Davis nods and turns back to Brinai and Bello. "Well? What do you think? Is Onas available, maybe?"
Brinai shakes her head. "Onas is working on Boranai, helping bridge relations between the Narsai'i soldiers and the Boranai'i."
"But one of my agents is available, and he speaks the Narsai'i tongue well enough to translate," Bello says. "He'll be in the room, then." Bello bows to Hunter. "Tc-hank you, very mu-tch," he says in his own broken English.

Hunter nods in return. Now's not any time to make enemies, particularly with the people in charge of protecting them from untrustworthy Narsai'i outsiders. Wait, did I just use Narsai'i in my internal monologue? Things move quickly around here...

The official introductions basically completed, Hunter is content to go with the flow for a little bit. He obviously wants a tour, but he can wait for them to do it on their own time. Instead, he contents himself with passively observing the surroundings and bustle on the Baksharai'i end of the gateway, and how it seems to differ in operations from that on Diego Garcia.

Hugh hangs back after clearing the immediate arrival area. He's got nobody to talk to here at the moment, and watching Hunter watch the team is more interesting to him than the latest round of politicking with the Bashakrans.

Bello and Brinai turn and leave Hunter alone on the edge of the platform as they walk away from the Gateway and past the rest of the team on their way back to whatever else they have to do. As they walk past the team, Luis steps up to Bello. "Got a minute?"
Bello nods and comes to a stop in front of Luis. "What do you want to discuss?"
"I wanted to ask a favor.," Luis says. He waves to indicate his implants. "One reason I got all this was to try flying a ship with them, but with everything that's been going on, I haven't had a chance yet. Is there a ship on-station I could take for a spin?"
Bello thinks for a moment. "Well, there are some of our transit freighters that have skull jack interfaces. Or is that not what you mean?"
Luis smiles weakly. "Not quite. I was hoping for something a bit more high-performance. You guys have a squadron of Interceptors for patrol duties, right?"
Bello raises an eyebrow. "You want to be an Interceptor? That's...have you met an Interceptor before?"
"Er, one. Once. Briefly," Luis says. "She tried to kill us."
Bello's eyebrow ratchets up another few notches. "So, no, then." He shakes his head. "Are you sure? I cannot offer you a similar experience, only the Interceptors use such a sophisticated interface, but...are you sure?"
"Yes." Luis rubs his hands nervously. "I understand if it can't be now, but I'd like to sometime we're on Atea."
"Oh, it's not the timing, I will ask if they have an opening as soon as we are done here," Bello replies. "It's more that, well, I am concerned for you, that is all."
Luis grins. "I'll be careful."
"That is not..." Bello sighs. "I guess you will see for yourself. You have done so much for us, it is the least I can do." He puts a hand on Luis' shoulder. "Be careful, that is all."
"Yes, sir," Luis says.
"I hope that you enjoy yourself, Luis," Bello says, and lets go. As he walks away, he looks back to Luis. "But not too much!"

Arketta raises an eyebrow. "What do you think that was about?"
Luis shurgs. "Dunno. "
"I've met a few Interceptors before in the Turai, they were a bit odd, but it was a pretty safe assignment and they didn't seem like they ate new pilots," Arketta says, putting an arm around Luis' shoulders. "Speaking of eating people, I'm hungry. Are you hungry?"
Luis looks up at Arketta, and his grin gets a bit more personal. "Yeah, let's get some food."

---

Luis’ request to fly an Interceptor was certainly an unusual one, and he expected it to take a fair bit to get permission to climb into the cockpit of one of the Imperial fighters, so he and Arketta head off to the ship-board bar and mess hall nearest the 815 team room for something to eat and possibly a game of cards.

On the five minute walk to the bar, Luis’ ear pings with a incoming vox connection - the anonymous number not meaning much on Atea. He puts a hand on Arketta’s shoulder, and when she looks back points at his ear. “Hang on a sec, got a call.” Arketta nods and stands to the side of the walking path with Luis.
Luis answers the vox. “Hello?”
“This is Yisai,” a brusque female voice said on the other end of the line. “Bello told us you want to be an Interceptor.”
Luis nods. “Yeah, I would. What would I need to do to get some time?”
“What’s your vox model?”
Luis takes a moment to pull up the information in an overlay. “Faxom-Io, series 778.”
A quick grunt of assent from the other end. “Imperial standard issue for Interceptors for the last year. Fixed the headache problems from the 604’s. Good choice.” There’s a pause that Luis can hear as the other end muting their connection for a moment. “Hangar 35. Thirty levels up, row 202, spaceward edge.”
“Be there in...17 minutes,” Luis says, as a a quick check of Atea’s plans on the overlay shows him the route.
Another grunt, and the connection is terminated.
Luis turns to Arketta. “That was quick. Looks like I have an appointment. You want to come along, or do you want to find lunch on your own?”
“I can grab something on the transit line to the hangar,” Arketta says. She pushes off the wall and nods in the direction that the directional holo indicates the local transit hub is. “Come on, let’s go.”

----

Luis still isn’t used to the Atea rapid transit system. The transit system zooms through a series of null-grav spaces in the ship like an oversized vacuum tube, everyone and everything secured with harnesses to keep things from ricocheting around the train. Arketta’s roast scrofa sandwich would have normally seemed delicious to the mildly-hungry Luis, but not when he’s partially floating in a train soaring through Atea. In fact, the constantly changing acceleration kept threatening to inspire a re-acquaintance with his breakfast. Arketta seemed to be used to it well enough, though.

A short walk from the transit station finds Luis and Arketta in front of a hangar airlock. A massive graffiti-esque painting of a Interceptor covers the wall and the door, and a hand-drawn “Interceptors - KEEP OUT” sign is adhered next to the panel for the airlock.
Arketta smirks as she punches the button to cycle the airlock. “Really?”
Luis takes a long look at the painting. “Nice art, you have to give them that.”
“The art is nice, but the sign is kind of childish,” Arketta says as they both step into the airlock for the second part of the cycle.
Luis grins. “I didn’t say it wasn’t.”

Ten seconds later, the inner door slides open, revealing...what looks like a squat or a crash pad for homeless pilots. Cots lie up against the walls with foot lockers at the end of each one, clothes and personal gear laying out on the stand-up lockers or crammed under cots. Shipping crates with names spray-painted on them are visible in the main hangar, with the Interceptors up out of sight. A dozen men and women are in what would be the dressing and locker room for the hangar, some of them sitting around a few tables obviously stolen from the nearest mess hall while others sit or lie on their bunks, all of them in stages of dress ranging from “threw on what I wore last night” to “fuck it, underwear is good enough”. It’s a shocking contrast to the clean landing bays he saw on the Needleships at Boronai or the airstrips at any of the millitary bases he’s ever been posted at.

They all turn to look at Luis and Arketta at the same time, and with his attention off of the surroundings, Luis takes his first good look at the denizens of Hangar 35. The plethora of golden eyes isn’t surprising - it is a bit comforting, however - but the standard-issue ocular replacement and internal vox with skulljack mods isn’t even remotely the end of it. All of the pilots have strange tattoos or even body modifications that seem to make them look more...robotic, would be the word Luis goes for. Tattoos of metal seams and rivets, sculpted features to give a more angular look. It’s not until one of them reaches for his drink and Luis notices the softly glowing animated tattoos of the familiar blue-to-white-hot glow of an engine at full burn around each wrist that he puts it together - they’re not trying to look more like robots - they’re trying to look like the ships they pilot.

Luis takes a moment to take all this in, then speaks up. “I’m looking for Yisai,” he says, trying to project calm despite the strangeness of the setting. Arketta’s simply trying to remain as quiet and as still as possible in this strange environment.
“17 minutes exactly,” a lighter-skinned woman says, and stands up from her bunk. She’s a bit shorter than Arketta, and when she strolls over, Luis can see that the woman, presumably Yisai, has not only had her face sculpted from the nose back with a series of creases and divots to match the seams, panels and connectors on the front of an Interceptor, but had gold powder embedded in herself to make her skin shine like an Interceptor’s golden metal outer armor. She looks over Luis and Arketta with her golden ocular implants as she crosses her arms. “Not bad. My wing could have done it in 12.”
“I’m sure they could,” Luis says, “I don’t know any of the shortcuts that aren’t on the public maps.”
Yisai gives Luis a cold stare. “So. Why do you want to be an Interceptor for an hour or two?”
“Always wanted to fly,” Luis says. “Ever since I was a kid. I’ve had a chance to fly a few ships, but I haven’t flown since I got the implants.”
Yisai scoffs. “You don’t fly an Interceptor, you are an Interceptor, kid.” A mumble of assent flows around the room. “But you Narsai’i can’t know that, I guess. You’ve done a lot for us, so we’ll put you in Swaeph’s ship. He’s still not used to his last engine adjustment, so he’ll be fine with it.” She looks over to a man Luis assumes is Swaeph, who shoots Luis a dangerous look, like he’s asking permission to have sex with his wife right on the dining room table. After a second though, he nods in agreement. “Come on, Stanhill, let’s get you cleaned and suited up.”

