Atea is as cold and stale as the team remembers it. Cowboy doesn't notice - he's too busy trying not to show his extreme nausea at his first Gateway trip. Of the others, only Kang shows any signs of being similarly affected, so it's something you must get used to. Heartened, Cowboy chokes down his rising bile and toughs it out.

Zaef can't help his excitement upon seeing their appropriated manta-ship. The stolen Imperial craft - simultaneously fulfilling the roles of APC, main battle tank, helicopter gunship, and space shuttle - hums pleasantly on its impellers inside the rebel worldship's hangar bay. He's first to the pilot's crasher, with Luis taking the copilot seat. The readouts are green - she's been well-kept. In the passenger compartment, the rest of the mission team stows the crates of weapons and supplies, taking extra care with the Groi Gate-maker "keg" and the associated coffin-sized reactor lozenge.

Davis ends up in the end crasher next to Swims. As he waits for the team to settle and for Zaef to take them out, he idly rubs his wedding ring. It still feels off-kilter on his hand - the intricate Gate glyphs carved by Atean artisans are an unfamiliar sensation.

---

Then

"And so when you see this bird glyph, it's an 'akwhela' and it's like the Imperial mascot. Theories abound on why, but the foremost is that the Groi took birds from here to make explaining flight easier to the first humans." The students nod, but they seem just about as bored as Ngawai knows she is. Still, when Davis and Ngawai insisted she come along to Diego Garcia, the military brass were fine with it, so long as she pulled her own weight around the base. And so that's how the former bounty hunter, survivor of Operation CHECKMATE and now increasingly pregnant Ngawai wound up standing in front of a chalkboard, teaching Imperial culture to a loose collection of military officers and political officials from around the world.

There's a knock on the classroom door, and Davis sticks his head in. "Sorry class, but I need to borrow your teacher for...a few hours. Class dismissed."

Ngawai's questioning eye is overshadowed by the smirks on the students' faces. They waste no time in leaving Davis and Ngawai in an empty classroom.

"A few hours?" Ngawai asks. "What are you up to?"

Davis takes a seat on the 1950's-era sheet metal desk embedded in the corner. "Well, I've been thinking about the wedding."

"So have I," she replies with a smile.

"It's just that between the press tour, negotations with Brinai, my leaders and the Sheen, and now the mission, it just seems like we haven't had time for much of anything, you know?"

"That's not gonna change, though," Ngawai says. "There'll always be something. You know, when I was a little girl I dreamed - like many little girls onSambasan - of this big overblown ceremony, with Keepers and relics and actual flames and everything. But I'd marry you in an alley in front of a junkie, you know that."

Davis smiles. "Well, I was thinking of a way that we could avoid the junkie witness alternative, and so I had an idea." He hops off the desk and walks out into the hallway, then returns with Ngawai's wedding dress, a multi-layered white Imperial design. It took them a while to convince the seamstress-cum-radar tech on Atea to go with all white, but they both thought it was worth it.

Ngawai's eyes glisten as she looks over the handiwork, a unique blend of Imperial style in the decidedly Western white. And architecturally structured to account for her growing belly, Davis sees his fiance silently note (in other words, stretchy-dress).

"I assume the plan is to get hitched before you go off to play with your friends, then?" Ngawai teases gently.

Davis sets the dress down on the desk and kisses her. "It's all set up down on the beach, you know which one," he says with an equally mischievous grin. "Everyone's already down there, I'm gonna go get changed myself, and meet you there in ten minutes. Deal?"

---

Now

+Trajectories are green. We are powering down and flooding cryo in 20 seconds. Maintain your course and velocity.+ The status reports from the Sheen freighters Meatfucker and Aggressive Hegemonizing Swarm are terse laser transmissions. They still give Zaef the chills, though. The machine ships would be shutting down all their systems and killing as much infrared as possible by flooding their systems with coolant. In a void where the slightest spark of energy would give you away, the Sheen's ability to function without traditional life support would theoretically give them the advantage of surprise. Luis checks Zaef's heading and relative velocity. They're doing fine. In just under an hour, they would overtake the Sheen ships just as they dial the Gateway to Whiirr space. The freighters should coast through right behind them and take out the Imperial orbital garrison while the manta would skip down to the lush surface of the planet.

---

Samal Manus regards his plate of mostly Whiirr-grown food with disdain. His Quad of Khiraba are due to head back to Whiirr's surface in a day or two for training. His new Trin, Voroph, Nahan, and Hokros, were working well together, but they had yet to really be put to the test. Manus' two Rav-Turai'i, Iketna and Oros, sit opposite their weather-beaten commanding officer, poking at their food and offering up suggestions for training the nascent Khiraba.

