down in a concentrated furrow as she listened to a torrent of foreign words from the Grantville woman.

“She is speaking in English, but very quickly. She says she has told the boy once. She has told the boy a thousand times. Not to ride,” she hesitated, “the thing so fast in the town.”

Van Haarlem’s blue-eyed gaze drifted downward and his eyes followed their path to where his arm still encircled her waist. He straightened then, quickly pulling away from her. He rubbed his palms against his camir and suddenly it seemed much warmer near the buildings than it had been out in the street.

The Grantville woman stooped to retrieve Radi’s fallen knife. She offered it to him hilt first with a wide, reassuring grin and a series of encouraging nods. Radi returned the weapon to the sheath at his waist and composed himself.

“Thank you, Dame van Haarlem.” She acknowledged his gratitude with a quick nod but did not speak. “Ask this woman if she can lead us to the library. I fear we’ll never find it if left to ourselves.”

While the two women spoke, Radi listened for familiar words. His Dutch was poor and his English was contextually constrained to the taking of slaves and ships. Still, he gathered that the woman’s name was Samantha Collins, and she appeared willing to help them.

“We are in luck,” Van Haarlem said turning back to him. “This is Miss Collins and she can guide us through the city. She knows the books you wish to see.”

Collins escorted them to the library while concern for the fate of Sallee vied with Radi’s examination of the city. Once inside, the Grantville woman led them to a small table burdened with books.

The stacks were under the serious scrutiny of a slight young woman, chewing the tortured end of an equally slender pencil. Miss Collins introduced her as Christine Onofrio, and Radi waited as Van Haarlem proclaimed his name and titles.

“Miss Onofrio is a researcher,” Van Haarlem said. “Miss Collins will show you to a place where we might work at our leisure. I will gather the books and bring them to you, yes?”

He agreed, although it was discomforting that he should now rely so completely on Dame van Haarlem’s support. He wished to thank the Collins woman before dismissing her, but the Grantville women made him uncomfortable with the quickness of their speech.

To misspeak would be an embarrassment and so he took a seat. In a moment, Collins was gone.

It was cool despite the summer heat, and the table where he waited was sturdy and smooth to the touch. The chairs, while precariously lightweight, supported him quite comfortably. He could hear the two women talking softly beyond his sight. He’d never had much need for books, and they stood on shelves with their backs to him.

Radi shifted in his chair, wondering if Janszoon’s son Cornelius might have waited in the very same room. With luck and the blessing of Allah, the boy had not survived his journey to Grantville. His father had been kind enough to disappear at sea; perhaps the boy would follow suit.

The moments stretched long and he wondered what kept the women so deeply engaged in conversation. He was gathering himself to fetch Van Haarlem when she approached and joined him at the table. She was alone and carried several red-bound tomes under a stack of loose papers.

“That woman is a treasure of information.” Her eyes were once again wide with wonder, and they sparkled with something else—anticipation, perhaps, or excitement.

Radi remembered where his hand had rested and the feel of her hip under her kaftan. Perhaps his quest to learn the future of Sallee was infectious, or maybe Dame van Haarlem believed that he might one day soon rule the republic as Qaid.

“This is an encyclopedia.” She set the books on the table, and he rose while she seated herself. The books were embossed in gold with familiar letters in undecipherable arrangements. “They’re actually part of a larger set, and the pages are copies from other books. Where should we begin?”

It was now her excitement that infected him. Radi felt his face stretch in a grin, and together they dove into the story of the Republic of Sallee. Van Haarlem would read silently for long stretches before sharing bits of information with him. He watched over her shoulder, looking at drawings of unknown men and, curiously, maps of Malta and Algiers.

Most Barbary sailors spoke several languages, but it was a curiosity that Van Haarlem, a Dutchwoman so recently arrived to Sallee, could also read in English. He took notes when she spoke and questioned her about her skill with language when she grew too quiet while reading.

“I have a wealthy brother in New Amsterdam,” she said. “I lived with him for a time before coming to Sallee.”

“Why did you not return home?” he asked. “Or stay with your family in the Americas?” Why Sallee, Radi wondered. And would she wish to stay should he rise to rule the republic?

Van Haarlem turned from her reading to consider him. He didn’t know why she hesitated to answer, but she gave the matter a long moment of thought before responding.

“I was in the Americas much longer than I intended to stay,” she said, her eyes returning to the tiny letters in the encyclopedia. “I was there to meet my brother Anthony, but I was looking for my father.”

“To ‘meet’ your brother?” It was curious that she should have a sibling and yet not know him. Perhaps there was a significant age difference between them.

“I was there to see him,” she said quickly. “I am sorry, it is difficult to translate English to Dutch in my head while speaking to you in Arabic.”

Radi imagined that must be true. He quieted himself, allowing her to read. The room smelled dry; he’d have thought that a room full of books should smell thick and musty. Perhaps it was because they were so far from the coast. He poked at one of the red-covered volumes with his finger.

“Did you find him?”

Van Haarlem started, sitting up and away from the book. She looked concerned or even guilty.

“I am sorry,” he said. “I was asking about your father. Did you find him?”

“Oh.” She turned to the book once again. “Not yet. I will, though. I am a patient woman.”

“Did he leave you?”

She answered the question with a wry grin. “Constantly. He is a sailing man.”

Then her grin faded.

“What is it?” He leaned forward to peer at her book, the words as unintelligible as ever. “What have you found?”

“The Republic.” She paused. “I have to consider how best to tell you this. Sallee may outlive you, Vizier, but it will not survive the century.”

Radi’s stomach tightened and he swallowed hard before speaking. “What happens? Do the Moriscos rebel against the Diwan? Does Janszoon return?”

“Janszoon is dead. He was taken near Tunisia and tortured to death by the Knights of Malta at Fort Saint Angelo.”

“What then?”

“I can’t make sense of it,” she said, “Some names and factions sound familiar but—”

It vexed him to need her assistance deciphering the language. However, a woman’s interpretation of the political forces at work in the Republic was both unnecessary and unwelcome.

“Just read it to me,” he snapped.

“The ‘Alawites who rule Morocco came to power with the help of Arab tribes during the Almohad period. The founder of the dynasty, Mawlay ar-Rashid, mobilized these tribes against the powerful Dila’iyya that had dominated northern Morocco since the 1640s.

“Mawlay succeeded in reunifying Morocco with the help of a professional army recruited from the descendants of the many slaves.”

She was quiet for a moment. He felt her eyes on him as what she’d said sank in. He regretted his abrupt and judgmental dismissal. The passage was indeed confusing.

“The Dila’iyya,” he mused aloud. “I wonder. Could it refer to Dila?”

“Neither mean anything to me,” she said. “Do you think they pose a threat to Sallee?”

“Dila is not a who,” he explained, “but a where. It lies south of Fez and through Khenifra. Perhaps my concerns regarding Janszoon’s return are misplaced. Should this Mawlay raise an army capable of subduing the Atlas and north to the sea…”

Internal politicking he could handle. Even the dreaded return of Janszoon might be managed, but the Americans’ books spoke of powers that dominated the whole of North Africa. How would Sallee stand against such forces?

Anger flared, a spike of heat that seared his throat. Radi shoved with both hands, sweeping his notes from the table in front of him. Unsated, he grabbed at the books with clawed fingers ready to tear Sallee’s doom from the pages.

His fingers didn’t reach their mark. Van Haarlem’s hand shot out to stop him. Her fingers were hard on his wrist. He jerked, pulling his hand away from her, and she held him there for a moment before releasing her grip.

Her voice was quiet, pitched low and soft. “I think we should leave this place, Vizier.”

He rubbed at his wrist where she had held him. He swallowed again and then looked around him to see if Christine Onofrio or another resident from this strange city had seen him. Thankfully, they were still alone.

“Wait here a moment while I return the books.” She said it like a question, and he nodded, not meeting her gaze.

He heard her moving around the library and wondered what he would do. Could he rally the Moriscos to support him? Even if all of Sallee and their corsairs along the Barbary Coast rallied against a common enemy, could they fend off an army fated to dominate all of Morocco?

Perhaps better to join the winning side now.

Van Haarlem returned, and he heard her gathering the writing supplies that he’d thrown to the floor. When he felt her presence at his shoulder, he rose and together they left the library. The peculiar city and its foreign townsfolk weren’t the inspiring distraction they had been just a few short hours ago. He’d dreamed of elevating Sallee from the riverbank muck of the Bou Regreg to emulate the pristine wonder of Grantville. Now…now he had to find a way to subvert the republic’s doom.

He was silent when they left the town. Their coachmen, surprised by an early return, were unprepared. Radi left them to Van Haarlem and sat for a time until they boarded to rattle their way back toward Hamburg and a slow ship south to home.

They set camp some hours later at a tributary flowing south to the Rottenbach. Radi did not join Van Haarlem and the men as he normally would.

Their mood was jovial, a general sense of completion and excitement for returning home. It was a mood that did not suit Radi’s thoughts. Though she concealed it when she noticed him watching her, and despite sharing his knowledge of what would befall his beloved republic, Dame van Haarlem seemed to share in the men’s high spirits.

Later, when the camp chores were complete, and the men retired to their tents to share lies or throw dice, she approached him where he sat.

“Walk with me?” As was her way, she said it like a question.

Radi rose, and together they moved away from the camp. She led him to a place where the river bent and followed along the shore until they were well out of sight from the camp.

A large stone was there. Grass grew soft and thick around the base and dark lichen climbed the sides. He watched her gather the fabric of her kaftan and sit upon the stone. After a moment, she patted the empty space beside her. Radi sat. He left a small space between them, hoping it large enough to be proper. His breath was coming faster, and it wasn’t from the walk.

The river was shallow there, churned to white froth by nearly submerged rocks. The water tumbled loud enough that they would need to put their heads together to speak. The men from the camp would not hear them. Should nature call, they would not find them.

Radi sat beside Beth van Haarlem and watched the sky darken while the river played with smooth, round stones. He pulled his gaze down to the woman beside him, her hands resting in her lap. Her fingers trembled, although if the motion was a reaction to the cool evening air or from anticipation or excitement, he could not be sure.

“What will you do?” she asked.

He leaned closer to her to respond and their shoulders touched. “I had thought to wait until morning before announcing my intention, but my mind is set. You may as well know now.

“I will travel to Dila to see for myself if there is a Berber tribe with expansionist designs on the north. I will seek out this Mawlay to attest with my own eyes the foretelling of his conquering army.

“Then, should the Diwan support me, I will ally Sallee with whatever force is stronger. If Sallee may not be free, I would at least spare her from the coming conflict.”

Her pale hands trembled again. He covered one of hers with his own. “You could come with me,” he offered.

“That won’t be possible,” she said.

“You are frightened.”

“No.”

“Why then do you tremble?”

“Because, Mohamed Amine Radi,” she said, and he met her eyes when she said his name. She turned her hand underneath his. Her fingers parted slightly and, with a gentle pressure, he twined his fingers through hers. She curled her fingers around his hand as she continued. “I lied to you in the library.”

“Lied?”

Pulling his mind back from the warmth of her hand, Radi struggled to focus on the republic and the doom she had revealed to him. “Does Sallee not fall to the unification of Morocco?”

“Oh no,” she said, “that was all true. Or at least, it is what I found in the Americans’ books.”

“What then?”

“It was not my brother that I visited in New Amsterdam,” she said.

Radi sighed inwardly. She had taken a lover in the Americas. Now, as they grew close, she felt ashamed. His wish for her was to feel no regret for past passions. He thought to tell her as much, but she continued before he could speak.

Anthony van Sallee is my half-brother. His mother is a Moorish woman from Cartagena.”

Radi loosed his fingers as if her hand would sear the flesh from him. She held him fast. He met her eyes. They shone like the brilliant blue of sea ice in the gathering gloom.

“I think you know which parent Anthony and I share.”

“Janszoon,” he whispered.

“You were not the first to ask the Americans for books about Sallee,” she said. “Another came before you.”

Janszoon’s brat. So Cornelius reached Grantville after all. Van Haarlem must have read in his face that he knew of whom she spoke.

“Word arrived while Cornelius stayed in Grantville. Jan Janszoon is yet alive and in the clutches of the Maltese and their dungeons. And finally I know where my father is.”

“Sallee is free of Janszoon.”

“You and your Diwan did not liberate Sallee from my father’s corsairs,” she said. “You have but been keeping her safe for us.”

He struck her then.

It was an awkward blow, seated as they were and with her holding one hand captive. She hunched, turning into the blow and taking it on her shoulder. He surged back, hoping to catch her off guard and pull free, but her damnable grip was like leather, wrapped wet and left to dry around his hand.

Beth spun toward him. She scissored her legs up and around him despite her kaftan. Together they toppled to the damp grass.

Radi lay on his back atop her with one arm pinned tightly across his chest. He swung his legs, attempting to roll free and saw her heels cross, locking around his waist in a crushing embrace.

“There has always been a Janszoon in Sallee,” she whispered into his ear. He felt her tugging at his belt with her free hand. “Should armies come, they will find Sallee ready.”

“Beth,” Radi struggled to squeeze words from his chest. She was crushing the life from him. “Please…”

“I am Lysbeth Janszoon van Haarlem, and I will see my father freed from those bastard knights in Malta. If I must raze Fort Saint Angelo to its foundation with every corsair on the sea, I swear it will be done.”

Radi felt a sharp pinch in his left side. He pulled in a breath to call for the men in the camp. No sound came when he tried to scream, and he looked down to where her free hand moved at his waist. It took a moment for his mind to piece together what he was seeing.

Only when he realized the blade of his knife was halfway into him did he feel any pain. Then Mohamed Amine Radi felt a firm pressure against his ribs. The blade disappeared from view, and Lysbeth Janszoon twisted the handle.