Yisai leads Luis into the hangar, and for the first time, he sees the Interceptors themselves. A dozen ships hovering in the air, metal gantries suspended from the ceiling next to each one. The delta-shaped fighters are all hovering on idle, the combined humming of their drives creating the sound of a massive swarm of digital bees in the hangar walls. Three large cables or pipes connect to each ship, each one shining in the overhead lights of the hangar. Large transparent metal windows show the blackness of space beyond the hangar doors, facing out away from the lonely sun that Atea orbits, while the floor is dominated by work stations for Interceptor maintenance. In contrast to their living quarters, the hangar and particularly the maintenance bays are spotless and perfectly organized. Not a single wrench can be seen left out, all the surfaces are kept clean and every large tool seems to have a designated spot for it to be stored when not in use.

“Hey, newbie,” Yisai says. Luis realizes he’s stopped dead, staring up at the Interceptors above while Arketta and Yisai have walked ahead. In a development almost as surprising as the difference between the hangar and the crew space in cleanliness, Yisai has a crooked smirk on her face as she waves for Luis to keep up. “You need to get clean and get suited up.” She points over to a row of sophisticated-looking skinsuits with hoods hanging against the back wall. “Suits are hanging on the wall next to the showers.”
Luis nods, and starts towards the suits, then turns back. “Does it matter which one I take?”
“Nope,” Yisai says, stripping off her clothes as she walks towards the wall. It’s just now Luis notices that the showers she was referring to are simply a row of sprinkler heads mounted on pipes hanging out of the wall. When he looks back, Yisai is already nude and turning on one of the showers. “We keep the water warm, so hurry up.”

Luis quickly strips down and turns on the water, trying to keep his eyes focused directly on the wall in front of him. Arketta can’t decide if she wants to head back into the ready room or stay out here, she settles for standing just outside of the range of Luis’ shower, looking back towards the hangar doors. Yisai passes Luis a bar of soap, and a quick lather and rinse later, Yisai finishes her shower, towels off and moves underneath a large heated blower to finish drying. Luis follows her and desperately grabs the first skinsuit he can. Stepping into the suit reveals that the Interceptor version is full-body, including feet. He can barely feel the thin wires in the feet as he stands there, and once he seals the suit up to his neck, the suit tightens itself to his body and even that goes away. Playing with the hood reveals that it’s longer than it would need to be if it just went over the top of his head, it feels like it could cover his entire face - except for the hole in the back for the skulljack.

Yisai is similarly dressed - looking at her makes Luis self-conscious again, it’s not like skinsuits leave a lot to the imagination - but her expression has completely changed. The laconic, bored, clipped demeanor is gone, replaced by a smile and a bounce in her step.
“All right,” Luis says. “What next?”
“Next, your girl needs to head back to the ready room,” Yisai replies. “This room will be vacuum in a few minutes. We can patch her into our vox channel, don’t worry.”
Arketta gives him a “man, you’re gonna leave me in there?” look, but smiles anyway. She gives him a kiss on the cheek. “Have fun, Luis.”
“Thanks,” Luis says, then drops to a whisper and continues. “I think it’d be okay if you’d rather wait in an observation lounge.”
“No, as long as I can find a clean place to sit, I’ll be all right,” Arketta whispers back. “They don’t seem all that dangerous, I’m pretty sure I can take them if it comes to that.”
Nodding, Luis plants a peck on her cheek and turns back to Yisai.

“And now, we plug in,” Yisai says. She leads Luis into a small elevator up to the gantries, giving him more time to simply stare at the starfighters floating in midair. Yisai must be anticipating this just as much or even more than Luis - as the elevator ascends, she’s practically hopping from foot to foot in anticipation, and is death-gripping the safety railing. Luis, for his part, is almost locked up, afraid moving will make the whole hangar full of ships pop like an intricate soap bubble. Sure, he’s flown the Akuma and Mantas, but these...these are honest-to-god space fighters.

The elevator jerks to a halt and Yisai practically throws the gate open and leads Luis down to the first Interceptor. Up close, it’s even more impressive than down on the hangar floor. The central cylinder for the pilot and controls is dwarfed by either wing of the delta-shaped craft. At the front of each wing, particle accelerator cannons protrude out of the front and run the length of the craft while the control surfaces hinge open to reveal the attitude thrusters needed to maneuver in space. At the back, two massive engines, each wider than the increasingly tiny-seeming cockpit section, sit humming, and the entire craft is covered in a highly-reflective golden armor without a single pockmark or scratch. It radiates power and speed, and Luis can’t take his eyes off it.

Yisai quickly pops the cockpit open with the holo controls and motions for Luis to climb in once the top has folded straight up. The cockpit is tiny; about the size of a coffin, Luis reckons. It’s cushioned on the bottom, and there’s the obvious cable for his skulljack and two other hoses, but no controls at all.
Luis turns to Yisai. “Do I just get in?”
She nods. “Put the hood up and get in, I’ll plug you in and start the fill.”
Luis nods, pulls the hood partly over his head, and slips into the cockpit. Once in, he fiddles with it, trying to finished getting it into place. He feels Yisai grab him by his hip and shove something up against his groin that connects with a click, and then the hood tightens down around his head like the rest of the suit. His mouth is left exposed, but the entire rest of his body is sealed inside the skinsuit.
“Nutrient and waste connection,” Yisai says, her voice muffled by the suit. “Roll over so I can plug you in.”
Still wondering how much he’ll need either of the other two connections on a short flight, Luis rolls as instructed, then remembers he hasn’t had lunch yet. He feels Yisai grab a firm hold on the back of his neck and then shove something up and inside of his skull. The skulljack connects with a click, but other than the feeling of having a few inches of metal jammed into his brain, Luis doesn’t feel all that different.
Yisai rolls Luis back over. “I’m starting the fill, stay on your back. When it gets to your face, just breathe the gel in. It’s oxygenated.” True to her words, Luis feels the small cockpit start to quickly fill with a warm wetness. It feels so warm that the only sensation he has is a slightly damp feeling; it must be matched to his own body temperature. When the gel starts to cover his face, there’s a brief moment of instinctive panic before he can convince himself to open his mouth and breathe. Even after the first breath, if takes several more before his brain catches up to the lack of drowning.

Luis’ vox beeps, a connection already open. “Are you good?” Yisai asks.
Diverting attention from his breathing, Luis says, “Yeah. Just groovy.”
“Good,” Yisai says. “One more thing.” He feels her stick something rubber in his mouth fitted for him to bite down on. “This will keep you oxygenated. Now, I’m going to close the cockpit, and if you freak the fuck out, we are done. Understand?”
Luis nods, and waits.

A moment later, his vision explodes with scrolling text and readouts while his ears are bombarded with a dozen different vox connections all at once. His body feels like it’s grown ten times over in an instant, something’s laying on his right arm, his head is spinning and he’s somehow still well-aware of how hungry he is. A few seconds later, the storm of visuals and sound at least calm back down to blackness and the single vox connection, which is just enough peace and quiet for Luis to realize that he’s stopped breathing entirely. He doesn’t feel like he’s running out of oxygen, but he definitely doesn’t feel or hear himself breathing, either.
“You all right in there?” Yisai says over the vox.
“I think so,” Luis says. “How do I just pull up imagery?”
“Your sensors aren’t on yet, we haven’t finished pre-flight,” Yisai says. “You feel anything wrong?”
“There’s something on my arm,” Luis says. “Kinda itches?”
“That’s the gantry, don’t worry about it,” Yisai replies. “Anything else?”
Luis lets that hang a moment, feeling everything. “What would it feel like if there was?”
“If it doesn’t feel normal, then it’s not,” Yisai replies, clearly losing patience.
“I’m a bit hungry, but -”
“Good, you’re getting the hang of it,” Yisai says. “You’re about half-full on fuel, so I’ll fill you up.” Sure enough, a moment later, Luis feels himself becoming less hungry by the second until he feels like he’s just had a perfectly-sized meal. “Full up,” Yisai says. “Nothing else?”
Luis pauses, then says, “No.” His excitement from earlier hasn’t faded, but it’s moved into a corner, like he’d move an overlay that was getting in the way. Instead, he focuses on the ship, on himself.

Luis feels three pops on his back, and suddenly the entire hangar is in view. Luis is aware of everything around him, Yisai standing next to him on the gantry, Arketta and the other Interceptors in the ready room below, all 68 ships not docked in the surrounding 1,000 kilometers of space, all are things that Luis doesn’t even have to mentally grasp for. Readouts for armor condition, ordinance, radar, throttle and power management are in his vision, but he instinctively knows that they can be dismissed, just like he knows how to adjust the power by shifting his force from engine to engine, how to target with a glance and fire with a twitch of his guns. All the information on how to run his body - no, the Interceptor, is uploaded at once. He feels every joule of the dual cruise engines in what was his legs, feels the ship shift slightly with the slight motions of his hands and arms - his thrusters. Luis is the ship, and the Interceptor is Luis, no difference between the two.