"There's the time-honored 'survive a week on Whiirr whilst naked'," Oros says. He punctuates his unoriginal idea with a bulldog's bark of a laugh.

"Too easy," Iketna disagrees. "And irrelevant. They need a true hunt. A hunt like Aikoro." Iketna shovels another spoonful of avian stew, her thoughts far away. "They need to BE hunted."

Manus smirks. "Not bad. But outfit them with Narsai gear. Let them practice that foul tongue as well, so the Rav-Whetu's lessons do not pass from us." Manus pushes his half-empty plate away from him. "Ugh. Take it, Oros. I've eaten enough of this dirtside. When you're done, get the Quad outfitted. I'll report to the Odun and we'll gather in an hour for drop."

---

Then

"We are gathered here today to join this man and this woman in marriage..." The Diego Garcia base chaplain begins, glancing down at the rather esoteric paragraphs to follow. The sun is low on the horizon, and the tiki torches providing structure to the open-air ceremony flicker and dance in the wind off the beach. Davis, flanked by Swims-the-Black, stands opposite Ngawai (with Arketta taking maid of honor duties with far less surprise than Davis was hoping for). The crowd is small, but it just adds to the intimacy. Davis can't help but think of them all as a family. His family, in a way.

---

Now

The family of three vessels drifts closer to the outbound Gateway. Atea is barely visible on scopes now, and completely out of the Gate's view. Zaef has less than 60 seconds before the portal opens. He knows all he'll see is starfield - no Gateway opens toward a planet - but things could go wrong in a hurry. His fingers dance over his controls, passing through holos and setting his max delta post-transit. The manta's interior rumbles, prompting the complement of warriors within to hold onto their crashers.

Ten seconds now, and no sign of life from the two Sheen freighters. The manta's passing them now. Their infrared and rad signatures read as just background noise. The Gateway itself should provide enough signals cover from the other side.

Luis enters the vox-code for Whiirr. The ancient ring translates the transmission and flares its golden halo. From the other side, defense beamers extend down from the Whiirr gate's enveloping superstructure and track the team's manta.

*Unidentified vehicle, you are attempting to access a restricted system on an unscheduled timetable. Identify yourself or you will be pacified.*

Luis and Zaef look at each other. Here goes nothing.

---

Then

Luis walked the short distance from the buffet set up on the beach to the tables. It was cheap, institutional furniture probably snagged from the mess, but there'd been a decent effort made to disguise it slightly. And of course, the beach view made up somewhat by distracting from looking too hard at the furniture. Not that Luis was looking much at anything. He was too busy thinking as his feet found their way on autopilot.

"No, Self, I've thought about this. It's not worth it."

"Yes, it is. The dress looked good. That's all you have to say."

"No, I can't. I can't. We're about to ship out."

"Yeah, and there was no privacy on the Needleships. And then on the road trip you didn't want to make it awkward if she said no. And after the dinner you were so damn caught up in her saying she appreciated you that you forgot to say anything."

"Yes, but..."

"Never mind. You're at her table. If you're not going to say it, at least don't make a fool of yourself while not saying it."

Luis snaps himself out of it. After months of hanging out while on the Needleships and then on the road trip before, his feet had instinctively guided him to the table Arketta was sitting at. He winces slightly, and tries to sync himself back into the moment. "Hey Arketta. You looked..."

"Beautiful? Stunning?"

"...Great up there."

Arketta looks up from her drink and smiles. "Thank you." Her expression could be described as 'expectant', or maybe 'quizzical' if one was less optimistic.

Luis indicates an open chair and asks, "Do you mind?" Arketta awkwardly slides the chair on the sand but gets it to where Luis can sit.

"Thanks," Luis says, and sits down, setting down his plate of cake.

"For God's sake, you could have said something. You can handle C4 and cauterize a spurting artery in the middle of shootout, but you can't tell a woman she's pretty without breaking a sweat?"

"Look, it'd just be awkward and..."

"Yes, yes, and fraternization and that's a no-no. Eat the damn cake."

Luis' hand automatically cuts off a chunk of the corner with his fork, and moves it to his mouth.

"Good cake."

"Stop changing the subject. Even the angle beast knew which buttons to push. It wanted to guilt trip you; it threatened her."

"No, that was just it..."

"Messing with your mind. You think it didn't know exactly what it was doing? Even implacable alien evils can see it. You think she can't?"

"I can't do anything. We're about to ship for Whirr."

The other voice almost softens. Almost. "Yes, and you don't want her to get hurt? Because then the angle beast will be right."

"She's not going to die first. Not if I can stop it."

"So get her to stay home. Stay safe."

"No, I can't."

"No, because you'd have to tell her why. You'd have to say what you can't tell her."