Brothers In Arms

Originally published by Star Citizen Jump Point Magazine

The heads-up display on Gavin Rhedd’s Cutlass dimmed at the edges. Green triangles representing the members of his security team distorted to form horizontal spikes of flickering static. He smacked the side of his helmet into the Plexi canopy of his cockpit. It was a practiced move, and one that had snapped the HUD back into focus in the past. This time, the display flickered, faded and then died.

A heavy breath sent a thin veil of vapor climbing the visor of his helmet. Condensation obscured the view of black, empty space ahead.

Empty like the dead heads-up display.

Empty just like it had been for weeks.

There were brigands and marauders plaguing every planet in the ’verse and he couldn’t find one damned gang. Nothing was working out like he’d planned.

On the navsat, the other three members of Rhedd Alert Security fanned out to either side. His brother Walt was locked into position directly to port. Jazza and Boomer were painfully out of position.

Sloppy.

Everyone was getting bored and careless.

Boomer was the first to break radio silence this time.

“Hey, guys?”

“What’s up, Boomer?” Walt was the first to respond.

“I’m cold.”

Jazza didn’t follow orders better than any of the others, and her banter had the comfortable cadence of friendly rivalry. “Then put on a sweater.”

“Hey, Jazz?” Boomer fired back at her.

“Yeah?”

“Take your helmet off for a tick.”

“Why’s that, old man? You want a kiss?”

“Nope. I’m hoping you get sucked out and die when I shoot a hole through your cockpit.”

Gavin sighed into his helmet before triggering his mic. “Come on, gang. I want comms dark. The miners on Oberon hired us to take care of their pirate problem. And the three of you chattering on an open channel won’t help us find them any faster.”

“I’m starting to hate this system,” Walt muttered.

They were all tired and strung out from weeks of long hours and no action. But Walt was killing their morale by giving voice to that frustration. This whole thing—Rhedd Alert Security, abandoning smuggling to go clean, applying for Citizenship—was something they’d agreed to do together. Gavin and Walt. Brothers. Going legit and starting a business.

It seemed a good idea when they were dodging system alerts and dumping a fortune into forged tags. But some things don’t change, and Walt was the same old Walt—all talk and no follow through. It wouldn’t be long before he came up with some excuse to move on to clearer skies.

“What’s wrong, Boomer?”

“Cold, Gavin. Think the heat’s out.”

Wonderful. Something else to fix. Maybe Walt wouldn’t be the first to quit after all. Dell would leave if Gavin let her father freeze to death over this rock.

Jazza barked a laugh, “Yep. That sounds about right for this outfit.”

“Jazza, will you shut up already? Which part are you having trouble with? Comms or dark?”

“Yes sir, Big Boss Man.”

“Gods. I got more respect from you guys when we were criminals. Boomer, by all the Banu gods, why didn’t you tell me you were having trouble before we left the hangar?”

“I, uh…I figured to keep quiet until after the mission. Until we got paid, you know?”

This should have been a quick in and out job. But after weeks of fruitless hunting, even if they eventually drove off the pirates, the job would be a net loss.

“Hey, guys?” Jazza was really starting to get on his nerves. He told her as much. “Shut your hole, Gavin. I just wanted to let you know I found something.”

Gavin quickly studied the navsat console. The area looked empty other than the four of them, so whatever she’d found wasn’t showing up on any of his feeds. He smacked his helmet again in mute hope that the HUD would spring back to life.

“It’s a hull,” Jazza said. “Big one. Looks like a stripped Idris. Looks dead.”

“I’m not seeing you on…crap,” Walt said. “There you are. How’d you get way the hell out there?”

“Easy, folks,” Gavin said. “Boomer? You head toward Jazza. Walt and I will hold position.”

“Copy that.”

An Idris represented a fair chunk of Creds as salvage. Strange that no one had claimed it. They were in Oberon to chase off pirates, but a little scrap job on the side was a welcome bonus.

“Jazza,” Gavin said, “I’ve got nothing near you on sensors. You think it’s just some floating junk?”

“I think so,” she spoke slowly, uncertain. “I thought I saw a heat trace, but I’m not seeing it now. Going in for a closer—Gods!”

“Jazz,” Boomer’s voice was flat. The old man was all business. “Break right, I’ll pull this one off you and lead them back to the boys.”

“Can’t shake him.”

The navsat showed three new ships. A 325a with scrambled tags closed in on Jazza. Walt streaked past, already accelerating toward the fray, and Gavin turned to follow.

“Pull up hard,” Boomer said. “Bring him back around—Damn it.”

“Talk to us, Boomer,” Walt said.

“Jazza took a big hit. These guys are each sporting a Tarantula—the big one.”

“Hold tight,” Gavin said. “We’re nearly there. Walt, my HUD’s out. I need visual to fight, can you engage?”

“On it.”

“Hold on, Boomer. We’re coming.”

Walt was an incandescent streak ahead of him. The nearby space seemed deceptively empty without the visualizations that his HUD instrumentation would normally project. Only Oberon IV, looming angry-red and overly large beneath them, gave him any sense of perspective.

Walt’s voice crackled into the oppressive silence. “Boomer. I’m coming in low at your three o’clock.”

“Copy that.”

“I’m going to strafe with the repeaters to get their attention. You give that 325 a broadside he can’t resist. I’ll shove a missile somewhere the sun don’t shine.”

“Hurry, Walt. I’m too old for a three-on-one.”

“On you in five. Four. Three. Break now!”

Up ahead, razor thin beams of red slashed across space. The lasers streaked straight and then abruptly fanned out as Walt yawed around a pirate ship.

“Boomer!” Walt’s words tumbled out in a rush. “I can’t take a missile shot with you between us.”

“Can’t shake him.”

“Well that Tarantula is going to shake you plenty if you don’t.”

A missile streaked toward one of the pirate ships. Gavin saw a stuttering series of small flashes inside the cockpit, then the 325 vented a blazing ball of burning oxygen and went dark.

Gavin dropped into the swirling tangle of ships and added his own laser fire to the melee. Rippling blossoms of dispersed energy glowed against a pirate’s shields.

“That’s done it,” Walt said, “they’re gonna run.”

He was right. Realizing they were outnumbered, the remaining pirates turned together and accelerated past Jazza’s drifting ship.

And with them would go any hope of a profitable job.

“Pen them in and stitch them up, guys.”

“Screw that,” Walt pulled up, quickly falling behind. “Let them run. They won’t operate here once we steal their hideout. We win, Gav.”

“This job won’t even cover our fuel costs, Walt. We need those ships.”

“I got ’em.” Boomer yawed around to pin the fleeing ships between them.

“Boomer,” Walt cried, “don’t!”

The pirate pair turned nose to nose with Boomer. Their guns sparked twice, muzzles flashing, and Boomer’s Avenger bucked from the impact. Most of the starboard wing spun away in a blaze of erupting oxygen. The pirates flew straight through the floating wreckage and streaked away at full acceleration.

Gavin cursed and slowed. Without his HUD, the fleeing pirates quickly faded from view. “Boomer? Talk to me, buddy.”

Boomer’s Avenger drifted slowly away toward the black. Then it burped, venting air and Boomer’s survival suit out into open space.

A new, flashing red icon reflected up and off the canopy of Gavin’s cockpit. He didn’t have to check the console to know it was Boomer’s recovery beacon.

He let his hands fall away from the controls, closed his eyes and let his head slump backwards. His helmet struck the cockpit frame with an audible clunk. Colored lights sprang up to swim in front of his closed eyes.

Resigned, he cracked one heavy lid to peek out at the intruding light source. His HUD had decided to grace him with a reappearance.

“What. The hell. Was that?” Walt pronounced his words biting precision.

“Tarantula GT-870 Mk3,” Gavin recited in detail.

“I know about the damn guns, Gavin. I mean sending Boomer after them. We won. We had them on the run.”

“These ships don’t repair themselves, Walt. Maybe you haven’t done the math, but we’re broke. We need the salvage.”

“Salvage is nice, but Dell is going to kill you if Boomer is hurt again.”

“I’ll deal with Dell.” Gavin rolled his shoulders and settled his hands back on the controls. “Put a call in to Oberon. Let them know we took care of their pest problem and that we’ll tow away the clever little base the pests were hiding in to block scans. Then get Jazza patched up. Assuming the pirate survived, the two of you can drop him off before towing the salvage home.”

“Got it,” Walt’s voice was caustic, “money first. Good job keeping our priorities straight”

“Damn it, Walt. Will you stow the lip for two minutes so we can pack up and get everyone home.”

“Fine.”

“I’ll get Boomer. Can you please go see if you can get Jazza back up and running?”

“You’re the boss, little brother.”

Gavin pushed his family troubles to the back of his mind. Prioritize. First things first, take care of the crew. Get Boomer home. Repair the ships. Pay down some debt. He rattled off a painfully long list of critical next steps and one item kept rapidly, forcefully climbing its way to the top.

They really needed to get another job.

Walt beat the others back to the hangar. He matched rotation with Goss System’s Vista Landing and drifted along its length until he reached the Rhedd Alert hangar. He slowed and then stopped at three sets of wide double doors, each painted an alarming shade of red.

Hazard beacons floated in front of the first set of doors. Short bursts from tiny thrusters kept them in place a dozen meters out while a work crew applied high-pressure, ghost-grey paint over stencils of the Rhedd Alert logo.

Walt drew in a proud breath that pressed his chest against the confines of his flight suit. It looked cool having their name up in big letters on the side of the complex.

Then the moment soured.

The hangar and support staff were dead weight around their necks. The painting crew and logo were all part of the lease agreement with the station, but they served as a pointed reminder of the permanence of the commitment. Walt gnawed at his bottom lip, uncomfortable with the weight of the obligation.

He tried to put the sense of buyer’s remorse aside, but it sat heavy and rekindled his anger at Gavin. His brother wanted this company so much. Dell did, too.

Success—legit success—meant they could leave the old routines behind, forever. No more hiding. No more flipping tags every couple weeks to stay ahead of the Advocacy. Starting a company and working toward Citizenship was a big deal, but at what price?

Employing folks and applying for Citizenship was fine, but it started to lose luster in a hurry if success meant getting someone killed. Walt had to make sure Gavin saw that. They were all tired, but this was too important to wait.

“Knock knock, Dell,” Walt said. “Open up.”

D’lilah’s voice came over the comm immediately. She’d been waiting. “Bay 3, Walt. And mind the paint crew.”

“I see ’em. Glad to be home, Dell.”

Gavin touched down last, and Walt was waiting at the foot of the ladder when his brother slid down to the deck.

“Don’t start with me,” were the first words out of Gavin’s mouth.

“Listen,” Walt said, “Maybe I was out of line to second guess you during a fight, but we need to talk about what happened out there.”

“We won, okay? Right now I need to get Boomer to the med techs, and then contact Barry about another job.”

“Barry got us this job, Gav. I’m not sure if you noticed, but it really didn’t end so well.”

“We got sucker-punched by some thugs. That’s what happens when you get sloppy.”

He was talking about procedures and performance. Two of their ships got shot up, Boomer wounded and Gavin was grumbling about tight flight formations. Walt stretched his fingers, willing them not to form fists. His brother tucked his helmet under one arm and stepped to the side to move around him.

“Damn it, Gavin,” Walt grabbed the shorter man’s shoulder and pressed him back against the ladder. “Would you slow down for two seconds?”

He’d caught Gavin by surprise, but his younger brother was fast. Gavin slapped the hand from his shoulder, threw his helmet to the hangar deck and planted a two-handed shove of his own into Walt’s chest. “What’s your problem, Walt?”

The hangar grew quiet. A quick glance to either side showed the rest of the staff looking very hard for something productive to do, as far from the brothers as possible. Walt leaned in and hissed, “I’m trying to keep you from getting someone hurt. What’s the point of Rhedd Alert if we get everyone killed for one crappy job?”

“One crappy…?” Gavin’s eyes were wide, showing white all around the edges. “You need to wake up, Walt. This was our only job. I got half the ships in the squad with parts falling off. I got Boomer freezing his junk off in nothing more than his flight suit. We can’t jump systems to hijack the next ship that comes along any more. This is what we signed up for, man.”

Walt was getting hot again. He knew he should walk away, but Gavin was still missing his point. “I know what I signed up for.” He knew that they had to make good on jobs, but why die trying just to pay the bill collectors? “And I remember why I signed up, too.”

Gavin stepped in again. Closer. “Oh yeah? And why’s that?”

“You, Gavin.”

“So everything’s my fault? Because I made you join up.”

“That’s not what I mean.”

“I know I screwed up the bid on this job. I should have priced it higher. But guess what? I didn’t. And this is all we had.”

Walt lowered his voice, getting right in Gavin’s face. “That’s not what I meant and you know it. I’m here because you want this.” He jabbed a stiff finger into Gavin’s chest. “You want it for Dell. Because you’re afraid she’ll leave if you can’t pull it off.”

And then Gavin was on him.

They went down hard and Walt’s head cracked against the deck when they landed. Gavin was compact and built like a Sataball defenseman, but Walt had length and leverage. It was a dichotomy they had put to the test a hundred times since they were boys, with nearly uniform results. But Gavin just didn’t know when to give up.

The tussle was short and ugly. In seconds, Walt had one forearm jammed into the back of his brother’s neck, with the other propping himself up off the deck. Gavin’s face was pressed into the cold steel of the hangar floor.

Then the scuffed toe of a black work boot crunched down painfully on Walt’s fingers. His stranglehold on Gavin relaxed, and the smaller man started to squirm free. That was, at least, until the socketed head of a heavy wrench dropped on Gavin’s shoulder, pushing him back down, face first and flat onto the deck.

“Oomph.”

“Now, now, boys,” Dell said. “What are the neighbors gonna think?”

