Disclaimer:

I have wet dreams about owning all these dank memez. But I don't. So I shall sit here and wallow in my self-pity. Which produced this, which is nice...

A/N: So, heavy Kudos to EarthBorn93 for unwittingly kick-starting this badboy off. On another note, I realise posting your first story in one of the lesser known fandoms isn't... productive in terms of reviews and help with writing and all that but as the saying goes: you reap what you sow.

Technical stuff is at the end, for those that are interested. Rant free of charge.

Commander Hillivan Manaan flinched.

The confined space reverberated with another 'ptang' louder than normal conversation. There was a short pause then another pierced his brain. His eyes opened and glued themselves to his furling and unfurling hand. Watching his own fingers dance like small sand-eddies before a sandstorm.

Ptang. There was a fuzzy ringing now sitting just inside his ears.

Ptang. Hillivan gave up. He reached over and using handholds, swung himself over to Zoltan's gunnery station. From his reclining in the command chair. Using the passive scanners he eyeballed the nearby dunes still swiping sleep from his eyes. There were three tan-clad figures sitting just under the crest of the nearest dune, shadows casting long lines down its sandy face.

One of the figures had his standard six-shooter out and was aiming it at the "Idiosyncratic". Right at the bow-plate. There was a muted pop then the ringing 'ptang' echoed around the interior of Hillivan's own Armored Assault Vehicle. The figure bent his arm and with a fluid movement, put in a new ammo drum. He cocked the hammer with a hopelessly exaggerated movement and took a slow aim.

Hillivan's hand was quicker. With an ease born from years of practice, he flicked the arming switch, activated the traverse mechanism and aimed the massive tank's ChemRec 50mm Chaingun at them. The figures reacted instantly.

They leapt down the dune, one leap travelling massive downhill distance. The scrambled for cover from the beast of a weapon. Hillivan chuckled darkly and flicked on exterior speakers.

"It's only fair I get shots off, Zoltan my friend. Stand still while I shoot your helmet off!" The figure with the handgun paused and stopping mid-dash, roared with laughter. He then holstered the six-shooter and spread his hands, as if waiting for the gun to fire. Hillivan's ire eased at the laughter. They meant well. They were all Manaan, it was in their very Kiith to find the humor in it all. But waking a superior with small arms fire was... borderline.

"Breaks over. We ride the sands, brothers." Hillivan eased out of the gunnery station and reset the controls, hanging on a hand and foot from the handholds. The gun swung forward and locked. The belts disconnected and the screens dimmed. The side hatch opened with the tell tale clunk-click that they couldn't seem to get rid of no matter how many times they rebuilt the door mechanism and Hillivan's crew slunk in. Dirnkik was first, long scruffy hair over a hawkish face, and he settled into the navigation seat. Their driver, Konran came in with a nervous shuffle. He was always nervous when not in command of some form of treads or tyres. He had a young face that women seemed to love. Then Zoltan slunk in. Whip thin and all elbows and knees, he gave a dopey grin before whipping to perfect parade ground attention.

"Senior Sandman Zolran reporting for duty, Sir!" His voice sounded like he was always laughing at something. Konran, seated and in the process of turning the engine, rolled his eyes.

"Stop acting the fool, Zoltan. Its unbecoming."

Zoltan's parade perfection melted as he shot Konran a glare.

"Who asked you, mate?" His voice still chuckled.

"Zoltan! Konran! Shut up. Take us away, Konran. I want to be sipping caati juice with the Admiral by sundown... don't make me unhappy." Hillivan growled as he maneuvered into the commander's chair. The fusion powercell whined and the treads kicked sand as their tank lurched out of a shallow dip in a row of dunes. The sun making the tan and grey vehicle blend in with the ever-present desert sands.

"Man, why you have to always throw the sand at us!?" Konan gave in a whiney tone.

"Nav! Who amongst us are the two bitchiest crew members?" Hillivan barked, eyes not moving from their vigilant scrutiny of their surroundings. There where Gaalsien behind every dune. Usually.

Dirnkik didn't look up from the map-screen, busy plotting the path least susceptible to ambush through the last of the Dune sea before they hit the flats around Base Omega.

"Able Sandman Konran and Senior Sandman Zoltan, Commander." His voice was preoccupied and deft fingers where working a keypad. He was also their mechanic, if push came to shove.

Hillivan gave a chuckle.

"How much further 'til the bom?" Hillivan quickly looked up at the mean temperature for today. It was bordering on mid-fifties. The base was affectionately called "The Bom". 'B' from Base, 'OM' from Omega. It was strictly local vernacular.

"We got maybe one twenty clicks as the LAV flies, but more if we wanna skirt a warning marker left yestersay." Dirnkik looked up at Hillivan still peering at a screen he was dragging in almost a two hundred and seventy degree arc. Every few swings he'd shift and peer off their stern quarter.

"We'll skirt. No sense in making a nuisance of ourselves." Hillivan responded, eyes flicking to Dirnkik as he scanned past. The man nodded and went to work. Konran adjusted the drive and the treads smooth swishing intensified and was broken by an infrequent clack as it ate or crushed the almost chalky rock.

The crew descended into companionable silence, broken by the odd narration by Zoltan.