"No, it's because we need her on this mission, and she wouldn't stay anyway, and..."

"And you couldn't do without her."

"..."

The voice gets sarcastic again. "Oh, for God's sake. You could at least say it in your brain."

"Say what?"

"Look, I'm just saying, say it in here. Not like she can hear it here."

"Shut up."

"Okay, fine. I'm just doing this for you. I mean, I am you."

"You know what? Fuck you."

"Do it anyway."

"Arketta, you looked beautiful up there. You want to get a drink some time?"

She looks over at Luis, glances at the drink in her hand, then at Luis' drink on the table. She laughs a little but nods sagely. "Luis?" He snaps back to reality for the second time in as many minutes. "I'd love to get a drink with you sometime, but I don't think we'll have a chance to anytime soon."

Luis feels his heart plummet from his throat to somewhere around the bottom of his gut.

Then Arketta leans up next to the flustered soldier. "But right now's pretty good for me. Maybe in my cabin, in five minutes."

"See how easy that was?"

"...That last bit was... was..."

"Out loud? Yeah. I made your bed, now you sleep in it."

---

Now

Odun Karketta peers over the technicae's holos. "An unscheduled drop?"

"Their codes check out, sir," the tech replies. "I was about to clear them. Still waiting on their point of origin to resolve."

"It could be a rebel trick," Manus interrupts. Karketta, the garrison's commander, whips around, his eyes searching for the interloping Khiraba.

"It's one manta," the Odun replies. "And you have your drop clearance. Shouldn't you be meddling with the beasts downstairs instead of prancing about with your betters?" Then, to the techs: "Clear them but hold them for a full scan." Karketta watches the veteran Imperial manhunter leave before muttering, "What kind of fool does that scrofa take me for?"

---

Then

"Do you, Garrett Davis, take Ngawai Lea Holoni to be your lawfully wedded wife?"

Davis looks into Ngawai's eyes, and sees his future. He sees himself running through the Whirr gateway to embrace his now very pregnant wife. He sees himself and Ngawai carrying their daughter through the halls of Atea to meet their Bashakran friends before the two of them depart for another battle on an Imperial world. He sees the two of them advancing back-to-back through a war-torn city, each willing to lay down their life for the other. He sees himself teaching their daughter how to spot a liar, and on their rare downtime, camping trips to Aikoro, Ngawai and himself alone in each other's arms under the stars as Naloni sleeps in the collapsible shelter. He sees the two of them watching tearfully as Naloni leaves them to follow in her parents' footsteps, and he sees Ngawai and himself in combat, fighting alongside their daughter as a unit and as a family.

"I do."

---

Now

"Two more contacts! Code 8!" The frenzied technicae nearly blur with motion as they react to the two lifeless hulks passing ass-first through the Gateway.

"It's a trap!" Karketta shouts. "Abort the gate! Abort the-"

+Blood for the Prime!+ stains the garrison's comm readouts as the two freighters fire their cruise engines, arresting their relative velocity and compressing tortured bulkheads within the old junkers. The garrison's reaction is quick - the auto-beamers lance deadly energies down into the Meatfucker and Swarm - but the two stricken freighters are already breaking apart into scores of pieces flying with murderous purpose towards the garrison habitats. The manta's displays erupt into a supernova of light as the Gate's defenses try to shoot down the incoming projectiles. A few scattered pulses arc back at the gun-towers from the Aggressive Hegemonizing Swarm's remaining weapons but they serve as nothing more than a distraction. Zaef spots a lifepod shunt from the garrison; a moment later what he thought was just one of the spiraling debris pieces twists and follows the escaping Imperials like a hungry shark. The Sheen that catches the pod broadcasts the hapless passengers' screams over open vox, at least while the air in the lifepod allows for screams.

Inside the manta, the team is buffeted by gees as Zaef takes the Imperial shuttle in an ever-faster arc down and away from the Gateway. Even Luis, who has done his share of dodging hostile fire, has to hang on. Red strobes flash in the passenger compartment, warning of a messy death by acceleration should one leave their crasher. Killdrones, ripple-fired from the garrison batteries, create radiation pulses lethal to man and machine alike in the point-blank orbital battle. Zaef spins the manta top-down to grab a quick glance at Whiir, then pulls up, diving down towards the planet, away from the furball raging behind them.