Walt winced, gritting his teeth as she ground his fingers against the steel deck. He craned his neck around to look at her. D’lilah’s boots were cinched tight by pink laces with a white skull-and-crossbones pattern stitched into them. She wore worn, canvas coveralls that hugged strong legs, pockets bulging with tools and spare parts. Her dark hair was pulled back into a ponytail that hung over one shoulder, and she’d dyed the last couple inches a bright, electric blue. The color was new since they’d left for Oberon. It was a playful accent that wasn’t echoed in the angry blue of her eyes.

“Oh. Hey there, Dell.” Walt struggled to keep a pinched note of pain from his voice. “Hello to you, too.”

“Unless the next words out of your mouth tell me where my dad is, you’re going to be working your stick left-handed.”

Gavin answered her. “Ease up, Dell.”

“Who’s got him?”

“I do.” Gavin nodded back toward his ship.

“Well then.” She lifted her foot and Walt yanked his hand back to rub at aching knuckles. He glared at her, as sour a look as he could manage while kneeling on the deck. Her smile feigned a sweetness that did nothing to thaw the frozen fury in her eyes. “I’ll fetch the buggy. If you two are done snuggling, it sounds like my dad has a date with the techs in the med center.”

Dell swung the wrench up to rest over one shoulder, spun on the balls of her feet, and strode away.

Gavin rolled over onto his back with a groan. “That woman is going to kill us one of these days.”

“Think we could outrun her?”

“You, maybe. There’s not a dark enough hole in the ’verse for me to hide.”

“Yeah, well,” Walt pushed himself to his feet with a grunt, “that’s your own damn fault for marrying her.”

Several systems away, on a station much larger and better appointed than Vista Landing, Morgan Brock scowled at a set of numbers on her mobiGlas. She lifted her eyes, shifting her gaze over the top edge of the screen to stare at Riebeld. The salesman sprawled casually in what Brock knew to be an uncomfortable chair. She made sure that it was uncomfortable, so no one felt confident when sitting opposite her desk.

Riebeld somehow pulled it off, though. It was that braggadocio that made him such a good breadwinner for her company. Irritating, yes. But good for business.

She powered down the mobiGlas. “The net profits on this estimate are based off a twelve percent commission.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“I think we both know that your negotiated commission is ten, Riebeld.”

“And I think we also both know that this job could double the size of the company within two years.” He sat forward then and leaned on her desk. “I want twelve if I bring it in.”

“And you think I’m going to just give it to you?”

“I know you will.”

It was her turn to lean forward. It put her too close to him, and he should have backed off. He didn’t. “And why,” she asked, “is that?”

“Because I know that you’re not going to let principle stand in the way of profit.” His toothy grin was bright enough to deflect lasers. She was used to predatory smiles from men, but with men like Riebeld, it only meant there was money on the line. His mobiGlas chirped beside them. Riebeld had an incoming call.

He ignored it.

She waited for the incoming alert to stop.

It did.

“You get twelve,” she said. “But anyone who helps bring it in gets paid out of your cut, not mine. And I want three options for one-year extensions. Not one. Bring it to me with three or I won’t sign it.”

“Done.”

“Fine. Now get out.”

He did and Brock leaned back in her chair. She was going to need more ships. Riebeld would get the extensions or he wouldn’t. They gave him something to work toward, and he’d get sloppy if he didn’t have a challenge.

Good sales guys were like racehorses, high maintenance and temperamental. Most days, they were nothing more than a pain in the ass. Come race day, though—you always wanted one in your stable.

There was a quick knock on her door. Riebeld didn’t wait for her to answer before he shoved his head in.

“I won’t budge on the options, Riebeld. I want three or no deal.”

“No,” he said. “It’s not that. Navy SysCom just put our Tyrol contract up for rebid.”

“What?”

“Yeah. We’re allowed to rebid, but they’re putting it out for open competition.”

“Why the hell would they do that?” Escorting UEE scientists to the research facilities in Tyrol wasn’t their biggest job, but she’d put a lot of work into it. They’d spent years clearing the shipping lanes in the Min and Charon Systems—lucrative years, admittedly—and now the missions were pure profit and promised future growth.

“I don’t have the full story yet, but apparently they are trying to push low-risk contract work out to local companies. Some brainiac in accounting identified the Tyrol run as a candidate and boom, Major Greely pulled the contract.”

“See what you can find out,” she said. “And get to work on the rebid.”

“Already got it covered.”

“And Riebeld?”

“Yeah?”

“Find me the name of that accountant.”

It was late when Gavin left the station. By way of apology, he invited Walt to join him on the short trip to Cassel to meet with Barry Lidst. Whether Walt came along as reconciliation or simply to avoid another run-in with Dell was unclear. Regardless, he didn’t seem inclined to talk about the argument as they flew, and Gavin saw no reason to bring it up.

Barry, a Navy SysCom accountant by trade and freelance rainmaker by inclination, had grown up with the brothers. He had left Goss to join the Navy while the Rhedd boys stayed to work the smuggling routes with Boomer and their father before he passed.

Officially, Barry was responsible for negotiating contracts between the UEE Navy and private vendors, but he also managed to broker a few off-the-record jobs on the side. He was, if anything, an opportunist, and Gavin trusted him about as much as he trusted any of the shady characters they’d worked with in the past. Which is to say, not at all.

The fact that Barry was involved with Dell before leaving to join the Navy didn’t factor into his opinion at all. Nope, not in the slightest. Still, Barry had come through with their first legitimate job. With luck, he’d have more.

Gavin swallowed hard, focusing on the fact that they needed work. Walt kept quiet. By the time Cassel swelled, massive, blue and inviting against the gold and turquoise bands of the Olympus Pool, Gavin could feel his brows drawing down into a scowl.

The brothers landed and made their way to a club that catered to the resort world’s local crowd. It was busy, of course, but Barry was waiting and had managed to find an open table.

“I was beginning to think you two bought it in Oberon.” Barry’s naval uniform was cut from some shiny material that was either freshly pressed or engineered to be wrinkle-free. It looked tragically uncomfortable, but did a reasonable job of hiding a rounded gut.

“Oberon took a bit longer than we thought,” Gavin forced a smile, “but we got them.”

“Everything go okay?”

“Absolutely.” he injected confidence into his words and hoped it sounded genuine. Walt looked at him sharply, but Gavin ignored him. They had to appear capable or better jobs were going to be in short supply. “Pirates are not a problem.”

Barry motioned them to sit and his voice took on a somber note. “Word is that Dell’s dad got busted up. He okay?”

“By all the Banu gods, Barry,” Walt said. “How’d you even hear about that?”

“I’m the government. We’ve got our eyes and ears everywhere.” Gavin stared at him and raised an eyebrow, waiting. “Yeah. Well,” Barry shrugged and took a sip of his drink, “those miners on Oberon might have mentioned something.”

“Boomer’s fine. Our ships took more of a beating than he did,” Gavin turned the subject away from his team getting shot up on the job. “I was surprised to hear you were in Goss System.”

“Mom retired here on Cassel,” Barry cast a sour glare around the room when he said it. “I’m just here visiting. Can’t stand it with all the tourist traffic, but she loves the shows and exhibits and stuff. Anyway, I’m glad you guys were able to help out in Oberon.”

“Happy to.”

“Stuff like this comes up from time to time,” Barry said. “It’s not like we don’t want to take care of it ourselves or anything. We do. But the Navy can’t send troops after every brigand and thug in the ’verse, you know? There’s competing deployments, equipment requisitions, system politics…forget about it. So, yeah. No one minds if we feed these jobs to indies like you guys.”

“Well,” Gavin said, “we’re light on work right now. Got anything for us?”

“I might have something—not UEE work, but still a decent job. And I know the client will be happy with your rates.”

Gavin’s heart sank a bit, but maybe they could increase their price without chasing Barry away. He encouraged the accountant to keep talking.

“The job is close, just a couple hops away. It’s hard work, but I can hook you up if you’re interested.”

“What’s the job?” Walt asked.

“You ever heard of molybdenum?” Gavin’s face must have looked as blank as Walt’s. “No? It’s a rare metal used in electronics and stuff. You find it near copper deposits. You know what? Doesn’t matter. A friend of mine knows a guy who just got his hands on the mining rights to a moon.”

“Mining,” Walt muttered. “Why is it always mining?”

“I guess the whole moon is riddled with tunnels and caverns. Apparently there used to be a bunch of copper there, but now all that stuff is gone. The only thing left is the molybdenum. This guy, he’s got three weeks to start producing or he loses his lease to the next prospector in line.”

“Barry,” Gavin said, “if you’re looking for a team to wear hardhats and swing pickaxes, you’ve got the wrong guys.”

“Naw, it’s nothing like that. They’re empty now, but someone set the caves up as a fortified base. Smugglers, probably. They put auto-targeting turrets in there. My guy told me they’re all over the place. Around every corner. Anyway, it’s all Banu tech. A group of them must have hopped over from Bacchus.”

“So what’s the job?”

“They need someone to comb through the whole thing and take out the turrets. They can’t send mining equipment and operators in there until it’s clear. Those guys don’t have shields.”

“That’s it?” Gavin asked.

“Yup. That’s it.”

Walt watched Barry across the table with a bemused tilt to one eyebrow. “That’s the most boring job I’ve ever heard of.”

“Hey,” Barry said, “if you want something with a little higher chance of combat, I’ve got a UEE escort contract up for bid. We were getting absolutely fleeced by the incumbent contractor. I finally convinced the major to rebid the job.”

Now that sounded exactly like the job Rhedd Alert needed.

“Tell me more about that,” Gavin said. “About the escort job, I mean.”

“I, uh…listen,” Barry said. “I wasn’t really serious about that. No offense, but that is an armed escort through some pretty rough systems.”

This was it. The chance they needed. “Our guys can do it,” Gavin said.

“It’s a small job now, but it’s scheduled to mature into something big. I don’t even know if you have enough ships to meet the contract requirements.”

“Give us a shot. If we perform, I’ll find the extra ships and pilots.”

“The outfits that sign on for gigs like this are generally ex-military. Highly trained. Lots of contacts in Navy SysCom. Most of the contractors we use are actually based right next to the Navy in Kilian System. I was joking, guys. Forget I mentioned it.”

“No, we can do this. What’s the run? How many—”

“Gav,” Walt interrupted, “we’re talking naval flight formations and tactics. Superior weapons systems. Maybe we should get more info on the turret thing in the mulberry mine.”

“Molybdenum.”

“Whatever.”

“Come on, Walt. This sounds perfect for us. And I’d put you or Jazza up against an ex-Navy pilot in a heartbeat. Any system, any time.”

“Fellas…hey, listen,” Barry said. “The UEE is trying to push local work to local contractors. The big defense companies are fighting it. If you feel like sticking your hand in the middle of that fire, I’ll forward you the RFP. Good enough? In the meantime…about my buddy with the moon mine?”

Gavin half-heartedly followed along while Walt and Barry discussed the turret job, but in his mind they were already escorting UEE ships through hostile space. Walt startled him out of his reverie when he hushed a surprised Barry into silence.

“Wait,” Walt said, “back up a second. These Banu weapon systems. Did you say this stuff came out of Bacchus?”

“Probably. Why?”

“This moon…Barry, where is it?”

“Oberon VI, why?”

Gavin’s heart sank again. A glance at Walt did nothing to reassure him. His brother’s smile looked fantastically strained.

“Ah, come on,” Barry said. “You’ve already done good work for these guys.”

“They’ll kill us,” Walt said.

“Naw,” Barry waved at them dismissively, “They love Rhedd Alert.”

“No,” Walt said, “not the miners.”

“Who?” Barry looked concerned now. “Who’ll kill you?”

Gavin answered. “Our team is going to kill us if we drag them back to Oberon.”

“Hey,” Barry relaxed, “it’s a small ’verse. You’re going to end up passing through there sooner or later. Might as well get paid for it. Am I right?”

“Yeah,” Walt said, “but Oberon?”

“I did mention it pays, didn’t I?” Barry keyed something up on his mobiGlas. He turned it so they could read the projected display. At the bottom was a number. A not-insignificant number. Gavin stared at his hands as Walt absorbed the figures.

Walt’s head made an audible clunk when it struck the table. He groaned something muffled and to the effect of, “I can’t believe we’re going back to Oberon.”

Gavin left Walt on Cassel. There was a time, back in his single days, when an extended stay on a resort world was the perfect sequel to a crappy job. Now he had a better offer waiting at home and two bottles of chilled Arcesean Red riding shotgun in the cockpit beside him. The better offer, of course, was Dell. The wine was his best hope to reboot his homecoming from Oberon.

It wasn’t exactly the grand entrance he’d planned on making. He felt his cheeks warm and was glad to be alone. With a sigh, he squeezed his eyes shut and let his head fall back into his seat. His helmet bumped against the cockpit frame. When he opened his eyes again, the HUD had died. He rolled his head to eye the waiting bottles of wine. Perhaps he needed the alcohol more than she did.

Rhedd Alert’s hangar was still. The lights were dialed down to a dull, sapphire glow. But while the hangar was quiet, Vista Landing never slowed down. Traffic came and went according to the schedules of a dozen mining companies on Goss I and the timetables of the neighboring systems. The sounds of the complex were a pressure all around him; a constant hum of life that seemed intrusive after a long stint flying solo.

Gavin shed his flight suit and then grabbed the helmet and bottles of wine. The helmet got dumped unceremoniously onto a workbench. The wine went with him to their apartment. It was dark inside—he was too late. Dell was already asleep.

He leaned back against the door while his eyes adjusted to the courtesy lighting in the bedroom. Dell lay on her side with her back to him. Her hair was a dark fan against pale pillows and sheets. There was no trace of the playful blue-dyed tips in the low light. He looked instead to the curve of her hip and the long line of her covered legs.

He left the bottles on a table. They would warm there and need to be cooled again before they could be enjoyed, but he didn’t want to risk waking her with light from the fridge. He stripped his shirt off on the way to the little closet. She’d left it open, and piles of clothes made odd shapes in the low light.