Kiith Manaan, a relatively small Kiith due to its nature, was not a powerful one in the sense of Sobanii military might, or S'jet resources, but it was filled, to bursting point of unique and quirky individuals.

Take the inhabitants of the lone AAV for example. Zoltan was... well, Zoltan was Zoltan. Konran was a professional racer. He used to frequent the Dunerunner circuit before he volunteered. Dirnkik was an architect, part of the team that had once designed buildings in the polar city of Orison. He had more buildings to his name than what could be found in the entirety of The Bom's walls. Hillivan was a military man. Then used as hired muscle to one of the many gypsy convoys that dotted the desert. He went back into service well before this whole Unification incident. Specialised in AVAT, shipped out to The Bom, and the rest, as they say, is sand on the wind.

In war, Manaan took its few men and like the artists they are, trained in their aspect of war until it was but another work of art...

As Chiitch'all S'jet once said; "The only problem with the Manaan Soldier is that there are never enough of them."

The silent tank interior was broken.

"Contact. Ten past two. Bearing three one three. Either Armor or a pack of skimmers." Dirnkik tapped a few buttons and a graphic overlay appeared in the bottom left corner of Hillivan's command screen. They were closing fast.

"Clear. Zoltan, rounds hot. Konran, plates down, see if you can skirt the dune to our left. I want range on these suckers." The tank shuddered as the driver's viewport slammed closed and the ammo belts rammed home on the main gun almost simultaneously.

"Bravo Oscar, Bravo Oscar, this is Delta Mike zero one, I have Gaalsien contacts on my position, I repeat, enemy contacts just south of Yootan ridge, over." Hillivan was all business.

"This is Bravo Oscar Charlie one, we read you. Estimate number of contacts, Delta Mike. Over." Hillivan gave a small sigh of relief at being in range, and looked at a composed Dirnkik. He held up two fingers still staring at the scene unfold on his screen.

Zoltan swore loudly.

"Delta Mike to Bravo Oscar. Two wings of swarmers or a deuce of Assault craft. Speed is between the two right now, Over." There was a pause as Hillivan flicked to the intercom.

"Looks like swarmers from dust kickup. Zoltan, put lead down range."

The man just nodded and with a grin and sweeped the crest of the dune the sandskimmers where going to appear over. They were maybe a klick from the Flats, where the heavily armoured AAV held every advantage.

"Through the feed, and past the guns, look out Floats, here it comes..." the tank shook. It shook as 50mm High Explosive cannon shells where spat out at a rate of one hundred and twenty rounds per minute. Two shells ripped the dune crest apart every second.

The leading Sandskimmer didn't even see the coalition tank that ripped it in half. A half a meter of sand provided the resistance to set a shell off as it passed, forming a crude shape-charge as it exited the dune on the other side. No Sandskimmer could have survived the blast that melted its way through the gunpod into the ammo racks, and out the top of the hover-vehicle. This one didn't either.

The rest ramped into the air, thinking easy prey of a lone AAV. Two more gutted skimmers hit the sand before they realised their pray wasn't where it was meant to be, and it was well aware of its predators.

Within seconds, prey had become predator.

Zoltan let out a loud whoop as the AAV shook and shuddered with the buzzing 'dakka-dakka-dakka' of the main gun. It was just a matter of sweeping it nice and wide and catching as many as possible before they spread out.

The Gaalsien Sandskimmers buzzed like angry wasps as they finally spread and let loose with their gatling guns. It sounded like rain against the hull in the silence of the AAV reloading its main gun.

"This is a laugh... AP on the way!" Zoltan shouted triumphantly as the gun spooled and roared in much shorter bursts. Each burst was capable of ending in another skimmer burning. They wizened up, and began making life difficult by crawling up the sides of both dunes and tried to swarm the skimmer-killer. With four years of fringe experience and countless engagements under the belt, the skimmers had no idea what they had committed to.

That kind of mistake was made only once.

But ten to one where good odds if there ever was such a thing.

"We got damage to rear suspension, left side. Powercell coolant is losing pressure." Konran yelled over the "dakka-dakka" of the main gun.

"We'll make it." Hillivan's voice carried astounding levels of certainty. Something went 'twang' towards the rear of the tank. He looked even more certain.

Dirnkik eyed his commander and wondered if he was in denial and had finally lost it. There where rounds buzzing around the AAV like a swarm of Water-hornets and dust spouted like small volcanoes as errant rounds impacted on dirt around the tank.

It was round about this time that four of the remaining five skimmers cease to exist. Six missiles turned the dune they were harassing the lone AAV on into one long fireball and Gaalsien bits rained down on the two remaining vehicles.

One versus one where not favorable odds in any light.

Two bursts of Armor Piercing rounds later, the crew relaxed into a state just slightly above hyper aware.

"This is Boneman zero five. You're welcome, over." Dirnkik looked up at Hillivan calmly staring at his screens like they would wiggle away if he didn't and yet again, like countless times before, wondered:

How does he do it?

"Ever thankful, Boneman zero five. We owe you a cold one. Delta Mike zero one over and out." They watched the three strike fighters curve away and head in a different direction. Most probably tasked with helping another patrol or other sighting.