“All right, you’re disconnected,” Yisai says. “Last chance to back out.”
Luis smiles and reigns in the impeller response gain to the level needed for precision maneuvering. “Not a chance,” he says. “Request permission to depart?”
“Permission granted,” Yisai says. He can see she’s already climbed into her ship while he was busy getting acquainted. “Keep it to half throttle until I join you.”

“Understood,” Luis says. He lets himself drop gently to clear the gantry, then pushes off for the bay door gently on impellers. The alarm sounds for the hangar, and 30 seconds later, the doors slide open and vacuum fills the hangar, giving Luis a clear path into space. He pushes up the response gain and eases up the throttle enough to clear the bay. He mostly responds, but it’s a jerky and halting response, not nearly as fluid as dropping out of the gantry, but it’s enough to get him clear of Atea. Frowning, Luis adjusts the gain once more and tries a simple backflip, picking his nose up and over. He does pull himself up and over, but again, it’s in fits and starts.
Yisai comes into the vox. “Stop trying to fly a ship,” she says. “You are an Interceptor. Just do it.”

Luis takes a moment, then tries the flip again. This time, the move comes instinctively, like swimming but he can feel his thrusters burning behind him. His worries about maneuvering solved for now, Luis thrusts back towards Atea and takes in the vista. It’s a view so incomprehensibly immense that immense does not do the scene justice. Before him, the rough conglomeration of shapes that makes up Atea floats in the infinite blackness of space, its attendant swarm of ships and drones flying to and fro around it. He knows each ship’s name and heading when he gazes at it, and even beyond his sensors’ vision, he knows a ship has just gated in from the outsystem Gateway on the other side of the solar system. There is no “ship” per se around Luis, he feels like he is simply floating free in space, so much power in his thrusters that he could blast to the system’s sun and back in 10 minutes flat and enough precision in his wings that he could skim the surface of Atea and not even touch a wingtip. The ordinance in him is more than enough to take on anything short of a Needleship and his sensors reveal the universe in more stunning detail than the largest holo screen ever could. Luis is flying through an infinite universe, where he knows everything around him at a glance, is powerful beyond reason and nimble beyond compare.
Luis laughs in the sheer joy of it and kicks over and away from the station, the stars swimming in his view even as he swims among them. He pushes off with his cruise engines, watching Atea shrink behind him. There’s no difference between thinking something and doing it, and he starts a slow roll, feeling the faint heat of the sun play across his armored skin. He rolls the other way, then something catches his eye, a twinkle of reflected sunlight. Without a second look, he knows it’s one of the closer in-system asteroids, 2.1 kilometers of dust and rock, not even worth mining. He stops the roll and breaks for the rock, his cruise engines accelerating him smoothly. At the midpoint, which he knows by instinct, he flips and begins braking. Sliding past the rock at a distance of a few klicks, he bends his course into a loop, an orbit far tighter that the pitiful rock’s gravity could produce, piling on thrust to balance his tangential speed with the centripetal acceleration, letting himself drift out further then tightening up, whipping in closer. Even with his velocity nearly null--a mere 500 m/s--he’s whipping around the surface so close below him in just ten or fifteen seconds. He can feel particles of dust that floated loose of the rock over eons as they hit his skin like a light mist. Finally, he slows, letting his “orbit” break off into a lazy line back towards Atea.

Luis senses Yisai leaving the hangar before he hears it. “Thought I told you to keep it at half throttle, newbie,” it says as the ship engages its own cruise engines.
Luis pauses for a moment, coming back to where he is, the call breaking some of the rush. “Er...you did,” he says.
Yisai waggles its wings. “Don’t worry about it, Interceptor.” If it’s possible for a ship to sound like it’s smiling, Yisai does. “What do you think? You’re no tramp freighter, eh?”
“No, ma’am,” Luis says. “It’s incredible.”
“It’s like nothing you’ll ever experience,” Yisai says, the formerly taciturn voice starting to gush as the ship barrel rolls mid-burn. “Being an Interceptor is yourself a thousand times better, more powerful, smarter, faster, floating free in space with no limits and enough ordinance to flatten a moon...nothing is better than being an Interceptor.” Luis finds it hard to disagree.

Yisai flips around and pulses its cruise engines twice, settling in perfectly next to Luis. “I saw your little rapid orbit trick back there. Got down to under 100 meters. Not bad.”
“I wasn’t sure how hard I could push the Gs,” Luis says. “Otherwise I might have tightened it up more.”
“You’re rated to going from full burn to full burn in the opposite direction before your human body starts to even feel it,” Yisai replies. “Don’t worry about it.” It slightly lights up its fusion engines and traces a slow, lazy loop in place. “So, what’s next, Interceptor? I guess I don’t need to guide you through the basics - ah, your girl’s on the channel. I’ll patch her in.”
A moment later, Arketta comes on. “Luis? So, are you having fun? What’s it like?”
“It’s amazing,” Luis says. “It’s like I can do anything.”
“Wow, I wish I could be out there with you, Luis,” Arketta says. “Be careful, okay? I’ll be on this channel.”
“I wish you could be too,” Luis says. “Can you remind me when we need to go?”
“Yeah, sure,” Arketta says. “Have fun.”
“Thanks,” Luis say. He turns his attention back to Yisai, still slowly looping within its own footprint. “So,” he says. “What’s next?”
“How about some target practice?” Yisai asks.
“Sounds great,” Luis say, doing a slight Dutch roll in anticipation. “Where’s your range?”

“This way.” Yisai engages its cruise engines and burns back towards the massive asteroid, rolling back around it and a short ways beyond it. There, 400 kilometers beyond the asteroid’s surface, lie ten derelict vessels, laid out in something resembling a convoy formation. Each is painted with a large IR luminescent number (which Luis has no problem seeing) and shot full of particle accelerator holes.
“Here we are, Interceptor.” Yisai cancels out its velocity with two quick pulses. “I call it out, you run it.”
“Got it,” Luis says.
“All right, I’ll show you how it’s done,” Yisai says. “Call out a sequence of five.”
Luis looks over the pseudo-convoy. “3, 5, 6, 8, 2.”
“Right.” Yisai flips back over and burns out 220 kilometers before coming back around. It dives straight for the #3 freighter and unloads a burst of accelerator fire, casting off sparks of hot metal that ricochet off its skin as the ship dives past. Flipping back over and pushing its engines wide open, Yisai cancels its speed and smoothly transitions to 90 degrees of its original heading, arcs back around and nails #5, 6 and 8 in one strafing run. Continuing the arc around, Yisai rolls hard on approach to the last target, the double-helix of its particle beams leaving a glowing circle of molten armor on #2 before it banks and burns out at the last second - the whole run taking 23.448 seconds by Luis’ count. “Ha-ha! 23.44 seconds flat. You’re up, Interceptor. Hit 5, 3, 1, 9 and 2.”

Luis break off, burning out and around the aft of the convoy. Coming in fast from astern, he jinks and opens fire on #5, then lets his fire trace across #3, a snap roll brings the lead ship into his sights and he lets loose again as he zips past the front of the convoy. Banking hard, he comes back around, crossing the convoy at an angle that lets him open up on #9, then breaks sharply towards the front of the convoy, rolling to line up a shot on #2. As the glowing remnants of his fire slowly starts to cool behinds him, Luis rolls and comes back towards where Yisai waits. He checks his time--32.162 seconds. “Could have been faster,” Luis says.
“Not bad for an Interceptor that doesn’t have the hang of being in vacuum,” Yisai replies. “A second and a half out from the best for that run.” The ship points back to Luis. “Want another run, or anything else?”
“Let’s do a few more runs,” Luis says, banking back around towards the convoy as he comes up on Yisai’s position.

Yisai calls off runs, and Luis follows its directions. After a number of runs, Luis is matching the times of the other Interceptors, and even beats Yisai’s time on a few. He cuts in and out of the formation, landing hits on ship after ship. “Haha!” he says, barrel rolling in delight as he breaks off after a run just like the one he set Yisai. “22.5!”
“All right, Interceptor, I think that’s enough for your first outing. Let’s head back,” Yisai says. The ship breaks for the small dot that’s Atea in the distance. “That’s an impressive set of instincts you got there. Usually I have to spend the first hour getting the newbies used to being a ship. You took to it straight away.”
Luis takes up station off Yisai’s port wing as they head back to Atea, escheloned below and behind Yisai. “Thanks. It was fun.”
“Yeah, ‘fun’,” Yisai says sarcastically. “I saw those flaps moving, it was a lot more than that.”
“All right,” Luis admits. “It was incredible.”
“If you want to do it again, just ask,” Yisai says. “We could always use another good Interceptor, and you’re a pretty good ship, Luis. We’ve got some of the backup Interceptors from the Boranai Needleships on their way here, if you want one, it could be yours.” The ship slowly barrel rolls around Luis. “We patrol every 24 hours and practice once a week, and we do morning exercises in the hangar. What do you think?”
Luis waggles his wings non-commitedly. “I appreciate the offer, and I’d love to do this again, but I can’t stay.”
“No need to stay, Luis,” Yisai says. “You gate in, join us for exercises in the morning and fly sorties when you can.”
“That’d be nice,” Luis says. “I might only be able to get out here once or twice a week, but if you’d let me, I’d love to.”
The ship knocks into a tight roll in excitement. “Deal. Dress in something flexible for morning exercises,” Yisai says.