They smelled like her. He’d forgotten how much he loved that. He leaned forward, his head slipping between her hanging shirts and jackets. They didn’t have much, but this was home. They were settled, with no desire for any more living out of cockpits and dirty cargo bays. But if he couldn’t make this work, that’s exactly what they would be back to.

Gavin stooped and picked up the discarded shirt. There was work to do. Things to fix.

He closed the door as quietly as he could when he left.

He was at a workbench in the hangar when the light pad of Dell’s bare feet on the cold hangar deck sounded behind him.

“Hey, Slugger.” Her voice was playful, teasing him about the scrap with Walt. The taunting tone was good news, in a way. It meant that she wasn’t quite so angry. Regardless, he was still embarrassed about the fight and didn’t rise to her bait.

“I thought you were asleep,” he said instead.

She rubbed her hand across his shoulders, bumped him aside with her hip and then took a seat next to him on the bench when he moved. “I was asleep, but it sounded like a herd of terradons came tromping through the apartment.”

He felt better hearing the smile in her voice. “Huh…I guess I’m glad I missed that.”

“What are you working on?”

Gavin started running through his list, wondering where to start. He gave up somewhere north of fifteen and simply replied, “Everything.”

“Did we get paid?” He nodded and her look of relief was frustrating. Depending on Dell’s ex-boyfriend for financial salvation wasn’t exactly how he’d envisioned his role as a business owner.

“How’s Boomer?” he asked.

“He can’t keep doing this. They patched him up, but he’s been banged around way too much.”

It was true. Dell’s dad had been put back together more than any other pilot Gavin had ever met. Maybe a few military pilots had had more rejuvenation treatment, but their facilities had to be far better than anything civies like Boomer had access too.

“You’ve got to get him to take it easy, Gav. Let him fly support in the Freelancer or something.”

“Let him fly support? This is your dad we’re talking about. He’s at least half as stubborn as you are. And you know how he flies. He’s cool as gunmetal in a dogfight, but he flies like a crazy…flying…kind of…person.”

“Will you at least try? Please?”

There was no way Boomer was going to listen to him, but Gavin agreed. It wasn’t worth fighting with Dell about it. They’d been over that ground before. Plenty of times.

He prodded at the wiring harness of his helmet.

“The heads-up out again?” she asked.

He nodded.

“Here, let me do it.” She pulled the tools closer and set to work. “So…Walt stayed to drink his paycheck away with Barry?”

“Walt worked as hard as anyone in Oberon. Harder than most, actually. He can do what he wants with his cut.”

“While we’re dumping all of ours into repairs and supplies?”

“I brought you some wine,” he offered.

“I saw that.” She snuggled into his side and slid her arm around his waist. “Mmmmm…thank you.” A peck on his cheek. “I put it in the fridge.”

“You should have brought a bottle with you.”

She unwound herself from him and went back to work on the helmet. “It might work out better for you if we save that for a night when I’m not exhausted.”

That killed the mood. Gavin shifted the tools around on the bench. Dell must have sensed his change of mood. She sat up straight, her tone growing somber. “I’ve been doing some math,” she said.

“How bad is it?”

“Not good.”

He hoped that the grimace he made was reassuring. It probably wasn’t.

“Selling the salvage will keep us out of the red for a couple months,” she said. “Good job on that, by the way. I don’t know about the Idris, but that 325a is actually quite sellable. Unless you want to keep it, that is.”

Gavin thought about it. “Sell it,” he said. “We can’t afford to upgrade any of our people, and I’m not bringing on any more pilots until we land some steady work.”

“On that topic, did Barry have something new for us, or did he come to Goss System just to carouse with your brother?”

He told her about the turret job and she brightened.

“This is good, Gav. You think this could turn into a steady stream of work?”

“Maybe, but we’ve got a team of combat pilots, babe. They’re not going to stick around for this kind of work.”

“Then screw them. Let them leave, and I’ll fly with you.”

“You fly worse than your dad. Besides, you wanted to be here to run the shop.”

“I’m here because I want this to work.” She put her tools down and entwined her fingers with his. “Believe me, I’d much rather be flying with you and Dad.”

“Yeah, well. I don’t want you out there. Bringing Boomer back in stasis is one thing, but you…”

She extracted her fingers and patted his hand, pulling away. “That’s an idea you’re going to have to get used to. Dad won’t be flying that old Avenger forever. Eventually, she’ll be mine. But right now,” she leaned in and gave him a quick kiss, “I’m going to bed.”

Dell stood, pressed his helmet’s wire housing into place with a click and left.

Gavin picked up the helmet and peeked inside. The glow from the reticle display shown within. She’d got it working again.

They had a good thing going, he and Dell. But chronic, nagging financial worry would eventually tear that apart. He just needed work that paid and that his pilots would stay for. Work that would keep Walt from chasing something shiny, interesting and new. What he needed was that Tyrol escort job.

Gavin pushed the helmet and tools aside on the bench. He keyed up the console and placed a call to Barry’s mobiGlas. The accountant accepted the call.

“Talk to me, sweetheart.”

“Barry. Good, you’re still in-system.”

“Just about to leave Cassel, why?”

“What would a bid need to look like for someone to be competitive on that Tyrol contract?”

“Gavin,” Barry’s voice grew serious. “You’re new to this, but you have to know that I can’t give out that kind of information.”

Gavin’s mobiGlas vibrated against his wrist with an incoming message.

“I’m sorry, Barry. I wasn’t trying to cause troub—”

Barry cut him off. “Now, what I can do is point you toward the proper registration and submission forms. How you manage the pricing is your concern. Understand?”

On Gavin’s mobiGlas was a message from an unknown contact. The message was simple, containing only a Credit sign and a number.

A big number.

Yes!

“Thanks, Barry. I appreciate it and understand completely.”

It took four days to clear just two turrets from the mouth of the first cave. Walt took out the first within seconds of arriving. He did it with what he swore was a purposeful and carefully aimed shot.

The second turret pulverized Jazza’s Cutlass, and they had to tow the wreckage back to Vista Landing for repairs. Jazza herself went home in stasis. She took hits to a shoulder and both of her legs before survival protocols triggered her flight suit and ejected her. Unfortunately, the system didn’t account for proximity to the cavern walls.

Jazza did not rejoin them for the moon mine job.

On the fourth day—running low on patience, ammo and foul language—they finally came up with a solution. It was ugly. It was dangerous. But as they worked deeper into the moon, it was the only thing they found that worked.

“All right, Boomer,” Gavin said, “hold behind that outcropping.”

Boomer’s Avenger crept to a halt beside him. Deep inside the warren of caverns, the moon’s rotation was enough to give them a sense of up and down. Still, holding a relative position inside a small spinning moon was not as easy as one might think. Stabilizing thrusters fired continuously in short, irregular bursts.

Gavin checked his orientation and distance from the walls. He was in place. The tag team system they’d come up with had been working pretty well, using one ship to draw fire while a second swept in to blast each turret. It was tedious and sphincter-tightening work, but the moon was nearly cleared. Only a small handful of tricky defenses remained intact.

“Okay,” Gavin settled his hands on his flight controls. “On my mark.”

He left the mic open and triggered a timer on his navsat. He watched Boomer’s ship ease slowly into the turret’s line of sight to the steady countdown of the timer. Right on cue, Gavin hammered his thrusters and sped into the cave, just as the first blast from the turret struck Boomer’s shields.

Gavin yawed to the left, swinging the nose of his ship until he could see both the turret and Boomer’s ship. The old man’s Avenger bucked under the constant fire. The shields held, but the blast forced the Avenger back out into the tunnel before Gavin could take a shot.

Gavin fired, and the turret’s twin barrels swiveled with such impeccable precision and speed that they looked like identical empty dots. “Oh, sh—” the barrels erupted in a fusillade of crimson light.

Gavin fired again and had no clue if he was anywhere near the mark. The turret’s aim was flawless, however. There was an odd pulling sensation when the cabin lost pressure and his suit pressurized, squeezing around his limbs and chest.

Another barrage hammered into him and he felt the Cutlass crunch ass-backward into the wall of the cavern. The ship rolled, nose pitching wildly to one side. Gavin saw an open blackness of empty space yawn into view. He punched it, hoping he was heading back out into the tunnel and not to his death inside the smugglers’ cave.

Relieved, he saw Boomer’s Avenger flash by beneath him. But dread gripped him again when the walls of the narrow tunnel loomed to fill his entire view. He reversed thrust, hunched tight around the controls and braced for impact.

It was bad.

He hit hard, and the impact sent him careening down the cavern. He tumbled over and over, willing his ship to hold together. When he finally forced himself to release the flight controls, the ship righted itself.

“Holy hells,” Boomer breathed. “Gav? You alive, buddy?”

His chest heaved like he’d been running. “I seem to recall some idiot bitching about this job being boring.”

Walt, exploring a tunnel in another part of the moon, answered, “That sounds like it was directed at me. You two okay?”

“No, I’m not okay. I just got blown up!”

“Simmer down, son,” Boomer said. “I’ve been blown up plenty of times. That was nothin’. I, uh…I don’t think you’re taking another crack at that turret until we get your ship patched up, though.”

“Oh, really? Ya think?” Gavin’s comms flashed on an incoming line. “Hold on, guys. Call coming in.”

Boomer laughed, saying, “They probably heard us planetside and want us to keep the noise down.”

“Very funny. Actually, it’s Dell. Now shut it.” Gavin accepted the incoming line.

“Gav?” He couldn’t tell if Dell sounded scared or angry, maybe both. “We got a problem, babe. Jazza’s out of here. Says she’s taking a ship unless she gets her cut of the turret job before she goes.”

“What? What do you mean ‘out of here’?”

“She’s leaving,” Dell said. “Leaving the company, I mean.”

Walt cut in on the squad channel. “Hey Gav, I’m all finished in here. You want me to come take a look at tha—”

Gavin juggled channels. “Hold on, Walt.” He squinched his eyes closed, sore, frustrated and confused. “Dell. Where’s Jazz going? You mean she’s quitting?”

Boomer kept the chatter going on the squad channel. “Sounds like he’s getting an earful, Walt. Glad she didn’t call me.”

“Tell her Gavin just got blown up.”

“That would improve her day significantly.”

They both laughed.

Gavin spread his hands in an open-armed shrug for no one’s benefit but his own. “Would you please shut the hell up?”

They did. Dell did not. “What did you just say to me?!”

“Not you, babe. Walt and…you know what? Never mind all that. Just tell me again, what’s going on with Jazz?”

His mobiGlas vibrated. Gavin swore silently and balled his fists to keep from shooting something. From within his pressure suit, it was difficult to activate the mobiGlas. He managed it while Dell filled him in on Jazza’s desertion. She was going to look for work with one of the smuggling outfits hidden in the Olympus Pool. Paying work. Blah. Blah. Deserter.

Gavin finally powered on his mobiGlas display. There was a message from a contact marked “unknown,” but Gavin knew exactly who it was from.

“Dell.”

“I tried to talk her out of it, Gav,” Dell sounded close to tears. “I really did.”

“Dell, listen to me.”

“What?”

“Get Jazza back. All right? Do whatever it takes.”

“I’ll try, Gav, but…”

“Whatever it takes, okay? We’re going to need her. We’re going to need everyone and then some.”

“What’s going on, Gavin?”

He keyed his mic to transmit on both channels, “Everybody, listen up. They only got two bids on the Navy contract. We’re the low bid.”

“Is low bad?” Boomer asked.

“Dell,” Gavin said, “have Jazza join us in Oberon. We’re working ’round the clock until we’ve cleared the last few turrets.”

Gavin sat in his damaged Cutlass, cheeks stretched in an unfamiliar grin.

“Guys,” he said, “we just won the Navy job.”

“Go on in, Miss Brock.” A lieutenant held the door open for her. “Major Greely and his guest are already inside.”

The major’s guest. How wonderful. Morgan Brock smoothed the front of her pleated skirt and then swept through the doorway into Greely’s conference room. The major and his “guest” stood near the head of the table. Greely was looking more Marine than Navy in his shirt sleeves. The man had arms as thick as most men’s legs.

“Brock. Good of you to come personally. Let me introduce you to Gavin Rhedd, one of the co-owners of Rhedd Alert Security.”

Rhedd was younger than she’d guessed, a handsome man with a sturdy frame. He’d made the curious decision to wear a weathered, civilian flight suit to the meeting. Perhaps he needed to convince everyone that he was, in fact, a pilot. Still, the rig fit him well. He looked uncomfortable but not self-conscious standing beside the granite slab that was Major Greely.

“Pleased to meet you, Miss Brock.”

She refused his extended hand and put an end to the pleasantries.

“So you’re the cherry that low-balled my contract.” She made it obvious that it wasn’t a question. “Let me be entirely clear. The termination clause stipulates that I participate in a transition meeting. Let’s not pretend that I’m pleased by the opportunity.”

“Well okay, then,” Greely said. “I suppose that will do by way of introductions. Let’s get started, shall we?” He took a seat at the head of the table and motioned for each of them to sit. “Now, the award and protest periods are over.”

“There will be an appeal filed,” she said.

“I don’t doubt that, Morgan. But my office and Navy SysCom have every reason to believe that the award will be upheld.”

“I’ve invested two years cleaning up the run through Min and Charon,” she said. “And we both know the workload is scheduled to increase dramatically. I’m not handing that over without a fight.”

She stopped when Greely held a hand up, “The UEE wants us to find ways to enfranchise independents in those systems. You want to argue that point, do it with the politicians. But right now, I need a mission brief, and I think we’d all appreciate this meeting moving along quickly.”

Brock let the major win the point. If nothing else, she knew when to pick her battles. There was nothing to be gained from antagonizing him. There were more profitable targets for her ire. Content with the cool tenor of the meeting, she turned her attention to Gavin Rhedd.