They stopped to at least patch the coolant leak, and treated it like an ambush waiting to happen. They stopped just off the crest of the last dune before the flats, shut down all the systems, donned softsuits and attached clip-on armour. Hillivan and Zoltan trudged up the dune and provided overwatch, rifles tracking dunetops and the odd valley. Dirnkik was chest deep into an access panel on the bottom of the tank just in front of the rear track-arches. There was muffled swearing. Konran sat nervously in the gunnery seat in the "Idiosyncratic".

"How's it looking, Dirnkik?" Hillivan called out over his shoulder, a scoped rifle checking to see if any Gaalsien survivors stumbled from the still smoking hell a few dunes away.

"I can fix it... but this Sajuuk-damned piece of work decided to get damaged on the inside edge of the vacuum chambers... sir. Give me half an hour, brother." Zoltan gave a small chuckle, and shifted to cover a different approach.

-0-

Hillivan's radio sparked to life.

"Sir, we got two incoming." Konran seemed relatively calm. Must be from the flats then.

Zoltan shot Hillivan a look. Then went and scrambled for the side hatch of the AAV.

"Zoltan's on it. Sit tight and wait for Dirnkik's signal." Movement caught his eye. Turning slowly to make sure he didn't draw attention, he watched the lone figure stumble over a ridge maybe two dunes from Hillivan, in the direction they'd came from.

They move fast.

They always did move fast.

Hillivan line up his scope and peered through. The figure was in a mixture of a robe and a flight suit. An ominous masked could be seen below a large hood keeping the Kushan Sun at bay. It moved in a long, rolling gait that seemed to eat more distance than it should. But even then, it was clear the figure was struggling. It disappeared behind a hump in an intervening dune, then reappeared much closer... another whole dune closer.

It hit him.

The figure was following the two massive tracks left in the sand. It was a risky choice. Between survival and capture by the enemy. And even then both where maybes at best in their outcomes...

Leaving someone to die in the desert never sat well with Hillivan. It was the worst. The unbearable heat, then hallucinations, then disbelief as your body betrayed you... then it was the cracked mouths and throat... then collapse where there would be this period of lucidity, just to contemplate your situation in a large, empty desert.

Bodies where rarely found, and if so, treated with utmost respect. They were handed over to the respective Kiith regardless of any wars, fights or feuds. A Kushan lost to the sands was always a reminder that this world was still their harsh mistress.

"This is Hillivan. I'm gonna retrieve a survivor. No visible weapons. What's the eta on those LAV's?"

"'Bout two minutes, boss. Should I cover?" Hillivan watch the figure drop to a knee and sink into the sand.

"No, just let the LAV's know we are friendly and I'll be back soon." He stood up and keeping an eye on the figure through the scope, made his way down the dune on the opposite side of the Idiosyncratic. The figure took a few seconds before spotting him. Then proceeded to meet Hillivan halfway. Hands where outstretched, a symbolism for 'temporary treaty'. Hillivan relaxed, but kept his rifle on the figure. The pride of your Kiith lay in the ancient symbolism and it was never, ever broken.

"Stop there." The figure did. Hillivan stepped onto the lowest part of the valley and circled the... it was impossible to see if if was man or woman beneath the loose desert robes.

Hillivan was a hairs breadth away from springing into action if it was a trap.

"Are you alone?" The figure visibly tensed before folding in on itself.

"There... where none to continue honouring the Kiith." Hillivan felt guilty at feeling nothing but smug confidence in his crew's abilities. The voice was soft and high. A woman.

"Come. We'll take you to water and shade." The woman nodded and followed Hillivan's steps in the sand up the dune. He blinked. These people really where desert-smart. As he walked up, he noticed how her feet seemed to sink considerably less than his own. Maybe it was the way their boots where designed? Floats in their boots seemed ludicrous though.

The woman froze as her head broke the dune's silhouette. A rifle was all but resting between her eyes.

"Zoltan... stand the fuck down." There was a silence.

"Name, rank, unit." Oh. The LAV's.

"Hillivan Manaan. Commander of the 707th, long range desert group. Stand down, soldier." The rifle was lowered slowly. Hillivan's gaze swept from the two men in full combat fatigues to the Gaalsien.

"And the float, sir?" The soldier turned on the rifles safety. The Gaalsien stepped onto the crest with the rest of them and stood almost a full head taller than the two soldiers. One took a subconscious step back. Hillivan, in turn, stood a shade higher than the Gaalsien.

"Oh, you know, just decided to get myself a souvenir." There was silence.

"Oh, come on. No sense of humor you Nabaals." They just stared.

"Fine. Survivor. There! Happy?" They nodded almost in sync and about-faced. They were clambering into their LAV's by the time the Gaalsien spoke again.

"Is that what I am, Commander? A trinket? An amusement?" There was a tight edge to the voice no amount of filters could dissipate.

"...no, just took the Sajuuk-damned Nabaals for shits... they have permanent suspension rods up their asses." There was a small snicking noise from the Gaalsien. It could have been a chuckle, laughter or a series of curses.

"I have never had the honor of meeting a member of Kiith Manaan before, Commander. I am forever in your debt." Hillivan shrugged and motioned to the AAV.

"I didn't know you were in that desperate need for humor." There was a choking noise.