---

The barrage of writhing projectiles comprising the Meatfucker slam into the garrison's command module and primary umbilicals. Several Sheen pierce completely through the hull and tumble silently into the black, no reaction mass left to reverse their course. Many more are incinerated by the point defense emplacements that ring the Gateway. More still are fatally scrambled by killdrone rad-pulses. Only one is lucky and accurate enough to penetrate all the way into the armored command core. Odun Karketta's frantic commands are cut short as a black, beam-burnt obelisk plows through the front rank of technicae. The Sheen cybershell instantly transfers its consciousness to the penetrator's cargo, which sheds the protective obelisk in time to snatch Karketta out of the sudden hurricane of escaping atmosphere with a toothed manipulator. The machine's claws pierce flesh and grate against Karketta's ribs. The Sheen that emerges is built for boarding actions; heavily armored, with four radial limbs and a cluster of weapon manipulators at its primary dome. It manages to whip a second limb around to grab one of the technicae desperately clinging to a console handhold. The Sheen joyously slams the tech's head into the console like it's cracking an egg. Karketta's pinned to the command center's inner hull, held fast by the Sheen, not allowed to be sucked from the garrison but not murdered outright.

The Odun's fading terror crackles in Manus' helmet feeds. He checks the biomonitors of his Quad and grabs Varoph by the large Hedion native's pauldrons. Manus pushes his faceplate up to the scared young Khiraba, letting the physical contact carry his voice better than any vox channel:

"Mind games, soldier! Fear is for our prey, not us! Get past it and get your head in the fight! On me, now!"

Varoph nods, takes both beamer and spear, and falls in with his Quad-mates. The Khiraba were already in the armory when the Sheen attacked; it was a simple matter to regroup and rearm to face this ambush. The few scramblers the Whiirr garrison had were near-relics, manually charged by a cocking lever. Manus cradles his with his left hand as he waves his men into the hangar access corridor. A few of the garrison's other personnel spot the Khiraba and follow, their skinsuits dangerously fragile compared to the carapaces worn by the Imperial warriors. Atmosphere was in the red, superstructure had taken major damage, but the garrison's weapons were still firing. Haris grins under his visor. The defenses would be firing at everything at this point. If they made it to a transport, he'd likely get to show off a little in front of his commander.

A sudden a spiral of crimson, a flash of movement draws the escapees' attention. The garrison armorer... Firstdamn it, Manus couldn't remember his name... buckles under a fusillade of accelerator rounds fired from an adjacent corridor. A Sheen abomination, all legs and blades and blazing scarlet optics, rebounds off the dying armorer and aims a barrel straight at Manus. The old Samal brings up his scrambler but he's knocked into the far wall as the machine's weapon whumps. Manus spins to see who hit him out of the Sheen's path - Varoph staggers back, clutching at the hole in his upper torso. Manus turns back towards the Sheen, which even now is wilting under a wave of beamer and scrambler fire. Varoph shudders in time with a smaller whump, then falls to the deck in a heap. His torso compresses in a way that should not possible for something that was still solid, and blood begins pouring from the hole in his armor.

---

+Hostile reaction time is 23% higher than our predictions. Boarding phase attrition is at unacceptable levels.+

+Get some! Get some! Eat it, motherfuckers!+

+Meatbags are going for the hangar. I'm on my third shell, I need backup at coordinates 65-sskkkkkzzzk+

+M-M-M-MONSTER KILL!!! Hahahaha!!! That's my ninth decapitation, Swarm-7... what're you up to? 7? Respond?+

---

"Haris, get us OUT of here!" Iketna shouts from the manta's access hatch. Her beamer's expended fuel rod glows white-hot on the deck alongside handfuls of smoking metal cartridges, all ejected from the Rav-Turai's Narsai-style secondary weapon. One of the Quad's tagalongs, some Expansion official in a meager skinsuit, fires from the other hatch, screaming along with his stinger. Haris fires the manta's engines just in time to avoid a leaping Sheen warform; the machine is fast enough to grasp the manta's rear stabilizer but the shift in inertia is too much and it slides across the hangar. It suddenly changes targets and sprints like a kid at Christmas for a new group of evacuees running for a shuttle. Haris shouts in exultation when the manta clears the garrison bay doors.

"There was an incoming manta on the scopes when I was getting our drop clearance," Manus tells Haris. "Those abominations followed it through, and it wouldn't have stuck around for the fight, not with that much heat. Find me that ship, Haris. Toa, vox our situation to anyone who's listening. The abominations will have our comms soon enough, so don't worry about encryption."

It doesn't take the pilot long. There are only a few mantas in the skies that aren't taking the fast, unguided way down, courtesy of the Sheen. Of those, only one has anything resembling a calm, controlled reentry.

"That one, sir," Haris says, tapping out an intercept route. "Do you want me to take us down?"

---

Then

"Do you, Ngawai Lea Holoni, take Garrett Davis to be your lawfully wedded husband?"