“Yes, well,” the young man cleared his throat. His forehead glistened where it met his close-cropped hair. “I’ve read through the, uh…the After Action Reports.” Rhedd swiped through several projections on an old clunker of a mobiGlas. “Every ten days we escort a new shift rotation to the Haven research facility on Tyrol V. But what can you tell me about the security requirements for the staff transfer between the transport ships and Haven?”

The kid didn’t know his ass from a hole in the ground. Maybe her Tyrol contract wasn’t quite the lost cause Major Greely made it out to be. Brock’s smile felt genuine as she started describing the ship-to-settlement transfer process.

This job was going to eat Rhedd Alert Security alive.

Min System was dark. In Goss, the jump points flowed with shimmering cascades of color. They boiled the Olympus Pool’s bands of gold, amber and blood-orange in a dazzling display of celestial mystery. Min, on the other hand, was entirely different, and Gavin wondered how many ships and lives Min’s jump gates had claimed before they were successfully charted.

The approach was well marked now. Nav beacons lit a ten-kilometer channel leading six Rhedd Alert escorts and their charge, a Constellation Aquila with UEE designations, to the jump gate. The automated beacons broadcast a steady stream of navsat and transit status data in addition to lighting the visual entry vector.

The gate itself loomed large. It was an empty disc, invisible if not for the faint light from the beacons. That light bent, distorting into the maw of interspace that, if entered correctly, would disgorge them out into the Charon System. Stumbling onto an unknown jump point had to be a terrifying experience. He’d seen images of dark gates, like the ones in Min, when the beacons were offline. Even knowing what to look for in those images, it was difficult to distinguish the subtle smudge that represented a portal through time and space.

“Gate Authority Min,” Gavin read from a scripted authorization request, “this is Rhedd Alert Security, performing in compliance with Naval Systems Command regulations, approaching VFR and in support of UEE research vessel Cassiopeia. Request clearance for transit from Min to Charon and confirmation of the approach.”

They didn’t need the call and response to make the jump to Charon, but their contract required record of specific communications at all jump gates, as well as of the UEE staff transfers at each end of the run.

The gods only knew how many times he and Walt had hopped systems unannounced. In reflection, it probably should have felt strange entering a jump gate with legal tags and without local law breathing down his neck. But times change, and if Gavin got his way, they were changing for the better.

He received the expected challenge and responded with ship IDs that matched the tags for each member of the convoy. Gavin had stumbled over the formal exchanges on the first few missions. No one had complained, but he felt better now that he had a degree of comfort with the cadence and timing of the exchange. Hopefully, that degree of comfort inspired confidence in his new pilots and the UEE scientists aboard the Cassiopeia.

They got their clearance and Gavin sent the order to enter the jump gate. He took point with Jazza, each of them in place along either side of the Aquila. They slid into the gate with a familiar falling sensation. The cockpit seemed to stretch, elongating out and away from him in a rush of sound and color. It felt like someone had set a hook in his insides and pulled, stretching his gut tighter and tighter. Then something snapped and he was reacquainted with the increasingly familiar constellations of Charon space.

“Gate Authority Charon,” he said, “this is Rhedd Alert—”

“Gavin,” Jazza’s voice was crisp. He was already checking his navsat displays when she continued, “We’ve got three ships inbound. Three hundred kilometers. Make that two-fifty! Gods, they’re moving fast.”

“Jazz, take Mei and Rahul to see what our new friends want. Walt, you and Boomer play goalie. If these guys take a run at the Cassiopeia, make them reconsider.”

A chorus of “copy that” erupted on comms and Gavin switched channels to address the UEE crew aboard the transport. “Cassiopeia, this is Red One. Accelerate in line with my mark and do not deviate from course.”

“Contact,” Jazza sounded calm, clinical. “They’ve got three F7 Hornets in a variety of configurations. They’re beat to hell with patchwork armor, but coming in fast.”

“They have any markings or insignia? What are their tags?”

“Nothing I can see through the mismatch of weapons and scrap parts.”

“Look out, they’re firing!” Mei said. “Holy hells, these guys are quick.”

“Gav,” Walt asked, “do we run?”

The After Action Reports from Brock showed a steady decrease in aggressive actions over time. Letting a new pirate outfit establish a foothold at one of their critical jump points seemed like a very bad idea.

“We fight,” he said. “We can’t afford to retake this ground every two weeks if we run scared now.”

“Whatever you’re going to do, do it fast,” Jazza said. “It’s three-on-three over here, and it seems these guys like to play with their food.”

“Walt,” Gavin said. “Take point. If they have friends, I don’t want to get herded into a trap.”

“Copy that.”

“All right, Jazz. I’m on my way to you.” Gavin pulled up hard, inverted over the Cassiopeia and accelerated toward the jumble of fighters.

Gavin had survived dozens of scraps before starting Rhedd Alert, but always as the aggressor. Being on the defensive was something new. It seemed strange that these crazy bastards were hitting six armed escorts.

“Jazza,” he was a couple hundred clicks out and had a good look at the scrum, “I’m coming up underneath you. Time to make this an unfair fight.”

“These guys are good, Gavin.” She grunted and her Cutlass rolled in a loose corkscrew, putting her behind one of the marauders. She fired and its shields blazed. It pitched, nose down and thrusters reversing, to push up and above Jazza’s ship. The other two marauders swung into position on either side, and the three of them slashed toward Gavin like a knife blade.

He rolled to his port side and tried to accelerate around them. At least they couldn’t all fire on him at once that way. Rahul strafed overhead, pouring fire into one of the Hornets, but the marauders held their formation.

“Jazza, form up on me. Let’s split these bastards up.”

“Got it.”

They met and swept around to rush the trio of mismatched Hornets. The marauders found Mei before he and Jazza were in firing range.

“Ah, hell…”

A barrage of precise bursts from wing-mounted laser cannons tore into Mei’s ship. It ripped entire sections from the hull, and escaping oxygen belched out in a roiling ball of flame.

“Damn it!” Gavin couldn’t see if Mei got out. He and Jazza blasted their way through the marauders’ formation. The Hornets scattered and reformed again behind them. “We’ve got a man down. Walt, we might need your help over here.”

“That’s what you get for staying to fight, Gav. We should have made a run for it.”

“We can talk about ‘shoulda’ later,” he said. “Get back here and…wait. Belay that.”

“They’re running,” Jazza sounded bemused. “Feels like they had us on the ropes, but they’re bugging out.”

Gavin watched thruster trails from the retreating ships. In moments, they winked out of Charon space.

“Cassiopeia is secure,” Walt said. “Are you guys clear?”

Jazza didn’t exactly answer him. “Now what do you think that was all about?”

Gavin’s HUD looked clear. Relieved, he found Mei’s PRB. Everyone was alive and they appeared to be alone on the Charon side of the gate. Walt and the Cassiopeia were nearing the extreme range of his display.

“Walt, hold where you are. Stay sharp and sweep ahead. I can’t for the life of me figure out why they attacked three-on-six.”

“Maybe,” Jazza said, “they knew they’d kick our ass.”

“Or maybe this was a feint,” Gavin said. “Let’s not get caught with our pants down if there are more of them out here. Jazz, you and Rahul watch my back while I get Mei. We’re taking the first shots if they come back through.”

There was a general clamor of agreement. Gavin was beginning to suspect that military comm-chatter was much more sparse and far less democratic than Rhedd Alert’s constant banter. Still, aside from Walt second-guessing his every move, Gavin was proud of the team.

“I wonder if they’re waiting on the other side?” Jazza asked.

Walt was quick to respond. “We are not going through that gate to check.”

“Relax, Walt,” Gavin said. “A win is a win. And good riddance.”

At this point, Walt’s objection wasn’t a surprise. “Lucky win, you mean. In a fight we didn’t need to have.”

Gavin ignored him.

Though she was unconscious, the biometrics in Mei’s suit reported only minor damage. Her ship, on the other hand, was another story completely. Gavin started running some mental math, tallying the costs of parts, labor and med tech fees. The results were cringe-worthy.

The attack would make this mission a financial loss, but the contract was still the leg-up Rhedd Alert needed. And the attack was probably an aberration, Gavin reflected, reminding himself that Brock’s After Action Reports showed a steady decrease in hostilities over the past several years.

Unfortunately, they were about to find out just how little those reports meant.

Rhedd Alert got hit two more times over the next several escort missions between Min and Charon. The first was an overly zealous and unfortunately solo pirate who had camped himself just outside the jump gate from Min. The memory of the Hornet attack was still fresh and had Gavin and the team on edge.

The hapless pirate attacked as soon as the first Rhedd Alert ship entered Charon space. There wasn’t a thruster on the market that could turn him fast enough once the gate spat out six angry Rhedd Alert fighters and their transport.

They recovered the unconscious pirate in hopes of a bounty. There wasn’t much left of his ship to salvage.

The next incident occurred inside the Tyrol System near the rendezvous at Haven. As they neared Tyrol V, the trio of ramshackle Hornets struck again. Walt was the first to see them coming.

“Gav, we’ve got incoming from behind the planet.”

Gavin’s team was a cluster of green icons on his HUD. Snuggled protectively within their perimeter was the UEE Cassiopeia carrying a fresh batch of researchers. He zoomed the display out and saw a trio of red marks hurtling around the planet toward their position.

“Is that…?”

“You have got to be kidding me.”

“How the hell did they find us?”

Gavin silenced his team with a curt word and considered a headlong race to Tyrol V. Haven was a reasonably large settlement for an otherwise underdeveloped system. Tyrol V didn’t have any planetary defenses, though. The entire system was subject to the inevitable and imminent supernova of its expanding red giant. Haven warranted both UEE and private investment in support of the unique research possibilities provided by the impending supernova. However, since the entire system was ultimately waiting to evaporate, there wasn’t much sense in dumping money into defense systems.

Gavin started crossing options off their list. Tyrol offered them no protection. If they fled the system, they could lead the Hornets on a merry chase, but prolonging the risk to the Cassiopeia and its staff on board seemed a poor gamble.

On the other hand, their first head-to-head confrontation hadn’t gone so well. After seeing the marauders’ teamwork in Charon, Gavin was reluctant to take another tilt at them. Plus, he could already imagine Walt’s reaction to willfully engaging them head on.

Perhaps something a bit more diplomatic than fight or flight would yield better results.

Gavin tripped his comm link to broadcast on all local frequencies. “Hornet privateers above Tyrol V, this is Rhedd Alert One with a team of fighters and UEE transport vessel. We are moving little of value other than civilian lives. Please reconsider your approach.”

“Huh,” Walt made what sounded like an appreciative sniff into his mic, “you think that’ll work?”

“Can’t hurt to try.”

Moments passed with no response and no change to the marauders’ course. “Well maybe something more ominous will get their attention.” Gavin triggered the open broadcast again. “Hornet brigands above Tyrol V, this is Rhedd Alert One with a team of fighters and UEE transport vessel. We have little of value other than our ammunition, which we will happily deliver directly to your ships if you do not reconsider your approach.”

“Well that’s definitely not going to work.” Walt said. Gavin saw his brother’s weapon systems go live.

Gavin left Boomer and Mei to guard the Cassiopeia and Rhedd Alert engaged four-on-three with neither side holding the advantage of surprise. This time, Walt and Jazza were both on the front line. The ensuing dogfight was far less one-sided than their first encounter with the Hornets.

Rhedd Alert gave a good accounting of themselves. Contrary to their ramshackle appearance, the marauders’ ships were surprisingly quick, their weapon systems in good repair. Despite the ferocity of the fight, Rhedd Alert kept the marauders’ away from the Cassiopeia. Walt seemed content to drive them off. Jazza gave chase.

“Let ’em go, Jazz,” Walt said.

“Like hell,” she said. “I’m gonna swat me a Hornet.”

“No, you’re not,” Walt snapped the order. “They’re going to turn around just long enough to pound you into a fine red mist, and we’re going to have to sweep up whatever parts are left.”

“Guys,” Gavin said, “cool it. Rendezvous at the transport.”

Jazza broke off pursuit and moved to rally with Boomer and the Cassiopeia. “I just don’t like him giving me orders.”

“Hmmm,” Walt’s temper was clearly under some strain, “let’s see. I’m part owner of the company. You might wanna start associating my voice with imperative statements.”

“Knock it off, both of you. Jazz, fall in. The Navy is paying us to escort staff, not fight a turf war with a hungry pack.”

“You should have figured that out in Charon,” Walt said. “You made it a grudge match when we turned to fight.”

“Enough! If either of you have anything else to say, it can wait until we’re back on Vista Landing. Got it?”

Both squads limped away with damaged fighters. Rahul took a hit to his legs and would need to visit the med techs at Haven before leaving the system. The job and the injured were Gavin’s first priorities, but Walt’s deteriorating attitude had to be addressed. Before starting Rhedd Alert, they had always been opportunistic aggressors. This job was all about holding ground, and Walt’s reluctance was becoming a real problem.

Gavin was the first to arrive back at Vista Landing. Rahul was with him and woke when they touched down. Though the techs on Haven had done their work well, Dell insisted on taking him to get checked out at the station’s med center.

The rest of the squad arrived soon after. Gavin left Jazza to secure the ships and asked Walt to help him with the After Action Report in the upstairs office. Judging by the hushed demeanor of the crew, no one was under any illusion that the brothers were going to discuss the report.

Walt stalked into their small, shared office. He brushed past a pair of secondhand chairs and was standing at the window behind the scarred metal desk when Gavin closed the door behind them.

Walt spoke to the Plexi without turning to face him, “If you’re looking to fire off a lecture, I suggest aiming it at Jazza.”

Gavin joined him at the window. The steel was cold where he rested his hands on the frame, the edges sharp. “No lecture. What I need is some answers. What the hell is going on with you, man?”