"Sir. For saving my life." Hillivan turned to face the tall woman. Humor danced in grey and green eyes.

"Ahhh, but you now ride in a Mananoi Vehicle. It is a dubious gift!" The woman tilted her head.

"You... you mean the rumors are true!?" Her voice colored with a tint of apprehension. Hillivan gave another evasive shrug.

"I don't care to listen to rumors. I am but a simple flotilla commander, miss."

He motioned for her to get in the AAV. She turned her mask to him, then pointedly to the front bow-plate.

"Never strung your victim's desecrated bodies to your ship with razorwire?" Hillivan gave her an unreadable look.

"It's a nightmare to wash off if it bakes in, though." He said, voice straight. She shuddered.

He smiled and shook his head.

"We don't even have razorwire. No, miss. We are not barbarians." Hillivan was certain the quick look at him was a hot glare.

"Ass."

As she swung herself inside, there was the sound of three safeties disengaging.

"We might laugh and be merry, but we are not stupid. Hand it over." She whipped around to look at an ever calm Hillivan barring the hatch.

She gave a low growl and reached between her legs...

And removed a five inch hunting knife from her thigh. She turned to go sit on one of the bunks.

"Uh uhhh, and the other." She shot him another, what he guessed was a death glare, and removed another knife from inside her right boot. She gave a sigh and turned to go... only for a hand to halt her. She became rigid as a hand reached into her robe. She bit back a series of curses. The hand retreated quickly, holding a small standoff handgun.

"Who are you people!?" She screamed as she removed her helmet.

"We are people who just do our best at surviving." Hillivan easily replied as the rest of the crew fell in station.

Hillivan studied her. She was... pretty. She seemed delicate but the clenching of her jaw and the fire in her sky blue eyes spoke of strength. Her dark hair was plastered to her forehead as she glared absolute daggers at Hillivan.

"Oh, come now. Just because we denied you your escape, doesn't mean we aren't reasonable." Hillivan started in conversational tones, as he swung into the commander's chair.

"And you can rest on my bunk. Water is in the canteen over there... don't make trouble please. I hoped to save a life." His voice was light, joking even, but the woman saw that Hillivan wouldn't hesitate to actually end her.

She grit her teeth but her parched throat won out. As she supped small sips of clear, near iced water, Hillivan broke the banter filled exchanges on the radio with their escort and spoke to her.

"Do you have a name, miss?" She was staring off at a screen and didn't seem to be paying too much attention.

"Kristaan Gaalsien'Sa'Ka..." she froze. Everyone in the AAV went entirely rigid. The only person not staring at her with Baserunner wheel sized eyes was the driver. And he was sorely wanting to.

Kristaan was cursing herself in every language, style and dialect she knew.

Gaalsien'Sa'Ka. Direct family of the leader of the entire Kiith.

"You related to ol' K'had!?" Zoltan piped up. She winced. Yes, she most definitely was... even if everyone involved wished otherwise.

"You must be his second daughter. The other is some commadore or something." Dirnkik stated, making a very astute observation, with nothing but shady intelligence reports to go on.

But her eyes were glued on Hillivan's face. His eyes where now narrowed and she could see the gears in his whirl and grind... she was suddenly very afraid of those gears. She saw the cunning dance in those eyes hand in hand with the ever present mirth.

His eyes switched focus from something a thousand dunes behind her to... her. The difference nearly made her breath hitch. The gaze was stern, but held such sympathy, and understanding...

'He couldn't know... it's not possible... he couldn't. Could he?' And Kristaan began to suffer a mild panic attack on a bunk as they drove through the desert.

"Sir. What are we going to tell the Admiral?" Dirnkik finally spoke up as the base came into view. Konran and Zoltan both cocked an ear.

"... Nothing. We keep this between ourselves." The inhabitants of the AAV whirled on their superior.

"The fuck? Why, by the great Sajuuk's hairy balls would we do that!?" Zoltan burst out.

"Sir... all due respect, but: Zoltan's right. Are you fucking Suntouched, Hillivan!?" Dirnkik shouted, twisting around in the Navigation seat.

Konran held his silence but slowed down suddenly.

"Kanker one one to Delta Mike... why you slow down, over." Before any could think of a reason or suitable reply, Konran snapped out a terse "Suspension is acting up." And glared at the occupants.

"Sort this out. Explain, sir." Konran went back to driving.

Hillivan sighed.

"Hear me out. Okay? No interruptions." He eyed everyone until they gave their grumbled consent. Kristaan just gave a stiff, awed nod.

"I am a commander. I am responsible for all you. For all of us, every single Martin. It is my job to ensure we live as long as possible. High Command, as much as I love them, are riddled with spies." He gave a questing look at Kristaan. She nodded.

"And the last thing we want is old K'had to know that we have his precious daughter. We will be acclaimed at bringing this valuable target in, highlighting us as the reason the Gaalsien'Sa is without a full family. He will have a carrier group for every person on the 707th assigned to our destruction. We are a ghost group. We don't exist. I want to keep it that way." He gave a look at Kristaan.

"And pretty women have a nasty habit of being raped as interrogation in our esteemed Information Corps. It would instigate a feud so big that we'll either have to physically exterminate the entirety of Kiith Gaalsien or suffer thousands of years of hostilities... does any of this not make sense?"