Ngawai looks at the pile of combustibles built for an earlier part of the ceremony, then back to Davis. She sees them advancing on Turai encampments side by side. She sees interrogations interspersed with tender moments snatched from this terrible collision of worlds. She sees their daughter plunging her first practice knife into the padded dummy. She sees birthday cake, and Christmas presents, and driving lessons. She sees them growing old, tireless soldiers in an endless war extended by time dilation, forever protecting each other.

"I do."

---

Now

Luis's smile at their blockade running turns upside down. There's a second manta up there and it's definitely on an intercept course. Zaef's starting to skip off Whiirr's upper atmosphere, which doesn't make the best place for an accurate sensor reading, nor does it make it easy to decipher any of the vox-soup being spammed throughout Whiirr local space, but the Delta sergeant would swear that second manta was trying to get weapons lock. He shouts for Semo; they'd need all the gunnery experience they could get.

Then:

Angel stood comfortably on the beach, enjoying the sun, the company, and the wedding. They made a good couple, the spook and the bounty hunter. And he was bored out of his everliving mind.

Cake was eaten, Davis' hand shook, and the proper and respectful time making small talk before heading out.


Now:

Angel is uncomfortably aware, strapped in as he is, that now is the enemy's best - and arguably only - chance to end his life without him being able to do a damned thing about it.

Failing to fully rewrite the words to 'Halls of Montezuma' to feature 'Terran Space Marines...' he resorts to the next best thing. Maybe it'll keep Cowboy from puking all over his boots.

"He was just a rookie trooper and he surely shook with fright
He checked off his equipment and made sure his pack was tight;
He had to sit and listen to those awful engines roar,
"You ain't gonna jump no more!"

Gory, gory, what a helluva way to die..."

Then:

That's an interesting shade on Swims, Hugh thinks, watching the large Wherren's fur as Davis and Ngawai make their vows. Hugh's eyes wander over the congregation, and he sees a lot of the same in the faces of the guests: happy but weary.

Hugh looks to the surf, spotting another one of those big crabs that are all over the beach. It seems to be beelining for the catering tables. Probably the right idea, Hugh thinks, but I gotta be first to another line. He's wearing his old set of dress greens - but now with the Airborne patch sown onto the sleeve. A nice, factory-new set of dress blues hangs in his quarters, still in the delivery plastic sheeting.

Yes, yes, formality, new authorized wear, bla bla bla. You go up to Hugh and tell him that a properly starched green Class A and his new maroon beret don't look snazzy as hell.

Now:

Hell, you're Airborne now, sing it like you mean it, Hugh thinks to himself, and joins Angel.

"'Is everybody happy?' cried the Sergeant looking up,
Our Hero feebly answered 'Yes,' and then they stood him up;
He jumped into the icy blast, his static line unhooked,
And he ain't gonna jump no more!

Gory, gory, what a helluva way to die..."

Now:

Cowboy holds back the upchuck, remembering his extensive training and that time in Kandahar where the Little Bird he was clipped into had to make a sudden, yet unfortunate multiple-G turn to avoid an RPG.

Still got the scar on my chin where my jaw slammed into the fuselage.

Then:

DeFranco was never the marrying type nor the kind that went to such things. He saw too many stupid kids in the Service get married for stupid reasons, having to send too many dogtags home to their widows.

No, he'd rather spend these rare off-duty moments at a bar getting drinking top-shelf booze while watching AFN's feed of last night's ball game.

Yep. Redskins still suck. I see not much has changed. Hey, that waitress ain't half bad. At least she has all her teeth...

Now:

"The risers swung around his neck, connectors cracked his dome,
Suspension lines were tied in knots around his skinny bones;
The canopy became his shroud; he hurtled to the ground.
And he ain't gonna jump no more!"

Luis, grinning at their success and the singing in the back, is about to lean over and comment to Zaef when he sees something else in the air out of the corner of his eye. "Manta incoming!," he cries out almost before his brain catches up. Zaef winces as the co-pilot yells in his ear. He takes a look, and sure enough, he's right. There's a manta inbound on an intercept course.

"You don't need to shout, kid. Help me pull her out of atmo, and get the gunner ready. We're gonna show them who rules the skies."

Luis nods. "Semo," he calls back, "take the weapons!" He glances at the controls, checking his mental picture, and asks, "So, what's the move?"

Zaef's fingers fly across the controls, a grin forming on his face. "I'm going to flip the ship around, gun it for a few seconds to kill the speed. I need you to get the nose into targeting position. Pitch 180 degrees, positive."

Luis nods, "Ready when you are. Semo, stand by with the killdrones."