Walt was cold and quiet.

“You’re fighting against me,” Gavin tried to keep months of frustration from his voice. He was wrung out and tired, but not all of that could be laid at Walt’s increasingly cold feet. “You’re picking fights with the rest of the crew. Hell, you’re fighting everyone but the bastards attacking our transport.”

“I fought just as hard as anyone out there,” Walt snapped.

“Like hell you did,” Gavin voice sounded loud and harsh against the glass. “You’re fighting just hard enough to save your ass.”

“Well you tell me, then. How the hell am I supposed to fight? You want me chasing after trophies like Jazz?”

“If that’s what gets the job done, yeah. We’re not the robbers any more, man. We’re the cops. We’re a deterrent. And when we’re out there, we need to make a statement.”

Walt squinted, the laugh lines at the corners of his eyes creasing as he shook his head in what looked like exasperation or disbelief. “Can you hear yourself? Do you even know what you’re saying?”

“Every time we bump into trouble out there, we need to jump on it with both feet. But I can’t push you to do that. You don’t like to be pushed.” Gavin felt his brother stiffen beside him, but he pressed on. He had to know if Walt was in this for the long haul. “You never did. You’re like Dad in that way. You’d rather cut and run than fight the tough fights.”

Walt turned his head sharply and yelled, “We had a damn good life doing that.”

The vehemence of it took Gavin by surprise, and he stepped away. After a quiet moment, he leaned against the window frame again. The metal was warmer now from where his hands had rested.

Walt and Gavin Rhedd stood shoulder to shoulder at the office window overlooking their small fleet of ships. They watched together for several minutes in silence until the last of the crew left the hangar. The lighting in the bay dimmed to a cool, cobalt blue, and Gavin’s arms felt leaden. His feet hurt and he wanted desperately to sit, kick off his boots and drink himself into a stupor. But he’d be damned if he sat while Walt still stood.

“We could leave.” The way Walt said it almost sounded like a question.

“You can’t possibly mean that,” Gavin pushed away from the window again.

“Seriously.” Walt finally turned to face him. He was hunched forward in earnest appeal. It put them at eye-level and Walt’s were round and imploring. “We could just go. This place is an anchor. Even if we turn a profit on this UEE job, what’s next? Find more work? Hire more pilots and techs?”

“If all goes right, absolutely. We’re creating something that we never had growing up, something bigger than just us. What exactly do you think we’re working toward here?”

“I don’t know, man.” Walt sounded equally drained. “I thought I did when we started, but it’s just been one thing after the next. We’ve got too many mouths to feed, and it doesn’t look like that’s going to stop.”

“It won’t,” Gavin said. “That’s the responsibility we accepted when we started this place.”

“But this isn’t our kind of fight, Gav. We’re not Advocacy agents. Hell, we’re not even starmen.”

“According to the company charter and the contract that you and I both signed, that’s exactly what we are. Soldiers for hire.”

“Come on. We’re thugs, man. We’ve been flying all our lives, but we don’t fight the fair fights. We pick on people who are either too dumb or too unfortunate to have professional protection. Maybe that ain’t noble or exciting, but that’s what we do, and we used to do it well. But this?” Walt turned back toward the darkened bay, waving his hand inclusively at the ships and machinery below.

Gavin saw it then. He realized what had been eating at Walt all along. His brother wasn’t worried about someone getting hurt in a fair fight. They’d been in dogfights for most of their lives. It was being responsible for the rest of the team that scared him.

“I know we can do this.”

“How much risk are you willing to take to prove that?”

“This ain’t about doing the easy thing, Walt. This game is all about trust. So you ask yourself…do you trust me?” He hated that his voice had a pleading quality to it. Couldn’t Walt see that they were already succeeding?

Gavin didn’t get an answer. His brother stared instead at the ships in the darkened bay.

“We need every pilot we’ve got,” Gavin said. “And, let’s face it, you’re our best.”

“This is going to blow up in your face, Gav. This will be just like when you tried to smuggle Osoians to the Xi’An.”

“That would have worked, if you’d backed me up.”

“They dumped you on an asteroid,” Walt’s voice rose in pitch and volume. “You lost Dad’s Gladius with that deal. What’s this one going to cost you?”

Gavin’s gut tightened, and he became uncomfortably warm in his flight suit. He realized that Walt had made his decision.

He swallowed once before trusting himself to speak. “So this is it, huh? We’re just starting to get our feet under us. We’re just learning to work together as a legit team.” He knew this was going to happen. It wasn’t a surprise, so there was no reason to be angry about it. “Gods! And to think I actually hoped you’d stick it out with me.”

“Don’t make it sound like that,” Walt said.

“Sound like what? You’re just doing what you always do.”

Walt didn’t say anything for a while.

Gavin stared out at their ships.

“Will you tell the others?” Walt asked.

“Tell them what? Everyone who matters is probably surprised you lasted this long.”

His lips drew tight into a hard line. His eyes burned a bit so he blinked them. He was tired and he needed a shower.

Gavin left Walt standing alone at the office window. When the rest of Rhedd Alert woke up the next morning, Walter Rhedd was gone.

The first few months without Walt went smoothly, without incident. Paychecks started to roll in, and Gavin chipped away at some of their outstanding bills. They scavenged parts where they could. Dell proved to be a wizard reviving damaged tech. What little money remained after the bill collectors were pacified went straight to reloads.

Losing Walt hurt. It showed Gavin just how much he had relied on his brother to keep the rest of the team sharp. The team’s performance was obviously important, but even that paled when compared to the painful fact that Walt had actually abandoned him.

No one forgot their grudge match with the trio of mismatched marauders, and Rhedd Alert was ready when they met again. The Hornets hit them as they passed through the Teclis Band. Teclis was one of Min’s few attractive qualities. From a distance, the band appeared to be a rippling wave of slowly pulsing lights. Closer, the wave resolved into a wall of tumbling asteroids.

Veteran members of Gavin’s team were quite accustomed to clinging to the underside of an asteroid. It wasn’t that long ago that they’d used the tactic to ambush transports themselves. So they weren’t surprised to see attackers materialize from within the Teclis Band.

Gavin triggered his mic to address the squad. “All right, guys, we know these bastards fly like they’re joined at the hip. I think we have the advantage in the band, but we can’t let them pin the Cassiopeia inside. Boomer, you’re babysitting. Get that transport through and clear. Everyone else, with me.”

The fighting inside Teclis was fierce. Gavin was in his element darting through tight seams, anticipating erratic rolling movements and using terrain to force the Hornets to break their punishing formations. His newer pilots were good, but they hadn’t spent hundreds of cockpit hours in crowded space like he and Jazza had. Still, they managed to keep the Hornets hemmed in while Boomer and the Cassiopeia moved through the tumbling asteroids. Uncharacteristically, one pirate broke from the group and powered through the belt toward the fleeing transport.

“We’ve got a runner,” Jazza warned.

Gavin was already moving to pursue. “I see it. Hold the other two here. They’re easier to manage when they’re not grouped up.”

He darted around blind corners of tumbling stone and managed to gain a few clicks on the faster ship. The Hornet rolled right and strafed around a jagged, monolithic spike of rock. Gavin thrust over it, gaining a little more ground.

The two ships shot from the treacherous confines of the Teclis Band, and Gavin landed a couple hits before the Hornet rolled away. Then it was an all-out race for the fleeing transport.

“Cassiopeia,” Gavin called, “this is Red One, we have a hostile inbound to you.”

“Copy, Red One. Shields are up and we are ready for contact.”

“Boomer?”

“Got it, Gavin.”

“Careful, old man. This one can really fly.”

Gavin saw Boomer’s Avenger rise and turn to face the charging ship. The Hornet rolled again. Boomer matched the oncoming ship, move for move. Both began firing, and their shields lit up like incandescent bulbs. The Hornet yawed starboard and Gavin missed with an out-of-range shot. Boomer’s shield flickered and then fell.

“Boomer!”

Then a blinding shot from a neutron gun tore through Boomer’s Avenger. Bits of hull flew off at odd angles as the Hornet sped past the wrecked ship and continued to close on the Cassiopeia.

The Avenger’s cockpit detonated. Gavin pulled up to avoid hitting Boomer and prayed that the older pilot had managed to eject. The Cassiopeia loosed a barrage of missiles, but the Hornet had countermeasures.

The marauder’s first pass took out the missile launcher. Gavin met the Hornet head-to-head as it swept around and fired on the transport again. He struck clean hits as they passed, scarring the mismatched armor plating along one side. He turned hard and his ship shook with strain, pressing him forward in his harness, vision dimming at the edges.

He righted the Cutlass in time to see the fleeing Hornet pause, hesitating over a small drifting shape. Gavin’s targeting system identified the object. Boomer’s PRB flashed red.

“No!” He had one hand pressed against the canopy. With successive blasts from the neutron gun, the pirate deliberately tore apart Boomer’s drifting body. Then the Hornet pulled up and raced back toward the Teclis Band.

“My target just disengaged.”

“They’re running.”

Gavin barely registered the shouts and cheers from his team.

Overkill.

Pilots call it getting OK’d. He didn’t know for certain where the term was first coined, but OKing a pilot adrift was breaking one of the few unspoken and universal rules of engagement. Lose a fight, and you might lose your ship. Get beat badly, and you might come out of rehab missing a limb or with some sort of permanent scarring or nerve damage. But to fire on a pilot adrift with only the pressurized skin of a survival suit for protection? It was inhuman.

“Everyone,” worry wrenched Gavin’s gut and he couldn’t keep it from his voice, “form up on the Cassiopeia. We have a pilot down.”

Something in his voice quieted the line. His ships emerged from the Teclis Band and rallied to the transport.

Gods.

What was he going to say to Dell? Gavin swallowed hard, blinking fast and trying to think. He should do something. The transport had been hit. He might have other injured pilots. Maybe Walt had been right.

“Hold position until we recover Boomer.” He switched channels to address the transport. “Cassiopeia, this is Red One. We’re scrubbing the mission. Prepare for return to Nexus.”

“Ah…Red One, damage is minimal and under control. We are able to proceed.”

Gavin couldn’t. He had to get Boomer back to Vista Landing.

Jazza’s voice shook. “Gods. They OK’d him, didn’t they?”

He didn’t answer.

“Take him home, Gav. We’ll tag his ship and tow it on the return trip.”

He nodded, knowing she couldn’t see, but not trusting himself to speak. What was he going to tell Dell?

“Get him there fast,” Jazza said.

“I will.”

Gavin’s mobiGlas buzzed and he activated it. Anyone he actually cared to speak with knew to find him in the office if they needed to talk. Dell was in the med center. She’d made it abundantly clear that she did not want to see him. Jazza had returned with the team after the mission, but they were giving the family a wide berth. Anything getting past his message filters was probably important. And anything important was most likely bad news.

The incoming message was from Barry. Suspicion of bad news, confirmed. He connected the call.

“Gavin. Buddy. Listen, I’ve got some news. This is just a ’heads up’ call, okay? Not a big deal. Is your brother there with you?”

“Walt left,” even to his own ears, Gavin’s voice sounded flat. “You can give your message to me.”

“I got word from a buddy of mine in Contracting. They’re issuing an FTP on the Tyrol contract. It’ll probably go out in the next day or two. Sorry, Gavin.”

“Don’t be,” Gavin wasn’t angry with Barry. He really wasn’t. But his words were coming out sharper than he meant them to. “Just tell me what the hell an FTP is.”

“Sorry. FTP is a Failure To Perform notification.”

He knew it had to be bad. Barry wouldn’t have called if it wasn’t. Damn it! What was next? Vanduul attacks? He’d gone over and over every report from Brock’s files. Never—not in any file—was there evidence of such coordinated and vicious attacks.

Barry read his silence correctly. “Hey, these things get issued all the time, man. I’m just letting you know that it’s coming so you don’t freak out. A couple holes in a transport is nothing when you’re going through a lawless system like Min. They won’t pull your contract for that.”

“What will they pull it for?”

“Well,” Barry drew out the word, speaking slowly and choosing his words carefully. “You’d have to receive back-to-back FTPs. Or if you lost the transport or something, that’d obviously do it. But Major Greely is pulling for you guys. He’s big on the UEE’s plan to enfranchise local civilian contractors.”

Just what he needed. More pressure. “Thanks, Barry.”

“Keep your chin up, buddy. You guys are doing fine, okay? I mean, you should hear what goes on with other contracts. Seriously, this is nothing.”

“Thanks again.” Gavin disconnected the line. It certainly didn’t feel like they were doing fine. The office door slid open, and Jazza stood silhouetted against the corridor lights.

“Jazz?” Gavin’s stomach sank. He tried to swallow but his throat was tight. “What is it? Where’s Dell?”

She took a step inside and the room’s lights reflected in the wet corners of her brimming eyes. She held herself together, but the effort to do so was visible.

“It’s Boomer,” she said, “It was too much damage this time. He’s…he’s really gone.”

A recorded hymn played as they sent Arun “Boomer” Ainsley into whatever great adventure awaits in the everafter. Gavin set the service in the Rhedd Alert hangar, and the recording sounded terrible. The last somber note rebounded off the room’s hard surfaces and harsh angles.

He wished they could have had a live band. He would have paid for an orchestra, if one were to be had on the orbital station. Even a bugle would have been better tribute for the man who had brought Dell into his life. For the man who taught him and Walt so much about living a free life in the outer systems.

Dell’s arm felt small around his waist and Gavin pulled her in close to him, unsure if that was the right thing to do. He turned to kiss her hair and saw Walt’s lean form looming beside them. Walt’s face was fixed in a grim mask.

Gavin knew his brother well enough to know that Walt was berating himself inside. He didn’t deal well with guilt or responsibility, and Gavin suspected that was a big part of why Walt always ran.