There was awed silence.

'This man... thought of all that in that instant?' Then there was the look he shot her.

"We'll make it seem like the group of sandskimmers engaged with the utmost of bravery and inflicted heavy casualties before dying to the man... maybe we can give Kristaan here a good account of herself before she 'died'. Maybe it will appease the great K'had Sajuuk..."

He knew. He had taken one look at her, and had figured her out. He had seemingly looked into her soul and dug up her deepest fears...

He winked at her.

She wasn't sure how she felt about that.

"What does it feel like to be dead, Miss Kristaan?" All those fears... doubts... snide comments around the dinner table every time they came together... the pitying sister... the hungry looks... all that and they couldn't touch her if she was dead.

"It feels... liberating." She gave him a measured look.

"I still think you are an ass though." The AAV shook with laughter.

-0-

"Delta Mike zero one to Bravo Oscar Charlie one, we're approaching entrance three, over."

"Copy, Delta Mike. Standby."

"Hows the Admiral today?"

"Delta Mike zero one cleared for entry zero three. She's currently in a meeting with the REMF from Tiir. Something about ordinance discrepancies. You going to stick your dick in that?" The operator sounded morbidly curious.

Every operator knew the callsign Delta Mike and the Admiral went hand in hand.

"Indeed. See if you can find me someone who knows where she is. Delta Mike zero one cleared doors. Parking request at Fridge, over."

"Closing doors. P-Req denied. You using the AVB I'm afraid. You in luck, Delta. She's in the main conference room for the bigwigs. Heard her castrate someone on my way to tower. Over"

"Thanks, Delta Mike zero one, over and out." Hillivan looked down and stared at his crew plus one.

"I'm going to be gone for maybe twenty minutes. Keep her clean, see if you can fix that suspension by the time I'm back." He turned to plus one.

"Change onto one of my spare fatigues. They might even fit you. You are a expert on float-tech we picked up and shipping out if anyone asks. You are fluent in floaty bits, right?" Kristaan remembered sleepless nights fixing her skimmer and the countless hours spent as a temporary mechanic. She gave an insulted nod.

"And please for the love of Sajuuk, please don't respond to any questions as thoughtlessly as before..." He looked around. Everyone was busy. There was an awkward moment when Kristaan had to strip down to her vapor vest and underwear, but the crew turned a very blind eye in respect.

Because of his position in the commander's chair, Hillivan now knew she had a frankly superb ass.

When she was done, she folded her clothes and glared at the crew, daring them to so much as glance lower.

Deep down she expected the lewd looks... it came with the territory. After commanding a wing of skimmers for almost two months, she saw the hunger... the distain.

And here they were giving her a mixture of confused and appreciative looks.

She scowled and looked away, sitting with knees pulled to her chest and boots ready to put on at the foot of the bench/bed/food and water storage.

"I'm going topside. Kristaan, sit here until Dirnkik says otherwise." She looked up and sure enough he was opening the top hatch. She stared at the commander's chair as if it would bite her.

She tentatively moved into the chair. The screen layout was generally similar. It was less cluttered than the standard Sandskimmer. And she was looking at enemy intelligence most would die to get. Sensor ranges, gun elevation limitations, pitch, roll and yaw parameters... she looked around bewildered. Why where they letting her see all this... why where they so trusting after knowing she planned on at least maiming several of them...

"Why we trusting you?" She looked up and squinting into the blinding light of the open hatch. Hillivan was leaning over the opening.

She gave a tentative nod.

"Yeah, I mean, I could take control and wreak havoc before you kill me... or I could send the details to an agent or..." she looked at his calmly smile face and halted.

"You thought of all that, haven't you?" He nodded, delighted.

"And you've made sure I can't?" Hillivan shook his head enthusiastically.

"No, 'cause I see it like this: you can live, and not do those things, being a local hero for your people, or you could send information to your... beloved father," There was a pause just long enough to tell her all she needed to know. He definitely knew, "and be known as a turncoat who now works for the enemy and is trying to placate her father with paltry gifts of knowledge that he already knows." She paused.

Hillivan leaned away and began shouting something to a few deckhands that where in the repair bay.

She looked at the tall man with a scruffy bed of black hair and the vestiges of a beard. And as she watched him gesture wildly while regaling a tall story, she wondered how dangerous this man was.

"Don't let it get to you. We can't figure it out either." She became slightly aggravated that this crew seemed to be filled with people who could predict what she was thinking.

She looked to the side at the Navigator, Dirnkik. Her boss for the time being. He had a knowing smirk.

She just let out a sigh that was almost more growl than sigh.

"Why he's such an ass, you mean?" She snarled spitefully. She wasn't going to forget the pistol incident.

'No one... and I mean no one, gets inside my uniform without my permission!'

Konran stopped the tank with the clatter of tracks on reinforced concrete. She looked around withe passive sensors and frowned. It had definitely not been her imagination.

"Why is your AAV different?" She blurted out as she scanned the just as confused mechanics staring at the new tank. So it wasn't just her.

The three men grinned.

"We're Kiith Manaan." They said in perfect unison. As if it explained everything.