Arketta comes back on the channel. “I’m just talking to you now, Luis. Are you sure this is what you want to do?” she asks. “You’re not worried about...you know, other people?”
Luis waggles his wings. “You mean the Pentagon?”
“Yes,” Arketta replies. “I mean, you know what I think. As long as you don’t have the medicae embed a pair of thrusters in your back, I’m fine with you going out to play with your new friends.” He can hear her smile over the link. “But what about our ‘friends’?”
“If Barnes takes issue with it, I’ll listen, but I’m sick and tired of constantly worrying about how the the Pentagon thinks I need to live. They don’t understand this war, they don’t understand our enemy, they don’t even understand the technology we’re fighting it with. If Hunter can get them to pull their heads out of the sand and see, then maybe I’ll start listening to them again, but until then I really couldn’t care less.”
Arketta laughs through the link long and hard. “Luis, you have no idea how long I have been waiting for you to say that. How long have you been thinking that?”
“It’s been building up for a few months,” Luis says. “Being called a traitor on the floor of Congress for trying to help them find their own ass with both hands put me over the edge. I was thinking about it on the flight to Diego.”
“And?”
“And you heard me. I realize we have to get them on our side for the sake of the war, but that doesn’t mean they get to run my life or dictate to me what’s appropriate.”
“Well then,” Arketta says. “Hurry back, Interceptor.”

Five minutes and 10 seconds later, Luis has backed into his gantry in the hangar. Yisai ordered him to wait while it unjacks her body from the ship and comes over to help him, and so he spends the time flipping through every readout, correlating how he feels to his actual condition.
A few minutes later, Yisai walks over on the gantry, draped in a towel with one of the other pilots with her. “Okay, now, I want you to be ready for this,” she says as she guides the docking lines into his back. “It’s not as much fun to come back down as it is to plug in.”
Luis feels the three lines snap into place, Atea’s power instantly taking the load off of his own powerplant and letting him just hover on his own impellers. He opens the cockpit door, and feels Yisai push it the rest of the way open. It’s a strange moment, seeing a black-suited body floating inside of himself, but at the same time knowing that he’s looking at his own paralyzed form. “Whoa,” he says. “That’s kind of trippy.”
He watches Yisai pull his limp body out of the crash gel. “All right. On three. One, two...three!”

Luis vision jumps to black a moment later, and as he feels the probe being pulled out of the back of his skull, he tries to cough, fails, then spits the hose out of his mouth and leans over the side of the ship, coughing and gasping for breath as the oxygenated gel runs out of his mouth. Yisai disconnects the last hose from his groin, the hood slackens and Yisai pulls it off the rest of the way. As the light hits his ocular implants, Luis manages to stop coughing up gel and think again - and it’s not that pleasant. He feels so weak and slow, like he’s been drugged, Yisai is saying things to him but she’s speaking too slowly to make out, his body feels like it’s ten sizes too small, and when his vision finally clears, it’s almost more than he can handle - the hangar is too fucking small. How is Yisai in here with him, there’s barely enough room for him to breathe, oh God, where did all the space go -

Yisai finally slaps Luis across the face, the pain bringing him back down a bit. “Luis! Hey! Say something!”
“Too small,” he says weakly in English. “Everything’s slow.”
“I don’t know your Narsai’i tongue, but I can guess you’re feeling pretty slow and cramped right now, yeah?” Yisai says, rubbing his back. “The first time is always the best - but always the worst, too. The next time won’t be nearly this bad disconnecting, all right?”
The solidity of the inside of the cockpit, the feel of the skinsuit around his body and Yisai’s hand on his back start to help bring Luis back. “Do you say that to all the Interceptors?” Luis says weakly.
Yisai laughs. “Only the ones I want to come back. Come on, let me help you out.” She and the other pilot pull Luis out of the ship and onto the gantry, where they wrap him in a warmed towel. “How do you feel now? It should already be mostly gone by now.”
Luis grabs a rail on the gantry for a moment, then nods and tries a step. “It’s better,” he says.
“Good,” Yisai says. “Well, now you know what it’s like to be an Interceptor.” Yisai looks back to Luis as she helps him into the elevator back down to the hangar floor, where he can see Arketta walking out of the ready room and waving to him from down below. “You still want to come back and do it again?”
Luis nods. “Yeah. Drink too much, you get a hangover, be an Interceptor, you have to deal with when you stop being an Interceptor, I guess.”
Yisai smiles at him, the angles of her sculpted golden skin and golden eyes reflecting the overhead lighting. “Or you never stop being one.”

In a fitting yet encouraging sign for Hunter, Brinai Onlois’ quarters are not some stately suite with a view of the whole worldship stretching out below, ornately decorated with the spoils of her rebellion’s efforts - they’re not even all that big. Instead, after a five minute skimmer ride through Atea with a brief glimpse of the solar system beyond the worldship’s walls from the occasional window, Hunter finds himself standing outside of a reasonably standard-looking door in a pretty average hallway (as far as he can tell, it’s not like he’s got extensive experience in Bashakra’i space station design). The only exceptional thing was the security sweep before he was allowed into the area - presumably because more important people than just Brinai live here - and the two guards posted outside of the door. Hunter nods, and gets nonverbal assent from the guards before giving two crisp knocks, and waiting for a response.

The door slides open halfway, and a young brown-skinned Bashakra’i man, no older than 25, is standing in the doorway. He looks Hunter over and says something in Imperial to the two guards about him, which they respond in the affirmative to. “Are you Hunter Brand?” he asks. His accent is pretty heavy, making him roll the “r”s and mispronounce a vowel, but he lacks the start-stop speech of someone who has to reach for every other word.
“Yes, I am. You are watching and can help with the language?”
The young man nods. “I am to make sure that you don’t start any trouble, too.” He bows slightly to Hunter. “My name is Kot’than.”
“Thank you for being here, Kot’than. I’m sure you work very hard to keep your leader safe.”
Kot’than moves to the side. “Please, come in.”

The austere aesthetic continues inside. The room must not measure more than fifteen feet by twelve feet - spacious for a submarine, but not for the leader of a rebel army. She could give Ho Chih Minh a run for his money in the austerity department, Hunter thinks. The bed, table, four chairs and a few dressers and chests take up all but a scant amount of walking space, and in one of those seats is Brinai. She has a small ceramic-looking bowl in front of her with steam or mist floating up out of it, which she raises up in her hands and takes a deep breath out of. “I am sorry, Mister Brand,” Brinai says. “I was sick recently, and my healing is taking a long time. Please, sit.”
Hunter has dealt with many respondents who were old women, though admittedly few of Brinai’s experience. Except among maybe the Eritreans. “I am glad you could make the time to talk to me at all. Do whatever provides most comfort.”
Brinai takes another breath from the bowl, then sets it aside and places a lid on top of it. “What would give me the most...comfort, is knowing that the Narsai’i...” She reaches for the words, then turns to Kot’than and says the rest in Imperial.
“The knowledge that the Narsai’i are aware of the stakes that they are playing for and are truly behind us, instead of these lies, propaganda and misinformation they seem to be intent on spreading while attacking their allies,” Kot’than finishes. Brinai’s eyes are sharp as daggers and pointed right at him as Kot’than translates her statement to Hunter.

Hunter takes a second to hold eye contact. “Knowing the stakes, and being behind you, those are two things. Let us begin with the first. As clearly as possible, as if I knew nothing about the conflict, what are the stakes, both for the Baksharai’i and the Narsai’i? What happens if they fail?” Hunter’s pronunciation of ‘Narsai’ has improved leaps and bounds over the last 36 hours.
Kot’than translates for Brinai, and he barely finishes his statement before she delivers another cutting glare and starts to speak. “The stakes?” she asks incredulously, leaning forward over the table at Hunter. “Dahlya, these stakes are the life and death for all our people. If the Imperium wins...it is because we are all dead or...slaves, and Narsai is burned. The Imperium lives and more events like the burning of Bashakra happen. These are the stakes.” Brinai stabs her finger into the table as emphasis at the end.

Hunter does not match the energy Brinai puts forth, instead weathering it and responding. “You know this. I believe that I know it. I’m not sure if the military leaders in the Pentagon really know it. My job, as I see it, is to either teach them what this conflict means, or teach the people who will replace them, which will happen if they refuse to understand. Life-or-death struggles have a way of wiping out idiocy.”

“Tell me about the beginning of the Bashakra’i revolt. When did it start, how did you gain independence, and what led to the planet’s burning?”
Brinai nods appreciatively. “That is a good place to start, I guess. Is it fine if I say it in Imperial?”
“Of course. Kot’than can translate?”
Kot’than nods.