The gathering started to break up. Pilots and the hangar crew busied themselves with tasks around Rhedd Alert’s battered fleet of fighters. Dell didn’t move, so he stayed there with her. Walt rested a hand on his shoulder.

“Gavin. Oh gods, Dell. I can’t tell you how sorry I am.”

Jazza leaned in and spoke in a low tone, almost a whisper. “Landing gear up in ten, boss. Your rig is on the buggy.” She motioned with her chin to where his ship waited.

Dell turned into him and squeezed. “Be careful.”

“I will, babe.”

“You come home to me, Gavin Rhedd. I’ll kill you myself if you make me run this outfit on my own.”

He pressed his lips to the top of her head. Held them there.

“Wait. What?” Walt’s jaw was slack, his eyes wide. “Tell me you aren’t going back out there.”

Jazza bumped Walt with her shoulder, not so much walking past him as through him. “Damn right we are, Quitter.”

“You know what? Screw you, Jazz. All right? You used to quit this outfit, like…twice a month.”

“Not like you. Not like some chicken sh—”

“Jazz,” Gavin said, “go make sure the team is ready to roll, would ya?” With a nod to Gavin and a parting glare at Walt, she moved away into the hangar.

“Let it be, Walt. We really do need to go. After last time, we can’t risk being late for the pickup.”

“Screw late!” Walt’s eyes were wide and red-rimmed around the edges. “Why the happy hells are you going at all?”

“Walt—”

“Don’t ‘Walt’ me, Gavin. There is a pack of psychopaths out there trying to kill you!”

“Walt, would you shut up and listen for two seconds? We don’t have a choice, okay? We’ve got everything riding on this job. We’re months behind on this place and extended up to our necks on credit for fuel, parts and ammo.”

“They can damn well bill me!”

“No,” Gavin said, “they can’t. Your shares reverted back to the company when you quit. But I’m legit now. You think we lived life on the run before? Just you watch if I try to run from this.”

Walt turned to Dell for assistance, “Dell, come on. You gotta make him listen to reason.”

“Boomer’s shares transferred to me when he died,” Dell said. “We’re in this together.”

“Okay, boss,” Jazza called. The three of them looked to where she stood with a line of determined crew. “It’s time.”

Walt watched the big bay doors close as the last of Gavin’s team left the hangar. His fighter and the few remaining ships looked small and awkwardly out of place in the big room. Standing alone next to Dell gave him a great appreciation for that awkwardness.

“I’m so sorry, Dell. If I’d been there—”

“Don’t,” she stopped him with a word, and then continued with a shake of her blue-tipped hair. “Don’t do that to yourself. I’ve been over the tactical logs. He got beat one-on-one, and then they OK’d him. There was nothing you could have done.”

“I still feel rotten,” he said. “Like, maybe if I hadn’t left…I don’t know.”

“Gavin blames himself, too. That’s just the way you two are built. But believe me, there was never a soul alive able to keep my dad out of the cockpit. He was flying long before you Rhedd boys tumbled into our lives.”

That gave him a smile. A genuine smile. It seemed to brighten Dell’s mood, so he did his best to hang onto it.

“Come on,” she said. “It’s been a long couple of weeks. Join me for some coffee?”

He did, and for a time they spoke softly at the tall tables in the hangar’s kitchenette. Dell caught him up on life aboard Vista Landing since he had left. She was clearly exhausted and not simply from a sleepless night and her father’s funeral. Her shoulders sagged, and dark circles under her eyes were the product of weeks of labor and worry. The constant apprehension of the Hornets’ vicious attacks had apparently exhausted more than just the pilots. It seemed odd that the attacks felt strangely personal.

“You know what I can’t figure out?” he mused aloud. Dell looked at him, tired eyes politely expectant. “What the hell are these guys after?”

She nodded, “Yeah. There’s been a lot of speculating on that question.”

“And?”

“Hard to say, isn’t it? Could be political wackos opposed to the research in Haven. Or maybe it’s one of the old gangs that don’t like us going legit. Could be it’s a group of Tevarin lashing out against UEE targets. Who knows?”

“Naw. If they were Tevarin, we could tell by how they fly.”

“Then you tell me, if you’re so smart. I mean, you were out there. You fought them.”

Walt shrugged and took a sip of cooling coffee. Something she said nagged at him. “Hey, you said you had navsat tactical logs from the fight, right?”

“Yeah.” What remained of her energy seemed to drain away with that one word. Walt cursed himself for the insensitive ass that he was. He’d just asked her about recorded replays of her father’s murder.

“Dell. Ah, hell…I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have asked.”

“It’s okay,” she said. “I’ve been over and over them already. Really, I don’t mind.”

They moved to a console and the lights dimmed automatically when she pulled up the hangar projection. She selected a ship, and oriented the view so that the hologram of Boomer’s Avenger filled the display. No, Walt reminded himself, it wasn’t Boomer’s ship any more. Dell was his heir and—along with his debt—Boomer’s assets now belonged to her.

Dell bypassed the default display of the structural hardpoints and dove into the ship’s systems. Something caught his eye and he stopped her. “Wait, back up.” She did, and Walt stopped the rotating display to look along the undercarriage of the ship. He let out a low whistle.

“That, Walter Rhedd, is a Tarantula GT-870 Mk3.”

“I know what it is. But where did you get it?”

“Remember those pirates that gave us so much trouble in Oberon? I pulled it before we sold the salvage.”

He certainly did remember, and the bastards had kicked the crap out of two of their ships with their Tarantulas. “How’d you get it mounted on an Avenger?”

“Hammer therapy,” she said. He gave her a confused look, and she held up one arm, curling it to make a muscle. “I beat the hell out of it until it did what I wanted.”

“Damn, girl.”

“Did you want to see the flight recorder?”

They watched the navsat replays together in silence. It looked like one hell of a fight. Chaotic. Frantic. The Rhedd Alert fighters were hard pressed.

Jazza had moments of tactical brilliance. As much as she rubbed him the wrong way, Walt had to admit that she made her Cutlass dance steps for which it wasn’t designed. Gavin orchestrated a coherent strategy and had committed extra fighters to drive off the attack. Something was wrong, though. Something about the fight didn’t make sense.

Walt had Dell replay the scene so he could focus on the marauders. It didn’t look like much of a fight at all from that perspective. It looked more like a game and only one team understood how all the pieces moved. The Hornets flew to disrupt, to confuse. They knew Gavin would send a force forward to protect the transport. He’d done it every time they had met.

“See that?” he said. “They break apart there and get called immediately back into formation. They never leave a flank exposed. Our guys never get a real opening.” He pointed out one of the attacking Hornets. “That one calls the shots.”

“That’s the one that OK’d Boomer.”

Reds and greens from the navsat display sparkled in Dell’s eyes. Her voice was emotionless and flat. Walt didn’t want to see her like that, so he focused again on the display.

The marauder he’d identified as the leader broke from the melee. Gavin gave chase, but from too far behind. Boomer intercepted, was disabled, and his PRB flashed red on the display. The Hornet took a pass at the transport before turning to rejoin its squad. Then it decelerated, pausing before the overkill on Boomer.

“Why take only one pass at the transport? They’ve hit us, what? Six times? Seven? And once they finally get a shot at the target, they bug out?”

“You said, ‘us’,” Dell teased. “You back to stay?”

Walt huffed a small laugh. “We’ll see.”

“We’ve been lucky,” Dell offered in answer to his question. “So far, we’ve chased them off.”

“You really believe that? They had this fight won if they wanted it. And how do they keep finding us? It’s like they’ve taken up permanent residence in our damned flight path.”

That was it. He had it. The revelation must have shown on his face.

“What?” Dell asked. “What is it?”

“Back it up to the strafe on the Aquila.”

Dell did, and they watched it again. He felt like an ass for making her watch the murder of her father over again, but he had to be sure of what he saw.

And there it was. Strafe. Turn. Pause. A decision to commit. An escalating act of brutality. And then they were gone.

“She’s not after the transport at all. We were her target this whole time.”

“Wait,” Dell said, “what she? Her who?”

“Please tell me your ex hasn’t drunk himself out of a job with the Navy.”

“Barry? Of course not, why?”

“Because I just figured out who killed your father.”

Morgan Brock called the meeting to a close and dismissed her admin team. Riebeld caught her eye and lifted one hand off the table—a request for her to stay while the others shuffled out of the conference room.

Riebeld kept her waiting until they were alone, and then stood to close the door.

“I take it,” Brock said, “that our Tyrol problem persists despite the escalation?”

“I got word during the meeting”—he took a seat beside her at the table, voice pitched low—“that they should be making the jump to Nexus soon.”

“Our discreet pilots? Are they deployed or here at the station?”

His answer was slow in coming, his nod reluctant. “They are here.”

Brock checked the time. Did some mental math. “Disguise the ships. We will leave at 1700 and meet them in Charon just inside the gate from Min.”

“Morgan,” Riebeld’s eyes roamed the room, “these guys aren’t taking the hint. I don’t know what losses we have to hand them before they back down, but…I don’t know. Part of doing business is losing bids, am I right?” She didn’t disagree and he continued. “Maybe…Maybe we ought to write this one off?”

“A comfortable position to hold in your seat, Riebeld. Your commission is based on the contract value. I barely turned a profit on that job for years. I did it willingly, with the expected reward of windfall profits when traffic to Haven surges.”

“I get that,” he said. “I really do. But at some point we have to call it a loss and focus on the next thing, right?”

“Then suppose that we let the Tyrol job go, and Greely and Navy SysCom see what they want to see from boutique contractors. I can already imagine anti-establishment politicians pushing for more outsourced work. Hell, they will probably promise contracts to buy votes in their home systems.”

She watched him squirm. It wasn’t like him to wrestle with his conscience. Frankly, she was disappointed to learn that he’d found one.

“If Rhedd Alert won’t withdraw willingly,” she said, “then they will have to fail the hard way. Prep the ships, Riebeld. We have done very well together, you and I. You should know that I won’t back away from what is mine.” He seemed to appreciate her sincerity, but Brock wanted to hear the cocksure salesman say it. “Are we clear?”

“Yes, ma’am,” Riebeld swallowed and stood. “Perfectly clear.”

“Any luck?” Walt pulled up Barry’s record in his mobiGlas and hit connect.

Dell sat at the hangar console trying to reach Gavin and the team. Her brow furrowed in a grimace and she shook her head.

“Damn. Okay, keep trying.”

Barry connected. The accountant wore his uniform. He was on duty, wherever he was, and his projected face looked genuinely mournful. “Hey,” he said, “long time no see, man. Listen, I can’t tell you how sad I am about Boomer.”

“Thanks.” Barry had known Dell and Boomer for most his life. He’d probably been torn between attending the service and allowing the family to grieve in privacy. Regardless, commiseration would have to wait. “We need your help, Barry. Please tell me that you have access to the proposals for the Tyrol contract.”

“Of course I do. And who’s we? Are you back with Dell and Gavin?”

“I am,” he felt Dell’s eyes on him when he said it. “Anyway, we need a favor. I need to know the ship models and configurations proposed by the incumbent.”

“Morgan Brock’s outfit, sure. No can do on the ship data, though. That information is all confidential. Only the price proposals are available for public review, and those only during the protest period.”

“Come on, Barry. We’re not talking trade secrets here. I could figure this out with a fly-by of their hangar in Kilian. I just don’t have time for that. I need to know what ships those guys fly.”

Barry breathed out a heavy sigh, “Hold on. But I can’t send you the proposals, okay? You guys are already on thin ice with this contract as is.”

“Tell me about it. And thanks, I owe you huge for this.”

Walt waited, throat dry. He scratched at a chipped edge on his worn mobiGlas with a fingernail.

“All right,” Barry read from something off-screen, “it looks like they’re flying a variety of Hornets. Specifically, F7As. I can send you a list of the proposed hardpoints, and I happen to know that Brock herself flies a Super Hornet.”

The mobiGlas shook on Walt’s wrist. His face felt hot, and he forced his jaw to relax. “Barry, if you have any pull with the Navy, get some ships to Tyrol. It’s been Brock this whole time. She’s been setting us up to fail. And she’s the bitch that OK’d Boomer.”

“I’m going, Walt. That’s final.”

Walt rubbed at his eyes with the flat part of his fingers. How did Gavin ever win an argument her? Forbidding her involvement was a lost cause. Maybe he could reason with her. “Listen. When’s the last time you were even in a cockpit?”

“I know this ship. I was practically born in these things.”

“Dell—”

She threw his helmet at him. He caught it awkwardly, and she had shed her coveralls and was wriggling into her flight suit before he could finish his thought. She stared at him with hard eyes and said, “Suit up if you don’t want to get left behind.”

Dell was as implacable as gravity. Fine. It was her funeral, and he realized there was no way his brother had ever won an argument with her.

They finished prepping in silence. Walt pulled the chocks on her Avenger when she climbed up into the cockpit. He gave the hulking muzzle of the Tarantula an appreciative pat. “You have ammo for this bad boy?”

“I have a little.”

“Good,” he smiled. “Let’s hope Brock isn’t ready to handle reinforcements.”

Walt mulled that thought over. It was true that Gavin had split their team in each fight, but Rhedd Alert had never sent in reserves. Each engagement had been a fair and straightforward fight. Brock wasn’t likely to know anything about their resources, however limited, beyond the escort team. That could work to their advantage.

In fact, “Hey, Dell. Hop out for a tick, will you?”

“Like hell I will.” The look she shot down at him was pure challenge. “I said I’m going and that’s that.”

“Oh, no. I’ve already lost that fight. But you and your cannon here got me thinking about those pirates in Oberon. Tell me, did we ever find a buyer for that old Idris hull?”

“No. It’s buoyed in storage outside the station, why?”

Dell looked at him skeptically and he grinned. “We’re going to introduce these military-types to some ol’ smugglers’ tricks.”