"Look at their Sobanii pattern AAV's. It's pathetic! No Navigator/mechanic. Their gun may look bigger but it shoots thirty five mil rounds in much quicker bursts. We've got a fifty mil. Okay sure, so we got more vulnerable tracks, but everything else we smash them... The only reason this isn't standard is politics and elitism. Kiith Sobaan likes to think they make better stuff because they bigger? Sure, okay. We just keep our own Manaan pattern vehicles to ourselves now." Dirnkik sounded... bemused. Like facing a stubborn child.

She looked up to find Hillivan gone.

"Okay. So Dirnkik, you fixing Idio', Konran, you can keep an eye on Princess here, and I'm gonna see if I can find us some caati juice." And with that, Zoltan literally leapt from the Gunnery station, caught a handhold, swung himself with the momentum, and disappeared out the side hatch. His feet didn't touch anything until he was outside. Kristaan blinked.

These where some estranged individuals. But they must harmonize wonderfully for them... to...

Images of burning wrecks and screaming shells filled her mind. She sighed and got up. Her wing had been on probing patrols for weeks, and now after all that... after nearly getting killed and in the midst of the... enemy? She had her first chance to sleep. The bunk she had put her clothes on called to her. Her head hit the hard pillow and after a few minutes listening to the yelling of overworked dockhands and the screaming, grinding and banging of their tools, all the fatigue she had been shoving to the side stole up and claimed her consciousness.

-0-

Hillivan could hear the Admiral speak to... someone that needed buttering up. Her voice had that honeydew edge that could entrance anyone to get caught listening. She had the figure to captivate as well. But now she would be standing next to a projector, datapad in hand calmly telling civvies how they can't just simply tell her how to do her job. She would be polite, and refrained... but Sajuuk have mercy on the first to imply she couldn't do her just because she had a pair of smashing tits and a body that goddesses drooled over.

Hillivan eyed the secretary. She gave him a resigned look. She knew him. He ignored her enough times for it to sink in. He came to visit, he disappeared with the Admiral, he left, she came out screaming blue murder.

The secretary already looked prepped for the Holocaust Hillivan would no doubt bring to pass.

He didn't aim to disappoint.

He lifted a reinforced tankers boot and smashed the doors open. The civs jumped out of their chairs and the Admiral looked ready to spit out a sandstorm.

"Darraki! I just got word from the doctors! Its a girl!" Admiral Darraki Somtaaw turned white. The civs gained sandguppy expressions. The Admiral turned a funny shade of caati purple.

Hillivan just looked like some happy father.

"What... you... how..." words failed the Admiral as the civs backed away from the totally apoplectic woman.

"Congratulations! I mean, you going to be a mommy! What will we name her?" Her rusty red hair almost matched face. Her one eyebrow was twitching madly and her hands were shaking.

The Sandguppy expressions vanished into ones of bewildered awe... they saw the impending doom and backed away from the idiot. They had no idea what they were witnessing.

"Can we name-" Darraki whipped out the six-shooter strapped to her hip and held it menacingly.

"I swear to the sandgods, if you so much as breathe another word, Hillivan, I will put a bullet in your knee..." she sounded dead serious.

"Okay. But before you do, can we have some hot steamy congratulation sex against this-" Darraki threw her gun at him.

"You, you Suntouched idiot, have got to shut the fuck up! These are secretarial staff from the Diiamid!"

Hillivan picked himself off the floor where he dodged the flying weapon. He towered over the seated politicians.

"You'll have to excuse me, I was kicked as a child... Commander Hillivan Manaan at your service." Hillivan did an elaborate bow that wasn't out of place at formal Diiamid gatherings.

They stared.

"Excuse us." Admiral Darraki dragged Hillivan out by his collar. He let his feet drag like a puppet with its strings cut. The enraged Admiral didn't even notice. He waved to the stunned secretary.

Two corridors, four gob smacked sentries and a lift later, Hillivan stood in Darraki's office receiving a dressing down heard three corridors away, a floor below and in the officer's mess at the other end of the building.

She moved too close mid rant, and two arms snapped out and brought her in to a tight, firm hug. She stopped mid-word and gave a defeated sigh. After a moment, she leaned in. Hillivan kissed her brow and gave a small chuckle.

"How you been, Darraki?" She wriggled and eventually got her arms out to return the hug.

"This place is filled with incompetents, Hillie... why can't you and the Martins just come back and help us here?" He let out another chuckle.

"That bad? It's only after a particularly harsh month you try and snag us back. We're ghost troops, Darraki. If I help here, I'm on the duty roster. If I'm on the duty roster, then the floats know I'm here. If they know I'm here, my forces are looked for, defeating the point of me being here." He pulled away and looked at her worn face. There were barely there dark lines under her eyes even with makeup and her hair didn't look as full and vibrant as it usually did.

"You need more sleep. Sometimes try not to micro all your subordinates... there's usually one or two competent people that you can leave be..." Darraki gave a small nod and broke the hands on her shoulders. She went around her desk and activated the holo-projector overlay.

"Okay, tell me. What have you lot been doing the past three weeks..." and Darraki sat forward and reveled in the fact that she'll be receiving a nice, comprehensive and unbiased report with outstanding level of attention to detail. Hillivan reached out and began tracing lines through the blue desert hovering over her desk. The lines reached far and wide.