“How did the revolt on Bashakra begin?”
Brinai starts to rattle off the story to Kot’than in pieces for him to translate. “Bashakra was one of the original planets Vidas Lam, the First Emperor, united to form the Imperium, and one of the richest in resources and beauty. Over the thousands of years, we remained one of the hubs of production and development, as well as maintaining our planet’s stunning beauty. Bashakra was one of the jewels of the Imperium, lit by our two suns.” Brinai smiles and gives a wistful look before her expression darkens. “But we were taken for granted. The Emperor demanded more and more of our resources, without consideration to the cost to our planet - the destruction of our environment, exporting our people and destroying our culture - turning our planet into another barren industrial desert slum like what was done to Botane. And eventually, we had enough, and denied the Emperor’s request. We knew that the response would be swift - I myself was put into the field to investigate a possible Imperial attack - but when the Needleship came and burned our defense headquarters to slag, we knew what the Imperium was willing to do to keep us in line.” Brinai’s face hardens into a mask of pure rage - Hunter can’t tell what for, but something personal happened to her that day. “We were able to blockade our Gateways and force the Needleship to surrender, but after that, we knew what was to come, and prepared. Thirty-five years later, the Gateship arrived, hidden behind our largest sun, and before we were able to respond, the Imperium had a dozen Needleships converging on Bashakra, and the war was lost. We evacuated as many as we could, some to Atea and most to other worlds, but for many, we were not fast enough.” The rage on Brinai’s face mixes with sadness. “Billions died when the Emperor gave the order to Akamu to burn Bashakra, and most who escaped were captured.”

Brinai slumps back into her chair and continues for Kot’than. “That was sixteen years ago. And here we are now.”
“How did you come to decide to refuse the emperor’s request?”
“Our Steward had formed a council of elected advisers from the different cities on Bashakra, and she herself was a Bashakra’i.” Brinai shakes her head and resumes speaking to Kot’than. “We believed in our duty to the Imperium, but not enough to allow our world to be drained dry to feed Napai’i greed and excess.”
“Were there ‘unwritten laws’ about what the Emperor’s just share was?”
Brinai shakes her head. “We thought there was, but no,” she says herself. “He should take what the Imperium needs, but he takes what he wants. If you say no, you are a traitor.”
“What were the major revolts and refusals before Bashakra?”
Brinai shrugs. “I do not know if there are any. But maybe the Imperium had them forgotten.”
“Well, there were the Sheen...but it’s not the same kind of revolt. Actually, how do the Bashakrai’i feel about the Sheen?”
“That is...complicated,” Brinai replies. “We remember the Sheen War, but what we know is from the Imperium, who can not be trusted. But the ones we have talked to and dealt with are not as bad as the stories say. We will see.”
“What do the histories say about the Warring Planets period, and how does that affect how planets think about going alone?”
Brinai waits for Kot’than to translate for her, and it takes a moment for Kot’than to figure out what Hunter means. “It was bad,” she eventually says. “Many people lived bad lives in bad places.” Brinai shakes her head, not pleased with how that sounds, and continues in Imperial for Kot’than to translate. “The vast majority of people in the galaxy lived in poverty and fear. We had thrown off the Masters’ yoke and were on our own, but we were dying. As much as the Imperium has become something evil, we would not have survived without Vidas Lam forging the planets together.”

“Yes, I think that a united order is not evil by itself. But there need to be counter-weights to stop corruption and impunity. For you, what is your idea of a good post-war order?”
Brinai starts in Imperial immediately. “The crooks, butchers and dictators thrown from their seats of power and brought to justice,” Kot’than translates as Brinai’s eyes light with fire. “The Imperium replaced with a more just and equal government, one that listens to the needs of those underneath it, like how your government is supposed to be. And Bashakra healed and restored to its former glory and my people brought home.”
“I realize that we are a very long way from victory, but what sort of justice, truth, and reconciliation do you envision for the Imperium’s leaders?”
Brinai's face keeps the fire as she answers in Imperial. "The Imperium is responsible for the death of billions of my people and the destruction of my world, Mister Brand. For the butchers and monsters that have persecuted my people, no punishment is enough. We will have to settle for finding those responsible for the pain and subjugation of the Bashakra'i, Narsai'i, Wherren and all the others who've lost at the Imperium's hands, and ensuring that the monsters receive their just rewards for what they've done."
“Yes. If we are fortunate, there will come a time when we take on the burden of deciding who deserves what justice. As part of that, what is your opinion of the Imperial defectors?”
Brinai shrugs and switches back to English. "If they are...trust-worthy, then they are welcome. Onas, our leader of...soldiers, is Napai'i and was Turai. What is important is the want to fight and defeat the Imperium."

“What would it mean to defeat the Imperium? Unconditional surrender? Overthrow and revolution of their system? What would you do if they offered a negotiated peace?”
Brinai laughs when Kot'than translates Hunter's question. "There will be no 'negotiated peace', boy," Kot'than translates. "The Imperium will come at us with all they have until either we are in ruins or so many planets have defected that they have no choice but to run and hide. That is the truth, and you need to accept that if you are going to survive this war."
Hunter weighs the response, nods, and draws a single clean line through the word Jaruzelski, and adds a question mark to Dönitz? “Turning to the war,” he begins before Brinai cuts him off.

"I see you sitting there, writing on your little pad of paper, and I know that you do not believe me," Kot'than translates for her. "You must listen to what I have to say. I do believe you when you say you want to communicate the truth of this war to the Narsai'i and their leaders, and that is why it is vitally important that you know who we are fighting. The Imperium does not surrender. Ever. They will fight to crush us, and they will burn entire planets to ash to prevent us from taking a single one. There will be no 'negotiated peace'. They will fight to keep their tyranny over their people until there are no more people left for them to dominate. The only way this war ends is us victorious, having convinced planet after planet to join with us until the Imperium has nowhere left to hide, or with them having killed us all and burned our planets smooth. They are not interested in preserving our people - we are a problem to be eradicated. There is no honor in defeat for them, because they do not fight for honor. They fight for their greed for wealth and power, and to maintain their dominance over others. The Imperium might be many things, Hunter Brand, but it is corrupt and only cares about one thing: power. If I convince you of any one thing, let it be that."

Hunter closes his notebook. “I do not doubt you. I have lived too long, and seen far too much, to doubt the capacity of humans to be cruel, vicious, and corrupt. I have no doubt that the Imperium is cruel, vicious, and corrupt. There is no negotiation with a rabid dog. But there will come a time, if we are lucky, when we break its power, clearly and decisively. It will not be the end of the conflict, but perhaps the beginning of the end. Then will come the hard part, when we must decide how we deal with the Imperium, and how we deal with Imperials. We will be presented with all manner of slimy, faithless, corrupt officials and power-brokers who know which way the wind blows, and who want to change sides. We will have to deal with Turai who want to stop fighting, but wonder if the reward for doing so would be two shots from a Chamakana. We will have to deal with the trillions of ‘regular people’ who were ‘only following orders,’ and choose who the revolution will eat. We will have to take long looks at our sons and daughters, and wonder which of them we send send to their deaths to finish a half-won war. And we will have to make these decisions in miniature every time we take a new planet. If we choose unwisely, either too lax or severe, we risk becoming little better than the system we replace. And revolutions have a nasty way of eating their own.” Hunter pauses. “I understand that I am new to your world and your war, and I have much to learn. But I have seen wars and revolutions end, and it is a very different thing to end a war well than it is to win it. Justice should be done, and will be done, but there must be a way forward at the end that leads to a new society. It would be a great tragedy to destroy one’s prison, only to build another.”

Brinai smiles, more affably this time. "You sound like Garrett," she says in Imperial. "He has been trying to convince me, with some success, that the best way forward is to present ourselves as better and more palatable than the Imperium, that we will win the war by being the better choice for everyone at the end. We are under no illusions about what even the lowliest Turai is made to do here, but we accept them - if they can be proven to be trustworthy. We will not kill every Imperial Steward or functionary - but those who gave orders for atrocities must be punished. And you know your Narsai'i history, and Davis has told me that you have experience in dealing with those who commit unspeakable acts as a group. They were tried and put to death if they were found to have ordered and carried out their henious crimes without remorse. It is not as popular amongst our ranks as a simple rallying cry of vengeance, but Garrett is certainly right about one thing - winning this war is more important. There will be time for vengeance when the truth is known and we have won the day."
Hunter nods. “Examples are gonna have to be made. Perhaps in the form of trials, perhaps something else. But we need to win first, and we do need to be the better choice. After the violence is over, the war won, and justice done, maybe each planet has a truth and reconciliation committee, some way for people to let go of all the hate, shame and bitterness that builds up from being part of a system like that, or being ground down by a system like that.” Perhaps triggered by some unnamed memory, Hunter tenses up for an instant before exhaling and reopening the notebook. “The scars of war are not always what can be seen. So, turning to the war itself, what has worked thus far, and how do you think things will change as we go on?”
"Strategically, what Garrett and the 815 have developed is the best we have seen," Brinai responds through Kot'than. "Surprise attacks to neutralize the Imperium's orbital advantage, and then using Narsai'i and Bashakra'i ground forces to control the planet's surface. How this might work on a planet more heavily defended than Boranai remains to be seen, but the principle is sound. As things go on, this war will likely turn more into a series of short knife jabs into the Imperium's side, aimed more at convincing planets that they should defect to our side and provoking increasing overreactions and punitive measures against the citizens of the Imperium to sow dissent and frustration."