It happens fast. In the passenger compartment, Specialist Kang is still singing, "He hit the ground, the sound was "Splat," his blood went spu-"

Zaef flips the manta over. Even through the crashers' dampeners you get tunnel vision. A heartbeat later, the finger of God presses you back against the not-nearly-soft-enough seats for what seems like an eternity. The manta's cruise engines are deafening, even in the thin atmo.

Up front, Luis strains against the impellers, trying to get the bucking shuttle lined up on the ever-so-quickly approaching flattened wedge that is the hostile manta. For a split-second, both mantas are face-to-face. Semo doesn't have time for a weapons lock. He fires the accelerator.

---

On the other manta, Haris shouts a warning as his prey flips and burns. He reflexively adjusts his trajectory to avoid a collision; his Samal curses as he loses weapons lock. Both combatants are in mantas; Manus doesn't dare fire a killdrone with nothing but visual feeds lest a missed shot boomerang back to the firer.

The Khiraba manta's passengers have far larger problems than a missed shot. Manus' Quad had rescued eight garrison personnel on their way out of the doomed orbital. Of these eight, the Truthseeker was secure in its encounter suit sconce. Four more were fortunate enough to end up in crash couches. Haris isn't even thinking of the loose human cargo 3 meters behind him. All he knows is that if he doesn't pull out every trick he's got, the other guy is going to get on his tail and take them all out. The Khiraba pilot rolls the manta into a sharp banking turn - more of a fishtail really - and gooses the cruise engines, trying to gain altitude. Three heavy whumps from the passenger section are followed by screams.

A hastily-fired accelerator shot whips past on Haris' cockpit feeds. That was too close for comfort.

---

Semo's first shot misses as the enemy manta breaks right, flashes past them, and starts a second attack run.

Fast as he can, Zaef flips the ship around again and attempts to bring the nose to bear on the enemy.

(OOC: I'm gonna burn some WD here to prevent being caught with our pants down.)

Zaef lets Whiirr's gravity take the manta and spins the nose towards the hostile ship. The enemy pilot rolls and dives; Zaef follows him but he's twisted the manta so it's hitting atmosphere flat-on. The wind resistance hammers the craft and Zaef's forced to dive after his quarry lest they loop back with better speed and altitude.

Just because neither pilot can line up a killdrone doesn't mean the mantas don't have other weapons. Streaks of automatic beam-fire dance between the furious twin ships as they slam and spin through the increasingly-thicker atmosphere. Semo takes the few accelerator shots he's given, but there's no time for proper lock-on. A handful of enemy drones whip past; guided or not, the two spiraling, plummeting mantas easily outpace the deadly projectiles' return paths.

Zaef manages to outturn his foe coming out of a thunderhead. Semo's got a split-second killdrone shot at the enemy manta's top rear. He squeezes the trigger.

Semo's killdrone leaps from the manta's accelerator and curves ever so slightly to follow the enemy ship's turn. Zaef's opponent rolls his craft at the last moment and the drone impacts on the manta's sloping right side. Flaming debris spirals off the hostile ship as it tumbles out of control for a brief moment. They've easily lost a main impeller - Zaef's suspicion is confirmed as his target's cruise engines flare just enough to keep them in the air.

They're not dead, though. Zaef flies through the thick smoke trailing his foe, meaning to put them down for good. The other guy pulls up, goosing his remaining impellers to provide an extra boost along the vertical. Zaef fishtails his manta like a seal balancing a ball. Both ships fire, both ships come out of the exchange unscathed. A missed drone ignites the jungle below the dueling aircraft with an orange flash. Semo rakes his target with a quick beam turret spray and sees the telltale fireworks of ablated armor and ravaged hull.

Return beams pulse from the enemy manta now; Zaef's forced to keep his distance but he can tell he's got the speed advantage. The veteran spacer loops out and banks hard, keeping his speed up while allowing Semo another drone shot. The other manta turns into Zaef's attack run, prompting another game of killdrone chicken.

Angel's helmet slams against the bulkhead as weapon fire flickers back and forth from the Mantas.

"The days he'd lived and loved and laughed kept running through his mind,
He thought about the girl back home, the one he'd left behind;
He thought about the medic corps and wondered what they'd find,
And he ain't gonna jump no more.

Gory, gory what a hell of a way to die..."

Luis has been trying to supply Semo with target feeds the entire time. As the smoking enemy manta banks into Zaef's own turn, Luis gets a crystal-clear head-on shot. Semo's holos flicker green and he looses another killdrone just as Zaef's own instruments blare with weapons lock.

The enemy manta flashes flame-orange just as their own shot slams into the Earth ship. Zaef loses control for a moment; Luis' sensors are white noise. The enemy killdrone rips through the manta's starboard superstructure. There's a sheet of flame for a split-second inches from Cowboy and Angel's crashers, then it's gone, replaced by the howling whine of damaged engines straining against the screaming wind. The Delta boys can see jungle and blue sky through ragged holes in the manta's hull.