"These are some of the Gaalsien reinforcement routes." His hand darted and tapped out a few dots near or on these lines.

"These are staging depots. The Martins and I have been busy. We've performed surgical hit and run tactics here, here and here... numbers and compositions are as follows..." and Admiral Darraki was captivated as Hillivan discussed and described the opposition.

-0-

She sat back, eyed the now fully marked holo and gave a frustrated huff.

"So to sum this all up, they seemed to have gained a carrier group that is currently floating Sajuuk-knows-where, and just calmly waiting for us to trip over our treads to slake the thirst of the sands with our blood?" Hillivan nodded earnestly.

"And they don't know you know. So I sorta came up with a plan that's so Suntouched, caati driven and barbaric, it has no hope of failing!" Hillivan sat back like an especially pompous Diiamid speaker that had just proven a particularly expensive point. Darraki wasn't amused. She eyed him, then the holo. Then back to him.

"And!?" Hillivan snaped forward.

"Oh! You wanted me to tell you?" She picked up a datapad and threatened to throw it. Hillivan held up placating hands and offered a small peace by working the holoprojector.

"So this is what I'd like to do..."

-0-

Kristaan woke with a start. There was no sound to wake her. No one threatened her. All was silent.

A soft snore rent the black night.

Kristaan threw a look over to the bunk opposite hers. Zoltan was fast asleep, sprawled out over his bunk like a large catfox, shirtless and scratching his abs. She giggled softly. He looked so tame while asleep. The other two bunks also held sleeping form. Sure enough, the one above Zoltan held Konran curled into an impossibly tight and nervous ball. She pulled off her blankets (she knew she didn't fall asleep with them) and peered above her. Dirnkik was snoozing gently in a perfectly straight line, hands behind his hawkish face.

She spotted Hillivan. And he made sleeping on the commander's chair look more comfortable than sleeping on the bunks. Sideways, and with one leg propped on a nearby handhold, he sat with his commander's cap over his eyes and hands resting on his chest. The other leg was on the gunnery seat. The hatch above him was open, revealing crystalline stars blinking in their constellations.

She couldn't go around him due to his leg. And she so badly wanted to see those stars. It was her thing. She watched the stars, questioned her teachings and disappointed her family...

Bootless feet brushed the cool metal floor. Padding over, she used a handhold to see how she could circumvent Hillivan. The weapons systems where one side, and the commanders tactical interface was the other. The only way was either under or over.

The tight squeeze below the commander's cupola wasn't too attractive.

She made up her mind and swung her legs onto a higher hold and reached across. Her fingers missed the rung by maybe five centimeters. She growled. A rung higher, she tried with her foot. She made it. As she slowly shifted her gravity from one foot to the other, she paused to take in her... situation.

She was two centimeters from straddling the commander. Hillivan's face was almost directly in front of her and she admired the view. Now that she got a closer, cleaner look, she could see his finely cut jaw and aristocratic nose. She saw the laugh lines just beginning to form. She saw his serene face and was struck by how... well, how jaw dropping, mouth wateringly handsome he was. He was also taller than even her. That, in itself was worthy of notice.

She slipped past and poked her head out of the hatch. No one. A handful of engineers working on a behemoth of an artillery cruiser on the other side of the vehicles bay on its own quay/gangway.

She moved up, and lay on the turret of the AAV that had claimed so many lives and stared at the stars. They were beautiful. She could make out the catfox, and the giian'opt. She could see the four brothers just beginning to emerge over the sands to the east. She lay on her back and she wondered. Mind lost to the world.

"Pretty, no?"

Kristaan gave the most unladylike squeak of fright of her life.

'Sajuuk but what is this man not good at!?' He was next to her. As in right next to her on the turret on his back looking at the stars. He had been awake.

He had been awake.

She gave a small gasp in mortification. He was awake! He had made her go over him... she had spread her legs over him and all but sat in his lap! She stayed there and ogled him too!

He chuckled. The he turned to look at Kristaan that was by now on her elbows staring at him. He was sure if he could see any better she'd be blushing.

And under the ageless starlight he tuned his head back to Sajuuk's great domain and asked:

"Do you want to talk about it?" The mortification was replaced with wary apprehension.

"About?" Hillivan just gave her what she assumed was a condescending look and sighed.

"What happened? How did you manage to earn your families scorn?" And after a long, long day, Kristaan snapped.

"And what the fuck gives you that idea, you jackass!?" She barked in a low whisper. It was harsh even in her own ears.

"That. That and the way you flinch. The fact that direct family of a Kiith'sa is merely a flight leader of a wing of skimmers. That you were actually willing to die in their eyes just for the small honour it would grant you... if one where to look, really look, it's there. But I pry. If you don't want to talk about it..." the longest of pauses.

"I... I question faith. I look on the holy teachings and still wonder what it's like... up there... I'm hot headed. I get into fights... I don't... fit in well, with other people. I look up too much and ignore those around me in the sand. I... I take Kiith for granted, as my father says." She turned her head, and Hillivan caught himself staring at the deep shadows of where her eyes where to be, expecting to see two sky blue orbs glowing in the night.

"I see. And I share your pain. I too was born in the wrong Kiith." She turned to him.