“That makes good sense. We win by not losing, they lose by not winning. As long as we can take and hold gateways, it’s a planet-by-planet fight. Here’s one thing I am a little worried about. What happens if they start adding extra gateways, or gateways we don’t know about, to the systems we are looking to take?”
“It is possible,” Brinai says. “But that is what planning in advance is for, what...intelligence is for. We know the planet, we avoid surprises. That is a risk we must take...if we are to win, yes?”
“Yes. It will be a long time before we can engage the Imperium ship-to-ship. Intelligence superiority is probably our most important asset. How strong is the rebel network out on the Imperial planets?”
“It is different from planet to planet,” Brinai replies. “Bello knows more details, he is our intelligence leader, but we are on most Imperial planets and some industrium worlds. Some, more than others, but we know much of what happens.”
“How do people connect with the rebels? Are there ways to share or leak information, without it being traced back to the person?”
“The...” Brinai reaches for the word before returning to Imperial. “The Cortex is the best method of communication. If your address is not known to the Turai, messages and connections are unmonitored and not watched - the one concession the Imperium had to make in order to prevent the nobles and industriums from setting up their own networks.”
“That’s interesting. I’ll have to talk to Bello at some point for more details. Do you worry about any potential problems in the future, based on the way we do things now?”
“I still have...some concerns,” Brinai says, still trying to stick to English. Hunter briefly wonders if anyone besides him will be able to understand her voice in this recording. Probably for the best, he thinks. “Certain members of the 815 should be more...careful with their...their association with nobles - they are not able to be trusted. The Sheen are a concern, and the usefulness of the Wherren is as well.”

Brinai fixes Hunter with that same fiery gaze, the one from her rant about the Narsai’i, the one from her tale of Imperium burning her planet. Hunter pauses for a second, feeling he’s onto something important, one that’s worth a careful approach, and then he gets a glimpse behind that gaze as she unloads in Imperial. “But the most dangerous problem is the Narsai’i themselves. This mistrust and moves against our people and the 815 are putting our chances of not only winning the war, but keeping what little gains we have made at risk. Whoever it is that is leading the Narsai’i needs to either be replaced or tell those below him that we are not the enemy, the Imperium is. Treating the only people who are really out here with us, who know what is going on, as enemies and spies, and trying to replace them with men who only think of us Bashakra’i as disposable or as lesser than the all-mighty Narsai’i military, is the single greatest threat this alliance faces. You must make that clear, above all else.”

This rant clarifies several things to Hunter. Firstly, that Brinai, and by extension the Bashakra’i, see 815-GRHDI as different entities from the rest of the Narsai’i military and civilian establishment. Secondly, that this means different levels of trust and access for any interlopers. Thirdly, that the Bashakrai’i are likely mulling the possibility of cutting ties with an uncooperative Pentagon. As scary as that prospect is, it just might be one of the most important pieces to keeping the team in its current form.
“I’ll do my utmost to get that across. It seems that the first step might be making them understand that GRHDI is not disposable, either. Now, I can’t officially be certain of your intentions, but it might be reasonable for my report to suggest that dissolving GRHDI would lead to a significant impairment of relations with the Bashkara’i?”
Brinai nods. “Yes, that could be said.”
“Thank you; it is important for the Narsai’i leadership to be fully aware of the consequences of their actions. Given that Atea is the most important secure center for transshipment and logistics, this matters greatly.” Hunter furrows his brow, recalling an earlier point in the conversation. “And regarding what you said about the nobles...tell me more about your views of them.”
“They are getting rich from the Imperium’s...” she reaches for the word in English, then gives up, “’excesses’,” Brinai says. “We have not talked to them because we do not think they will give up their...spots of power or risk themselves to help us. Gorlan and Tora Kesh might tell us we are wrong - or they could be...be an ’anomaly’.”
“It is a deep and thorny problem,” Hunter concurs. “Seeking power is made easier by alliances with the powerful, but when they benefit from a corrupt system...justice is difficult. What would the pan-industria even look like under a clean and honest system?”
“I can not say for sure,” Brinai says. “But I do not know if the pan-industriums would need to go away or be changed. Being able to know what they do is more important than anything, and if they can keep themselves as they are with that and keep goods and services fair, then that should be fine.”
“You mentioned the Wherren. What’s your opinion of them?”
“They are...” Brinai thinks for a moment more. “They are backwards, but not by choice. I have worked beside many smart Wherren, and they are as good and smart as any human can be, but the Imperium has kept them down, either through their religion or through...where and how they live. With time and training, they will be valuable allies.”
“It certainly seems that way. Let me ask about something else: Knowing what you do of the Imperium, how do you expect them to respond to our successes? Also, and this is probably a very different answer, how would you respond if you were the Imperium?”

Brinai gives Hunter a very hostile look, the kind of look he’s used to getting from people that have decided that he might look better in a wooden box. “It seems you have not been listening to anything I have said,” she pointedly spits in Imperial. Hunter doesn’t have to imagine the emphasis on her words, Kot’than’s matching stare and spite provide plenty of context. “I expect the Imperium to try to kill us all, like they have been doing, like I have said before. And I will not dignify your second question with an answer, besides to say that if I were in charge, I would hope I have the First-given epiphany of the horrors I have visited upon the trillions who live under my dominion - and kill myself.”
Hunter stoically endures the withering looks, tone, and words, and lowers his head for a beat while the air clears. Then, he takes another beat of silence as he looks up and makes eye contact with Brinai, holding a neutral expression; not relaxed, but not hostile or pained.
“I...apologize, if I have not been clear with my words. I know they will try to kill us all. I am trying to guess at how they will try to kill us all. I am trying to understand why we have succeeded against the Imperium. In both large and small scales, success depends on our ability to exploit certain patterns of Imperial action--for example, their methods of securing orbital gates, or the ways that they organize themselves in combat. If I were a scientist studying the laws of nature, I could be fairly sure that once I had understood something, I could repeat that test and get the same results every time. War is not a science, because results change over time. Against an enemy of intelligence, no single tactic works forever. If the Imperium changes how they defend gates, or where they place them, it will demand new approaches from us to taking them. In order to truly understand the conflict, I have to not only understand what worked in the past and why, but what will not work in the future. So, if I might ask more clearly: Are there things we are doing now that cannot last?”
Brinai keeps the glare up for a few more seconds, then shrugs. “The Turai have by and large stopped using drones in response to our attack on Napai,” she replies, keeping to Imperial. “Their Gateport screenings have increased in scrutiny, but they are still relatively easy to defeat. Aside from that, no one can say. If Sun Shenmai remains Emperor, things might go one way, if the hard-liners take over, then it might go another.”
“I have read the reports, but I am uncertain as to your thoughts on fighting against Shenmai in contrast to the hard-liners. Obviously movement and action would be restricted in certain ways, and it would be bad for everyday people. On the other hand, and from a ruthless perspective, oppression has a way of pushing more Imperial citizens into opposition, and perhaps might end the conflict sooner. If we prefer to fight against Shenmai, are there things we can do to keep him in power? If we think that the hard-liners’ coming to power would accelerate the conflict, are there things we could do to speed that along?”
Brinai shrugs. “Shenmai’s rule is something that we have little to do with at this point.” It seems she’s completely abandoned English for the time being. “He is being blamed for the loss of Whiirr and the Narsai’i proclamation of their status as free causing chaos with their use of Wherren slaves, and is being smeared with the blame for our Hedion blackout, as well. The Court of Worlds is beginning to speak openly against Shenmai’s rule, which could not possibly be good for his continued health. As for beyond that, unless we are to stop making the big gains that Garrett and I believe we need in order to win this war, the hard-liners will eventually come to power. There is nothing to be done about that.”
“If that is the case, and it is a phase of the war we expect to fight one day, we should begin drafting plans for that eventuality. And I would like to help, if I can. Perhaps if my first reports go well and there are people who understand, we can organize meetings of our thinkers and yours to plan for future stages of the war, and perhaps, for life after the war is won.”