Impossibly, Zaef manages to keep the manta in the air. Luis' cameras are back within a few terrifying heartbeats, and Semo spins the beamer turret rearward, ready to take on the enemy manta once again. All he sees though is a black, angry smoke trail twisting down in a shallow arc where it's swallowed by the jungle canopy near a winding river's metallic sheen. Smoke curls from treetops amidst a cloud of rising, panicked avians.

Zaef checks his baby. She's lost power to her starboard impellers and her cruise engines might explode if he tries taking them above three-quarters. Weapons are online. Sensors are online. The worst part are the hull breaches. Besides the gaping, jagged tears in the passenger compartment, there's no way to tell how many microbreaches might be waiting to kill them should they head out of atmo.

"Holy fucking..."

Luis panics for a moment as he feels the ship shudder with the hit. Then, when he's still alive after that moment, he starts checking systems. It isn't pretty, but they're still flyable.

"Fuck, I hate that part of the job. Zaef, keep her in the air. I'll get us a position fix." Wherever we go from here, it'll help to know where "here" is.

Luis checks his scopes. Their recorded trajectory puts them about 30 miles northwest of one of the larger Wherren villages... it should be the one from the original Gateway mission, which means that the Imperial research site at the ancient wreckage of that crashed Groi ship is only a few klicks past that. Luis is a little too far away to tell if the Imperials are alerted. He'll pick up any aircraft quickly, however.

As for the more pressing crash site, Luis picks up pieces of the enemy manta scattered through a few hundred yards of jungle. The bulk of the fuselage looks like it made it into the river. The bad news is if he wants a better picture of the crash site besides just "it's wrecked all to hell", Zaef will have to bring them close. Whiirr's ambient temperature is hot, hot enough that thermal scopes aren't very helpful. Motion scanners are less than useless - there's enough life in the jungle that he's getting positive movement all across his search grid. Finally, the thick canopy itself hides the jungle's occupants from visual scanning. Still, Luis' practiced hands filter through the smoke, fire, and teal rain forest to pry at what lies beneath. It's difficult to make it out from their position, but Luis spots something metallic that's moving in the river. A moment later, he picks up another signature moving along the riverbank. No, make that two signatures... the feeds resolve into a blobby man helping a blobby woman out from the river and towards some non-smouldering overgrowth.

(edited to remove bit about research site being alerted)

Zaef's response to Luis is some slight muttering under his breath, but it's said so vehemently that Luis doesn't need to heard it to know what it is, or to know that it isn't directed at him.

When the survivors are seen, however, Zaef speaks up. "Blow them to hell and back. We don't have time to deal with them personally. As much as I'd like to."

Zaef swings the manta lower, bringing the heavy craft over the river so Semo has a clean shot through the first few ranks of trees if the runners make it to cover. Luis starts making out a few more possible targets as they swoop down. Two are in the woods, hunkered down and trying to hide. Two more are crashing through the underbrush away from the river in that time-honored LOST style. The first two crash survivors see the manta coming in and the woman breaks into a stumbling run over fallen branches and debris. The man follows her, clearly not as banged up by the crash, and pops a spear-bomb into its full length. He turns, looks back at the jungle behind him, and hefts the explosive.

Well, who's he looking at? Luis wonders.

---

Manus flattens against the gnarled alien tree, wincing in pain as his shattered left arm knits itself back together. Raw meat and fresh tan skin glistens through torn and bloody armor. He pops his spear-bomb and watches Oros anxiously. The big Rav-Turai hustles towards the treeline, but not fast enough to escape the manta.

---

Luis spots a handful of other contacts - four people trying to hide in the treeline. These aren't huddling in holes, however. This is more like "lying in ambush". He doesn't know if the shit that's about to hit his fan is coordinated, but Luis knows if it was his team down there in the bushes they'd be arming Stingers and AT-4s, waiting for that manta to show its best side. Luis stabs at the accelerator controls just as Semo fires the beamer turret at the Achilles wannabe on the riverbank.

---

Manus is too slow. He watches Oros' armor glow white. The water and mud boil and geyser around the big warrior. The spear-bomb Oros was throwing cooks off, obscuring the grisly display with a fireball. The civilian's too close - she trails crimson as she's thrown to the ground.

---

A flurry of spear-bombs darts skyward on screaming boosters. They pass Luis' accelerators in mid-flight. The manta's quickly-aimed, dumb-fired killdrones obliterate the treeline. One drone's feed actually confirms a headshot on a tiny man-sized target in cover before splinters, kindling, and fire spray up from the jungle. Spear-bombs hit the manta soon after:

WHAM! A warhead kills the cruise engines. A bulkhead buckles and a stowage compartment bursts, sending gear skittering across the deck.