Gavin held the team at the edge of the jump gate between Min and Charon. “All right gang, listen up. You know the drill and what might be waiting for us on the other side. Jazza, I want you and Rahul up on point for this jump. I’ll bring the Cassiopeia over after you and the rest of the team are in. Anyone not ready to jump?”

His team was silent as they arranged themselves into position with professional precision. The pilot aboard the Cassiopeia sounded the ready and Gavin sent Jazza through. The others were hard on her heels, and Gavin felt the always-peculiar drop through the mouth of the jump gate.

Light and sound stretched, dragging him across the interspace. Another drop, a moment’s disorientation, and then Charon space resolved around him.

Without warning, Mei’s fighter flashed past his forward screen. Incandescent laser fire slashed along the ghost grey and fire-alarm red ship, crippling Mei’s shields and shearing away sections of armored hull. Mei fired back at a trio of maddeningly familiar Hornets in a tight triangular formation.

Jazza barked orders. “Mei. Rahul. Flank Gavin and get the Cassiopeia out of here. Gavin, you copy that? You have the package.”

He shook his head, willing the post-jump disorientation away. He didn’t remember bringing up his shields, but they flashed on his HUD and his weapon systems were armed.

“Copy that.” Gavin switched to the transport channel, “Cassiopeia. Let’s get you folks out of here.”

The crew onboard the UEE transport didn’t need any more encouragement. Gavin accelerated to keep pace with the larger ship as two Rhedd Alert fighters dropped into position above and below him. Together, they raced toward the jump gate to Tyrol.

The Hornets wheeled and dropped toward them from one side. Gavin’s HUD lit up with alerts as Jazza sent a pair of rockets dangerously close over his head to blast into one of the attacking ships. Her ship screamed by overhead, but the Hornets stayed in pursuit of the fleeing transport.

Alarms sounded. They needed more firepower on the Hornets to give the Cassiopeia time to get clear. He yelled a course heading, and the Cassiopeia dove with Mei and Rahul on either flank.

Gavin pulled up, turned and fired to pull the attention of the attackers. He spun, taking the brunt of their return fire on his stronger starboard shields.

The impact shook the Cutlass violently, and his shield integrity bar sagged into the red. Gavin turned, took another wild shot with his lasers, and accelerated away from the Cassiopeia with the Hornets in close pursuit.

Navsat data from the Min jump gate crept onto the edge of Walt’s HUD. Several seconds and thousands of kilometers later, the first of the embattled starships winked onto the display. His brother and the Rhedd Alert team were hard-pressed.

Walt watched Brock and her crew circle and strike, corralling the Rhedd Alert ships. Gavin tried to lead the attackers away, but Brock wouldn’t bite. By keeping the fight centered on the UEE transport, she essentially held the transport hostage.

Time to even the odds.

Jazza tore into one of the Hornets. Walt saw the enemy fighter’s superior shields absorb the impact. He marked that Hornet as his target, preparing to strike before its defenses recharged.

He killed his primary drive and spun end to end, slashing backward through the melee like a blazing comet. His targeting system locked onto the enemy Hornet, and his heavy Broadsword laser cut into it in a burst of flame.

Mei’s battered fighter dove through the streaming wreckage, but the Super Hornet, presumably Brock, waited for her on the other side. A blast from her neutron gun tore through the Rhedd Alert ship. Mei ejected safely, but their team was down a ship.

“Gods,” Gavin’s voice was frantic. “Get the hell out of here, Walt. Form up with the transport and get them away from the fight.”

Walt ignored him. He came around for another pass and triggered his mic to an open-area channel. “The game’s up, Brock.”

His words cut across the thrust and wheel of close combat, and for a moment the fighters on all sides flew in quiet patterns above the fleeing Cassiopeia.

“You know,” Walt said, “if you wanted us to believe you were after the transport, you should have saved your big guns for the Cassiopeia instead of overkilling our friend.”

“I suppose I should be disappointed that you have found me out,” Brock’s voice was a pinched sneer, and every bit as cold and hard as Gavin had described. “On the other hand, I’m glad you’ve shared this with me. I might have been content disabling the majority of your so-called fleet. Now, it seems that I will have to be more thorough.”

She fired, he dodged, and the fight was on again in earnest. Walt switched his comms to Rhedd Alert’s squad channel. “Brock was never after the Cassiopeia, Gav. She’s been after us.”

“Maybe I’m a little distracted by all the missiles and the neutron cannon, but I’m failing to see how that is at all relevant right now.”

“We’re no match for the tech in her ships. If she goes after the transport, they’re toast.” He rolled into position next to Gavin. Together, they nosed down to strafe at a Hornet from above.

“Great,” Gavin said, “then why did you tip her off?”

Walt suppressed a wicked grin. “Because,” he said, “she can’t afford to let any of us get away, either.”

“If you have any brilliant ideas, spit ’em out. I’m all ears.”

“Run with me.” For all Walt knew, Brock could hear every word they were saying. She would tear them apart if they stayed. He had to get Gavin to follow him. “Run with me, Gavin.”

“Damn it, Walt! If you came to help, then help. I’ve got a pilot down, and I’m not leaving her here to get OK’d like Boomer.”

“This ain’t about doing the easy thing, Gav. Someone I truly admire once told me that this game is all about trust. So you ask yourself…do you trust me?”

Gavin growled his name then, dragging out the word in a bitter, internal struggle. The weight of it made Walt’s throat constrict. Despite all of their arguments, Boomer’s death and his own desertion when things got hard—in spite of all of that—his brother still wanted to trust him.

“Trust me, Gavin.”

Brock and her wingman swept low, diving to corral the Cassiopeia and its escorts. Jazza redirected them with a blazing torrent of laser fire and got rocked by the neutron cannon in return. The shields around her battered Cutlass flashed, dimmed and then failed.

Walt gritted his teeth. It was now or never.

“Jazz,” Gavin’s voice sounded hard and sharp, “rally with the Cassiopeia and make a break for it.”

Walt pumped his fist and accelerated back the way he’d come in.

“Walt,” Gavin sounded angry enough to eat nails, but he followed, “I’m on your six. Let’s go, people! Move like you’ve got a purpose.”

Walt pulled up a set of coordinate presets and streaked away with Gavin close behind him. The two remaining Hornets split, with Brock falling in behind Gavin to give pursuit. Even together he and Gavin didn’t have much chance of getting past her superior shields. Instead, he set a straight course for the waypoint marked at the edge of his display. When incoming fire from Brock drove them off course, he corrected to put them directly back in line with the mark.

Brock was gaining. Gavin’s icon flashed on his display. She was close enough to hit reliably with her repeaters. As they approached the preset coordinates, Walt spotted a rippling distortion of winking starlight. Correcting his course slightly, he headed straight for it. Gavin and Brock were hard behind him.

“Come on,” Walt whispered, “stay close.”

On the squad display, he saw Gavin’s shield integrity dropped yet again. Brock was scoring more frequent hits.

“A little farther.”

Walt focused on the rippling of starlight ahead, a dark patch of space that swallowed Charon’s stars. He made a slight course correction and Gavin matched it. Together, they continued their breakneck flight from Brock’s deadly onslaught.

The small patch of dark space grew as the three ships streaked forward. Walt opened the squad channel on his mic and shouted, “Now!”

On his HUD, a new ship flared onto the display. It appeared to materialize nearly on top of them as Dell’s Avenger dropped from her hiding place inside the blackened hull of the derelict Idris.

Walt punched his thrusters. The lift pressed him into his seat as he pushed up and over their trap. He heard Dell shouting over the squad channel, and he turned, straining to see behind him. Bright flashes from Brock’s muzzles accompanied a horrible pounding thunder. Dell had left her mic open and it sounded like the massive gun was threatening to tear her ship apart.

“Heads up, Gav!”

Dell’s voice hit Gavin like a physical blow.

He saw his brother climb and suddenly disappear behind an empty, starless expanse. Then Boomer’s Avenger materialized from within that blackness, and Gavin knew that his wife was inside the cockpit. She was with him, out in the black where veteran pilots outgunned them.

His body reacted where his mind could not. He shoved down, hard. Thrusters strained as he instinctively tried to avoid colliding with her. A brilliant pulse like flashes of lightning accompanied a jarring thunder of sound.

Gavin forced his battered ship to turn. The Cutlass shuddered from the stress, and Gavin was pressed into the side of the cockpit as the nose of his ship came around.

He saw the first heavy round strike Brock. The combined force of the shell and her momentum shredded her forward shields. Then round after round tore through the nose of Brock’s ship until the air ignited inside.

“Dell”—the flaming Hornet tumbled toward his wife like an enormous hatchet—“look out!”

Brock ejected.

Dell thrust to one side, but the Hornet chopped into the hull where she had hidden. The explosion sent ships and debris spinning apart in all directions.

“Dell!”

He swept around to intercept her spinning ship. Walt beat him there. Thrusters firing in tightly controlled movements, Walt caught her Avenger, slowed it and stopped the spin.

Gavin rolled to put himself cockpit to cockpit with his wife.

“Dell?”

She sat in stillness at the controls, her head down and turned to one side.

“Come on, baby. Talk to me.”

She moved.

With the slow deliberateness of depressurized space, she rolled her head on her shoulders. When she looked up, their eyes met. Dell gave him a slow smile and a thumbs-up. He swallowed hard, and with one hand pressed to his heart, he shut his eyes silently in thanks.

Gavin spun his Cutlass and thrust over to where Brock floated nearby, his weapons systems still hot. He paused then, looming above her as she had hesitated over Boomer.

Her comms where still active. “What now, Rhedd?”

He remembered her from the meeting with Greely. Tall, lean and crisp. She seemed small now, drifting not more than a meter away from the battle-scarred nose of his Cutlass.

“Gavin?” Dell’s voice sounded small after the ruckus of the fight.

Walt eased into view alongside him. His voice was low and calm, “Easy, buddy. We weren’t raised to OK pilots.”

“She’s not worth it,” Dell said.

Brock snarled, “Do it already.”

He had studied Brock’s reports for months. She had more ships and more pilots than he could ever imagine employing. What drove her to harass them and kill one of his crew for this job?

“I just want to know why,” he asked. “You’ve got other contracts. You’ve probably made more money than any of us will see in our lives. Why come after us?”

He held Brock’s eye, the lights from the Cutlass reflecting from her visor.

“Why?” she repeated. “Look around you, Rhedd. There’s no law in these systems. All that matters here is courage to take what you want, and a willingness to sacrifice to keep it.”

“You want to talk sacrifice?” he said. “That pilot you killed was family.”

“You put him in harm’s way,” she said, “not me. What little order exists in these systems is what I brought with me. I carved my success from nothing. You independents are thieves. You’re like rodents, nibbling at the edges of others’ success.”

“I was a thief,” he said, “and a smuggler. But we’re building our own success, and next time you and I meet with the Navy,” Gavin fired his thrusters just enough to punch Brock with the nose of his ship, “it’ll be in a courtroom.”

She spun and tumbled as she flew, growing smaller and smaller until the PRB on his HUD was all he could see.

A pair of Retaliators with naval designations were moored outside the Rhedd Alert hangar when Gavin and the crew finally limped back to Vista Landing.

Crew aboard the Cassiopeia had insisted on helping with medical care and recovery after the fight. The team scheduled for pick-up at Haven was similarly adamant that Rhedd Alert take care of their own before continuing. Technically, no one had checked with Navy SysCom.

Did the Navy fire contractors face to face? For all he knew, they did.

Gavin saw to the staging of their damaged ships while the others hurried the wounded deeper into Vista Landing. When he’d finished, he exchanged a quick nod with Barry Lidst who stood at ease behind Major Greely.

“Major,” Gavin held out his hand, “I assume someone would have told me already if I was fired.”

His hand disappeared in the major’s massive paw. “I suppose they would have, at that.”

“Then to what do we owe the honor?” Dell and Walt joined them, and Gavin made introductions.

“‘I’ first, then ‘we,’” Greely repeated, “I like that, Rhedd. I appreciate a man who accepts consequence personally but insists on sharing accolades with his team. Tell me, son. How’d you get Brock?”

Gavin nudged his wife. With a roguish grin, Dell pulled her arm from around Gavin’s waist and stepped over to pat the Tarantula on her battered Avenger.

“Nice shooting, miss.”

Dell shrugged, “Walt pulled my tags, nav beacon and flight recorder before we left. I was sitting dark inside a decoy when the boys flew her right down the barrel.”

Barry leaned toward Greely and in a completely audible whisper said, “It might be best if we ignore the illegal parts of that.”

Greely waved him off. “This is what the ’verse needs. Men and women with the courage to slap their name up on the side of a hangar. A chance for responsible civilians to create good, honest jobs with real pay for locals. That an ex-military contractor tried to muck that up…”

Gavin and the team got a good, close look at what angry looked like on a Navy officer. It was the kind of scowl that left an impression.

“Anyway,” Greely composed himself, “not a soul in the ’verse would blame you for writing us off as a bit of bad business. I’m here to ask that you stick with it.”

Gavin was reluctant to bring their financial situation up in front of their one paying client, but they were tapped out. Rhedd Alert didn’t have the Cred to buy ammo, much less repair their downed fighters. “Actually, sir. I think we may need to find something a little more lucrative than getting shot up by disgruntled incumbents.”

“About that,” Greely rested his hand on Gavin’s shoulder. He led him to look out one of the large hangar windows at the Retaliators buoyed outside. “My accountant tells me there may be some room to renegotiate certain parts of the Tyrol contract. But that job won’t be enough to keep your team busy now that Brock’s out of the way.”

Gavin laughed. “On that point, I most certainly hope you are right.”

“Well…I’ve got more work for an outfit like yours. I hope you’ll accept, because you folks have surely earned it. Tell me, Rhedd, are you familiar with the Oberon System?”

Behind them, Walt dropped his helmet.