Brinai’s glare returns, but this time merely mistrustful instead of hostile. “If the GRHDI and the 815 stay in control of Narsai’i affairs off-world, if the Narsai’i prove that they are willing to put their racism, bias, scheming and paranoia behind them, and especially if you, Hunter Brand, prove that you are worth trusting, then we will see.” She leans back in her seat. “I have done what I can to tolerate your people’s meddling in our affairs and attempts to destroy the 815, but you are talking about something more than lending aid, but a true alliance, and I will not ally with a people who think they are better than we are because they come from the Homeworld. The time for you people to decide if you are in this war for yourselves or for all of us has come. Bello, Onas, and the rest of my advisors agree with me - Narsai needs to choose.”
Hunter nods, accepting the mistrust as understandable, perhaps even deserved. “I understand. And I will take your words back to the rest of the Narsai’i. I cannot promise that I can make the foolish wise, any more than I can make the dead live, but I will promise you that all who have an ear will hear.” Hunter closes up the book and looks Brinai with full attention. “I don’t expect that you’ll trust me, as it’s a short-lived rebel leader who puts their fate in the hands of strangers. My words are well and good, but you will know me by my actions, and that’s all right with me.” Standing, he returns his chair to its place, and bows. “Thank you for speaking with me. May you heal well.”
Brinai’s expression softens as Hunter explains his next actions, and as he stands, she stands herself and returns his bow. “It is also a short-lived rebel leader who trusts no one and does not learn when to give a second chance. We shall see if your words are fulfilled by your actions, Hunter Brand.” Kot’than bows as well after translating Brinai’s words. “May you be well, and find luck in your attempts to convince the Narsai’i of the truth,” Brinai says in slow but practiced English.
Hunter thanks Kot’than as well, and slowly makes his way out as Brinai starts speaking to Kot’than in Imperial. His placid expression covers a buzzing mind, though. A report’s not going to tell the full story. It’s going to need to be a presentation, and one where I can get in people’s shit, he thinks. Brinai’s surprising frailty also worries him. He’ll need to talk to Davis at some point to figure out the structure of the Bashakrai’i beyond her, and figure out potential succession scenarios. Oof, we need an interstellar policy establishment yesterday. Everybody’s being pushed so far out of their elements, something’s going to go wrong if we don’t put good thought into this.

----

“I think that went well,” Brinai says as she opens the drug bowl for another deep breath as Hunter lets her quarters door slide shut and lock behind him. The painkillers and antibiotics - with a slight euphoric kick - wouldn’t be needed for much longer, but Bello insisted that she keep on the regimen. “He seems earnest, if inexperienced. Tell Bello we can take the minders off of Mr. Brand.”
“Yes, ma’am,” Kot’than says. He clips his vox onto his ear, then turns to Brinai. “Do you mind if I ask a question?”
“Of course, we’re not the Turai, ask away,” Brinai says.
“Why were you so hard on him, then?”
Brinai smiles. “Oh, for a few reasons. The boy needs to learn the stakes, and I don’t have time to take him by the hand through why we’re about done dealing with Narsai’i scheming. He needs to learn what to say and what not to say. It was a good way to see if he would crack and reveal a hidden racism against our people. Mostly though? It felt good. I have not had a chance to rant about how stupid Narsai has been, and that was some much-needed release.” She smiles at Kot’than. “It’s good to release every once in a while, Kot’than. Remember that.”
Kot’than laughs. “Yes, ma’am.”

Boranai

With interviews, flights in borrowed Interceptors, hanging with friends, grabbing a bite to eat and the other activities the various members of 815 on Atea handled in the few hours between Gateway appointments, the last few minutes before the Gateway opens to the Boranai Gate City Gateport seem to go by relatively slowly. When the Gateway flashes open for the second time after Atea’s identity is confirmed and the blocking mechanisms retracted on both sides of the Gateway, Hunter sees a covered pavilion and Narsai’i defensive positions pointed squarely at the Gateway. Beyond the covered plaza that must be the Gateport, a row of defensive barricades, scored and pock-marked - probably the remains of the invasion of Boranai - stand, and beyond that the outline of buildings rising a few stories tall in the surrounding area of the Gateport, matte metal chimneys giving off smoke and the tops of brightly colored signs advertising Gateport-side conveniences showing over the wall.

The Gateway officer shouts something from his booth in Imperial, and the rest of 815 moves out, followed a second later by Hunter. He braces himself for the the wave of nausea, but as he emerges out the other side of the Gateway, the heat and the odd scent of the air on the planet combines with the sudden onset of stomach cramps and unwellness to hit Hunter square between the eyes, twice as bad as it was when he travelled to Atea. Hunter doesn’t even make it to the trash cans positioned next to the Gateway - probably for this very reason - before he feels the dry heaves coming on. For a few awkward seconds, Hunter braces himself over the trash can, spitting and heaving. Bubble gum - the air on Boranai smells faintly of bubble gum.

His business dealt with, Hunter composes himself and moves back towards the rest of Task Force 815, all of whom are giving him a sympathetic look.
Davis walks over and gives Hunter a supporting pat on the back. “Don’t worry, it should only be a few more times before the nausea goes away. Usually.”
“That feeling like your soul’s being pulled out through your sinus cavity, that goes away too, right?”

Finally with an opportunity to look around, Hunter gives the Boranai Gateport a good look. As the first real piece of Imperial architectural design Hunter has seen, not to mention the first Gateport, there are several notable differences to what he was expecting. Instead of anything similar to the Narsai’i airport paradigm, the Boranai Gateport is basically a large open covered pavilion, with two Gateways and their attendant platforms and pre-formed spray-foamed-concrete control huts, sitting areas, marked lanes for vehicular traffic, and the occasional vendor of Imperial food and drink. Tan waist-high bollards seemingly flow out of the desert sand-colored textured concrete floor, and along with the occasional color-matched Imperial pre-formed structure or security wall, provide the only obstructions. Security is focused on the outer edges of the pavilion, the Narsai’i soldiers occupying the six battle-scarred emplacements the Turai held before them and patrolling the perimeter of the whole structure. Still, looking around, the height of the ground-level restrictions combined with the restricted ceiling that the pavilion’s roof provides creates an effective control of vehicular and foot traffic through the Gateport - and allows for security personnel stationed at the outer edges of the Gateport clear lines of fire at the dual Gateways. The whole structure looks about fifty to sixty meters across and 15 meters or so wide, with the roof 5 meters tall at the lowest and rising to 8 meters tall over vehicular pathways and the Gateways themselves, with the roof made out of a polished steel frame suspending large frosted panes of glass that shift their opacity as Hunter watches, maintaining a perfect degree of light and enough shade to keep the desert heat away.

A convoy of Humvees is parked at the outer edge of the Gateport, and as the team approaches them, doors swing open and a man in desert camo with stars on his shoulders steps out, accompanied by a half-dozen soldiers in full armor. All of Task Force 815 recognizes the man as General Dennis Bolton, but for different reasons. The general and his escort walk up to 815 under the shade of the pavilion’s awning, and after returning salutes from Hugh, Arketta and Angel, smiles and offers his hand to shake around the group as a whole, including Swims-the-Black. “Welcome to Boranai and Gate City, lady and gentlemen,” he says in a crisp East Coast accent. “It’s great to finally get all of Task Force 815 here for an official visit.” His smile grows a bit as he shakes Hunter’s hand. “And when did you join this group, Hunter? It’s good to see you again.”
“You know me, sir, I can’t keep out of an honorable fray or a research project, and they offered me both. Call it 48 hours and a couple of lost lunches.”
General Bolton laughs. “The same reason why I asked for the Boranai post. The opportunity, not the first bouts of Gateway nausea.” He looks around the team. “So, what brings Task Force 815 to Boranai?”
“Are you familiar with what’s being said about the GRHDI and 815 back on Earth, General?” Davis asks.
“You mean the smear job?” Bolton replies. “Yeah, we might be several thousand light years from Earth, but we still get the news. Unofficially, it’s the dumbest thing I’ve ever heard. You guys are the reason why we’ve made the gains we have, and now they want to throw you out on your asses because Congress and the Pentagon have their panties in a twist about getting shown up at their jobs - or whether or not you still have a Narsai’i accent.” He smirks at the team at that. “And they can’t deal with the fact that we’re no longer top dog on the block anymore, let alone that Narsai’i culture is very much the minority. That memo they’re circulating, the one that claims that the Imperium is a few dozen ‘sparsely inhabited planets’ and that we can just waltz onto the Gateships blasting Earth’s way and defeat them with our own forces? Best work of fiction I’ve read in years.”
Davis smiles, and at the back of the group Swims-the-Black’s fur rolls a pleased shade of green. “I couldn’t agree more, General,” Davis says. “We’re here to gather proof for Congress that the GRHDI way of handling things is still the best way to move forward, and Hunter is here to help with that, as well as take notes on what makes 815 tick so he can translate it into a field manual for Imperial relations. Ah, excuse me, Naranai’i relations, a little something we’re working on using.”
“Of the Milky Way, I like it,” Bolton replies. “Well, I’ll certainly clear time in my schedule to talk about why Congress needs to pull their heads out and give the ten-thousand-foot view on what’s going on here, but if you want more ground-level info, you should talk to the locals and my men. I’ll spread the word that you’re here and that they can be honest with your team.”
“Thanks for that, General,” Davis replies. “Anyone else you can recommend?”