BOOM! Ears left ringing. Fire and smoke. Shrapnel holes the cockpit from deck to ceiling.

boom Ears still ringing. Hull fails, rips, and tears. Stabilizers pull free. Hugh and Semo have Boranai flashbacks, while Cowboy remembers spinning out of control in Kandahar.

You don't hear anything but whistling now, although whether that's the detonations leaving you dazed or the wind no longer having to overcome a manta-ship's engine noise you cannot tell. You see teal-green jungle, then blue-white sky, then jungle, then sky, then jungle. The jungle part seems to be getting closer.

Zaef's holos are dead. He strains against the physical yokes, fighting to force the dying manta on course. He remembers Luis' navigation check and prays he gets the nose turned southeast, towards the Wherren village. Then he dumps what little power is left into what little impellers are left. Something blows out underneath the port side. The manta lists and staggers through the air. Hardly-used emergency control surfaces rattle and creak under the airflow. Zaef sees the canopy creeping closer and there's nothing more he can do. He braces for impact.

The manta skims the treetops, batters through tree trunks, and is abruptly swallowed by the Whiirr rain forest. The jungle is silent for a moment, as if in mourning, but soon returns to its normal cacophony.

---

Earth

Ngawai walks back into her quarters back on Diego Garcia after seeing Garrett and the rest of the mission team off from Atea's hangar bay. She drops down onto the bed and starts to rub her back, aching from the extra strain being put on it, when she sees a small gift box sitting on her pillow. A yellow post-it note is stuck to the lid, with "For when you get back" written on it in Garrett's handwriting. She opens the box and sees a simplevox inside, just a small metal puck with a holoprojector lens on top.

She presses the button to activate the device, and a six inch hologram of Garrett appears frozen in the air in front of her. After setting the vox down on the floor, she draws her hands apart to increase the hologram to life-size, then flicks her hand to the right to start the recording.

Garrett finishes the motion to start the recorder. "Alright, I think this thing's on," he says, and smiles. "Hey, babe. I thought that we might not have time after the wedding to say goodbye to each other, so I'm doing it now, just in case. So, uh, goodbye for now." Ngawai laughs. "We're probably six hours or so out from the orbital, and once we pass through that, you know that it'll be a month at least before I can come back or even send you a message, so I'll try to make up for that right now." Garrett sets his stance. "I love you, Ngawai. I know we've been saying it a lot lately, but I think this is something I have to make clear. You andNaloni are the most important things in the world, well, the galaxy to me. I will always come back for you, even if I have to build the gateway myself to do it. I will be back in time to be there for you when our daughter is born, and if she can hear this now, I hope she knows how much her daddy loves her and wishes he was there right now." Ngawai sniffs and wipes her eyes on her sleeve. "We can't always be near each other, Ngawai, but I will always be with you. I will think of you every minute of every day that I'm away, and I'm already counting down the hours until I can come back. Until then, Ngawai." He closes his eyes, and kisses the empty air in front of him. "I love you."

Any landing you walk away from...

Cowboy attempts to unsecure himself from the crasher, knowing full well that this boat is burning and it's only a matter of time before it goes up.

"Alright, boys. Drop your cocks and grab your socks."

As the wreck settles into its final resting place, Luis looks over the controls, dazedly recalling emergency checklists that had been drilled into him. Half the things he's supposed to ensure are shut off are already dead or broken. He does what he can, though.

"All right, people. Zaef's turned off the fasten seatbelt sign, so you're free to clear out of the cabin via the nearest convenient hole. Please be careful when opening overhead bins as contents may have shifted during combat. A reminder: this is a non-smoking flight, but we forgot to tell the ship that, so let's get a move on before it lights up."

Zaef lets out the breath he had been holding, letting it out nice and slow. A long, heavy sigh to try and calm him down. It works for about a second. Then a curious avian sticks a beak through one of the holes that punched through the cockpit, knocking some debris loose and making weird chirping noises.

Zaef swats at the beak, driving the alien bird away and letting a little beam of light shine right into Zaef's face. He stares straight into the light, like he stared at the fireworks display that was once his pride and joy, his home for almost three years, and the faces of the Turai who laughed and cheered as the flames flared for a brief second and faded into sparks. This ship may not have been his for more than a few hours, but it was probably the last thing he'd be able fly for a while.

"It was good to fly like that again." Zaef mutters before undoing the restraints and climbing out of the crasher. He starts checking his knives as he strides towards the exit-the Turai may come to attack the team while they're climbing out of the ruined vessel, and Zaef wants to be there when they arrive.