"Really?" Hillivan nodded.

"I'm S'jet by birth... born to the scientists and the thinkers. My parents both worked on those rockets that caused this blasphemous war. My father is in fact up there right now. One of the small satellites. He passes over in almost twenty minutes." There was a breath.

"I... I had too much of a wandering spirit. I laughed easily and my carefree attitude cost me my education. And in my days as a delinquent, I discovered my knack for the battlefield. Street fights and such. I enrolled. And my jokes ended me in the loving embrace of Kiith Menaan after I graduated." Hillivan caught himself watching her look at the skies.

"What is it like?" Hillivan kept quiet.

"Calling both your parents by foreign Kiith... whats it like up there..." Hillivan gave an appraising sigh.

"The mind of a scientists indeed. I'm still in contact with my folks... my mom says that Dad actually looks for me from up there... I gave her the layout of the base and the bay number. I'd like to think that I can say 'Hi' to my father every now and again." The woman besides him gave an uncomfortable shuffle.

"Why are you telling me this?" Hillivan shrugged. The movement shifted his arm to over Kristaan's head.

"It helped, didn't it?" Kristaan stilled and then gave a small, soft laugh. It sounded like rippling water and Hillivan had to smile.

She sat up slightly and pointed excitedly.

"That star is moving! There! Is that your dad!?" Hillivan looked, and sure enough, the little bright dot arcing up from the horizon like a regal shooting star that he looked for every night was there.

"Indeed. And he can see us as soon as he passes forty five degrees ascendant." The watched it as it slowly rose from the sandy horizon.

As it passed higher, Hillivan gave a big double handed wave and Kristaan gave a smaller, nervous single handed one. They craned their necks as it silently stole by.

After it had gone, Hillivan lay back down. Followed by Kristaan. Her head hit his arm and she stiffened. She turn to look at him only to see the starglow reflect off a small, content smile. She relaxed. She wasn't going to argue over an upgrade of pillow. Soon she was against his side as they watch the constellations climb into the sky from the east.

The engineers worked tirelessly into the encroaching morning glow.

Further A/N: Riggght... The fun bitz.

Firstly: There isn't going to be a glossary, I mean... if you here, you've obviously played some Homeworld as one point. And one doesn't play homeworld without getting a whole lotta backstory.

So I am to assume that thy self is fluent in Homeworldian and know what a Kiith is, what a Kiith'sa is, and who the actual fuck all these snazzy names are... eg, Sobanii and whats actually going down.

If you don't? I apologise.

I lied, Glossary:

Kiith: basically a large community that acts like a family. Brought together by belief or way of thinking. Somtaaw, for example are a mining clan, but individuals aren't exactly limited to mining.

Kiith'sa: Leader of a particular Kiith. Basically like being president of asia, half of Russia and having little groups of supporters around the world, if you the leader of a big clan. You also have the ability to declare war, (Imagine that big red, shiny button...) and then tell your people to fight it.

Kiith'sa'ka: [creative licence] my own addition, it denotes direct family of said leader of Kiith. That means brother, sister, son, daughter, wife or husband. Cause you can't be the hubby or arm candy of one of the most powerful people on the planet and not get some sort of shiney reward. A title seemed appropriate.

Diiamid: The council. Like all good sci-fi movies there has to be a group of civilians that run the whole show. Naturally, the bane of the military's existence. (Personal opinion. Don't sue)

Kiith'sa aren't allowed on the council either... fic's I've read have influenced my opinion on them, so I blame those writers for my shameless prejudices. Go on. Place that blame.

Now that that is out of the way...

Rant time! Yaaaaay...

Scale. Because of research, I went to Blackbird interactive to see if I could scrape up some interesting sayings, stats, trivia or other to make me seem more in the know and for better writing... I hit issues.

Ingame, we all know how far we launch the orange beacon smoke from the AAV's. On BBI's own godlike word, that is five hundred meters.

500. Meters.

It has a crew of three. Looks to be upwards of 40 meters long by them little blobs of human standing before its mighty track...

Hah... Ha. Ha. I lol.

No. So I tweaked the size of said vehicles. Just the lesser ones. The Carriers can continue to Nimitz their way over the desert because when you that big you can afford to flip the bird at physics and make it your bitch.

So the AAV's, LAV's, Baserunners and maaaaybe the Support Cruiser is going to be toned down from flying tanks the size of apartment blocks. (Ingame, sometimes even the Baserunner takes flight.) And an added crewmember because... well, mine is a different make. Sort of like the difference between M1A1 Abrams and T-90.

Clearly BBI hasn't been to the good ol' Sahara. You sink to your ankles. You weigh on average 90/100 kg's... that's a male of smallish disposition. Deeper if it's particularly memey sand. Flying 200 tonne monsters will look like those tugboats in mid-Atlantic hurricanes.

Twice the size of a ww2 era Tiger will have to do. For the AAV now. LAV's are... proportionate. (2 man vehicles that skid around with bank angles of 20° plus [I checked in game] shouldn't be bigger than my house.)

Hope you enjoyed. Review even if it is just to tell me my rant was amusing... or flawed... 'specially flawed. I ain't writing ahead so just fair warning.

Ever hopeful,

E.W.