Bolton nods, and strokes his chin in thought for a moment. “There’s one more group that you might want to talk to, but I can’t help you with them - Hell, I can’t even tell you who they are, but they’re the reason why Boranai hasn’t turned into another pre-Awakening Iraq. For the first two months after the invasion, the remains of the Turai and whatever die-hard civilians they could get to join them harassed our patrols, raided our supplies and lead my men into ambush after ambush. They made it damn near impossible to get reconstruction done in Spire City, and the friction was driving the Boranai’i away from us. The situation was about to get completely out of hand - until one day almost 500 Turai and civilians approached our headquarters with weapons in the air. They said that two men came in and convinced them that throwing in with the insurgents meant fighting to let the Imperium come back in and start massacring people or just glassing the planet from orbit, and that the Narsai’i were here to not only rebuild, but to make everyone’s lives better.

After that, the insurgents had their backs broken. They gave us intel on weapons and supply caches, and what few were left have vanished into the hills. They still come down to raid our supply depots every so often, but they’re not finding any traction with the population anymore, and every so often one of them sneaks away and surrenders to us, we turn them over to the locals to try, and they usually give them a few years of jail time. But whoever those two men are or who they’re with, they’re the ones keeping things together with the Boranai’i, keeping the cultural differences and misunderstandings from blowing up and playing arbiter for most of the Boranai’i internal arguments and problems. I can’t point you in their direction, but I know that some of the Boranai’i in my office can send word through channels, if you want.”

Hugh spends his time on Atea in one of the sections under construction - that's usually where the best food stands are. He's overjoyed to find a kindly middle-aged couple hailing from Napai who sell slow-roasted spink in what their slightly flickering second-hand display advertises as Ones, Twos and Fours, with a variety of spice rubs and sauces available. Apparently, construction efforts on Whirr have led to some very limited export of Wherren wood, which both of them are quick to argue imparts a very special flavor indeed. Not being able to grill over open flame on a space station, the couple rigged a surplus hostile environment air reconditioning unit into a closed-loop smoker. The different sizes turn out to be different length skewers sized to hold that number of spinks in a row; Hugh orders a "Galaxy", four spinks on a skewer done with four different styles.

Mmh mmh. Them's good eating. (Well, not so much the Aikoro-style one, which turns out to taste like vinegar. Freakin' Space Carolinans.)

---

On Boronai, Hugh admires the gate station briefly. Why, that looks damn sight cleaner than how he left it! And the lack of gunfire in the distance is definitely an improvement, too. They soon encounter General Bolton, who - much like everyone on this side of the gateway - can't seem to make enough of a show of backing 815. It is a logical attitude - the team stands for a proven track record, and God knows what would happen to Bolton's operation if the GRHDI gets brought to heel. In a way, Hugh thinks, you can always count on brass to be conservative and looking out for their own - you just have to align that with your own goals. The talk of two mystery men figuratively kneecapping the recalcitrant Turai and their sympathizers does catch his attention, though.

“Exactly two ‘men’?” Hugh asks. “That’s vague and specific in dimensions I don’t find particularly comfortable, Sir. You’ve got a pair of dudes with enough sway to negotiate away an insurgency and nobody’s coming forward to offer any details? That’s got my Ambush Alert ringing on DefCon Two. We have to probe that, and we need to be ready for a big old bushwhacking coming at us.”

"That's what we thought, too, Captain," Bolton replies. "And whoever they are, they've been damn good at evading our attempts to identify them. I've tried putting out fake info on attempts to locate them to see if we have a leak, but nothing. Our few attempts to pin them down come up with nothing but sand and a warning from the locals to stop trying to identify our mysterious friends. Whoever they are, they know our operations inside and out and want to keep their identities a secret - but they're also on our side. Half of our disputes and problems with the Boranai'i are settled within a few days when the Boranai'i in question comes back and say that they understand what really happened and withdraw their complaint, and we've received several solid leads on insurgent hideouts and supply caches from them via back channels. I'd love to know who they are, but if it's a choice between finding out who they are and keeping their help, I'll gladly remain in the dark as long as they stay on our side."

"I prefer allies to shadowy benefactors," Hugh says.

"No reason they can't be both, Verrill," Zaef says.

Luis shakes his head, "I don't know about that, Zaef. We know what they've done up until now, but until we know more about them can we really trust them or depend on them? I don't think I could, not without knowing more about them and their motivations. If they want to stay anonymous publicly that's one thing, but we need to know more about them to treat them as allies." Luis grins, then continues. "Besides, they sound like the kind of person Hunter would search through a desert for forty years to interview."

"If it just boils down to a matter of trust, they've been remarkably cooperative and competent so far. And if anyone doesn't quite think that's enough for even a smidgen of trust," Zaef's brow furrows and his voice drops an octave, "then perhaps you've forgotten why we're here in the first place. There's a fine line between caution and suspicion, and I'm sick as shit of toeing it. They want some privacy and they're entitled to it as long as they keep doing good work. I'm sure the interview can still be conducted while giving them anonymity."

"I didn't say they need to drop their pants and cough for us," Hugh retorts, "but right now we don't even know for sure those two men exist, or that they're just two, or that they're dudes; and if they do exist, we have no idea what their plans and motivations are. I'm just saying, we should fix that with a fact-finding mission by setting up a meeting, and being that we don't know those guys and that this whole deal seems more than a little too convenient to me, we should be expecting this to be a trap. Does that clear it up?"

"Yes."

Angel muses quietly. Shadowy benefactors can be dealt with one way or another, and they're not ghosts. If it comes down to it, anyone can be found.

"Ambush or no, be careful shedding too much light on them Sir. There's folks operate better that way - and some that become dangerous once their name gets out. Too much public attention is a door that can't exactly get shut once it's open."

"Finding out their names is step one," Hugh replies. "Whether we spread those names later isn't on the program right now. They don't have to go public with it, but we need to know who they are. Everybody feeling me on that?"

Angel simply nods, and goes back to fiddling with the interface for his new sidearm - he's not quite sure the wind correction firmware is doing what he wants it to.

Hunter frowns, and motions for the group to huddle a little bit more closely; this is not an outdoor-voice kind of conversation. "We need to know who they are. That doesn't mean we need to have identifiable data on them. In fact, I don't think I want their names. If these offices are honeycombed with networks we don't understand, we might be better off that way. But I sure as hell want to know what the context is, and how they're able to do all this bullshit that's been ascribed to them."
Hunter furrows his brow. "If what you're saying is true, two things stand out: One, there exists a hidden power structure on Boranai, one that we've been basically unaware of up until this point. There are things that happen here, and things that get done here, in ways we don't fully understand. That's dangerous, obviously. There's no such thing as 'good surprises' in our business.
"Two, the concealment and secrecy is either to protect them from us, the citizenry, the Imperium, or some combination of the three. That could mean many, many different things They could be hunter-killers trying to lure 815 into a trap, crime bosses of some sort who want their livelihood not to be interfered with, active imperial agents running a double (or triple) game, some sort of Space-Klansmen, or another possibility that hasn't occurred to us yet. If they get their way, they don't even want us to know why they're remaining hidden. That piece is far more important to me than a name.
"So, I think we start in on working out the details of how we meet up with them, methodically and carefully. At the same time, though, we need to be extremely alert to anything and everything that strikes us as anomalous. Talk to everyone, watch everything. What's not making sense here? What's not being said, and who's not saying it? Where's the dog that didn't bark? We find those things, and we bulldog the details until we have it figured out. At the very least, we need a better sense of what Boranai is like off-the-books before we meet these guys. We keep seeing like a state, we'll be going in blind."

Davis and Swims-the-Black both nod at Hunter's points. "I agree," Swims says. "Not all the reasons why some unknown third group would want to help us are known - or good for us. Finding out what's going on here should be one of our goals, but only one of them. Remember, we are here to collect testimony that will save the GRHDI and Task Force 815. If we do not stop the Narsai'i government from banishing us all from the Gateways, then the motivations of two men, or however many there are, will not matter much." Swims-the-Black turns to Hunter. "I believe that is part of why Ms. Barnes hired you in the first place. I agree, we should confront these two men last, and while Garrett, myself and whoever else has questions for the general talk to him, others speak with the troops and the Boranai'i, get a feel for how the soldiers are coping and adapting to living on Boranai - and how the locals are adapting to living with the soldiers and life under the Narsai'i. Agreed?"
Hunter gives Swims-the-Black a polite but confused look.
"Oh, First-damn it," Swims says, smiling and turning an embarrassed blue and yellow. "Garrett, could you translate for me, please?"
Davis laughs and puts a hand on Swims-the-Black's shoulder and gives his friend a shake. "Sure thing," he says and translates Swims' statement for Hunter's benefit.

"Right, that sounds like a plan. Get info from the soldiers about military, social, and cultural dimensions of their experience, and remember that their main frame of reference for this sort of conflict is probably Anbar Province. Now, it's also pretty easy to fall into the expected roles people look to you for, so triangulate what they're doing with what the Kansatai and Turai did, minus the random extrajudicial killings...hopefully. Finally, if we can find material influence that helps us do the math on the size of the Imperium, that would be great."

Hunter turns to the General. "Also, If you're not opposed to a few questions from an old colleague I'm interested in joining the group picking your brain."