A/N: oh holy wow, an update after an embarrassingly long period of time!

"You okay over there, Shortcut?" Paige asked, clicking over to a private channel and flexing her gloved hands over the bar of her thruster controls.

Sydney took a moment to respond, and when she finally did the Commander could practically hear how green around the gills her team leader sounded, "I'll be fine once we drop out of warp."

Paige nodded to herself, "Keep Hammerhead team at the back and stick with your squadmates, Shortcut, at least until the warp sickness passes."

A blind launch was a dangerous thing- they'd be shooting out of the hangar as soon as the Hollis dropped out of warp. With no intel, and not even a best guess at what they might be facing, it could just as easily end up being a suicide mission as it could a routine protection detail. They'd received an all clear from Ganymede station before they'd gone into warp, but after the disaster on Oros, any manner of sabotage could have happened during their travel time. As risky as a blind launch was though, Paige had insisted on its necessity- the refugee freighters would be dropping out of warp just a few seconds behind the Hollis, and whatever protection the Assaulters could give them during those vulnerable moments was worth it.

"Heard, Commander. We won't let 'em down." Sydney managed.

Paige felt a twist of fear in her gut for her pilots- something she could usually push past and ignore for the sake of a mission, but couldn't help but feel when they were being brave, or reckless, or when she caught a glimpse of the best parts of them. She had felt that fear almost more than she could bear over the course of their 24 hour warp trip, the paralyzing emotion starting when her pilots immediately agreed to a blind launch- their anger and hurt over losing one of the freighters mirroring her own.

Sydney had spent the entirety of their travel curled in her bunk; the longest stretch of silence Paige had ever witnessed from the excitable pilot. Paige had known only a few pilots with warp sickness; applicants with the condition had only recently been accepted for enlistment due to heavy pilot loss and war attrition. The Commander had noticed Sean visiting her quarters every few hours, offerings of instant noodles and hydration tablets in hand. Paige had registered the growing affection between her pilots with pride, and a little sadness. They were well matched- Sydney would grow to be the better pilot, but Sean seemed to accept that with his usual affable grace; Paige's wingmate was a competitive flyer but never mean spirited. Sydney's nervous jitters and the constant stream of talk that could put the other Shark's teeth on edge was somewhat subdued in finding Sean's ever attentive ear. It saddened Paige because she knew there was nothing the two pilots could promise each other-not commitment, not protection, not even the next day.

As much as Paige's promotion had driven a wedge between her and Shana's relationship- Paige's insistence that a Commander needed to remain above entanglements for the good of the squadron- this lack of promise, this impossibility of a future between pilots, had been at the heart of why Paige had ended their affair.

And it was why what had happened with Emily- with Captain Fields- was a lie. The Captain had told Paige that she belonged to her, and in that moment Paige could find no words to disagree; had felt the very concept of resistance melt away in the burn of Emily's teeth in her skin, and the press of Emily's body above her. Any argument against it had died on her tongue when Emily's mouth had been against hers, the warmth of her breath the solvent that bent the steel of Paige's spine into molten twists, a thousand sparks raining through her chest as she allowed herself to be unmade. In that moment Paige would have begged, would have kneeled, would have worshipped.

But the moment was past, and Paige was not naive. In an Assaulter with fire at her fingertips and speed at her back and death ahead of her, she knew that no one- not even Emily- could keep the promise of owning her. There was simply too much space between them.


Emily's fingernails bit into the flesh of her Augmented arm, blue light trails streaking away from the point of pressure, her arms tightly crossed across her chest as she stood in front of the view window, waiting for the swirling stars to resolve themselves to solid points again. Spencer was pacing behind her, an electrical current of anger at their inability to prepare for what might be waiting for them- the knowledge that they could never be "ready" in any meaningful sense worrying both senior officers. Emily was at least strangely comforted by their limited options- there was no question of running, not with the slow speed of the freighters, and even less question of abandoning them. There was only a battle, or nothing.

"Ten seconds to warp fall," the navigator relayed.

"Weapons standing by," Vanderwaal said, fingers hovering over her console and eyes trained on the view window, the green of her HypAd implant coursing swiftly.

"Shields at full," Caleb reported over the com, "all non-essential power redirected."

"Five seconds," the navigator said.

"Escape pods and shuttles prepped and standing by," Spencer said, never slowing her pacing.

"Shark squadron ready to fly," Paige's com crackled, her voice tense. Emily felt the sensory ghost of the pilot's braid tangled in her fingers, the pleasing ache in her body from the fight, the taste of salt and warmth on her tongue. Emily wanted to say something, anything-

"Warp fall!" the navigator said, and there was a sharp tug backwards like the Hollis had reached the end of its rope, and the spinning stars snapped back into certain solidity.

The Assaulter squadron shot from the hangar, slicing through the protective gold of the Hollis' shields and out into a blackness full of ships waiting for them.


"Shit!" Paige yelled, as she led Tiger Team in a tight sweep to avoid slamming into the engines of an idling frigate, pulling back hard on her thrusters as she skimmed barely above the surface of the ship. She caught a glimpse of the frigate's call-sign stamped large on the engine as she streaked by, but it had passed in too much of a blur for her to register it. Flipping her Assaulter she sped backwards, cutting between Shana and Sean's trailing ships, in order to read it.

"Stand down, Shark squadron!" Emily's voice came in her ear as Paige's eyes took in the dark green 'V' bisected by an 'I' writ large on the engine, "We have friendlies in the area. Hailing Vanderwaal Industries now."

Paige let out a relieved sigh as she pulled away from the frigate.

"Hell, yes!" Sean cheered, "about time we had some good luck."

"Never thought I'd be so happy to see these corporate creeps," Shana agreed.

"Hold the celebration until we offload the refugees, squad," Paige cut in on her pilot's chatter, "Blacktip, head to the freighter rendezvous point. Hammerhead, secure the station docking ports. Tigers, we fly escort."

A chorus of serious affirmatives followed her order and Paige led her team past the Vanderwaal freighter. As they pulled past the hulking gray of the ship and into an open view of the space station, Paige sucked in a sharp breath, caught off guard by a display of power she'd never seen the like of before.


The Ganymede station spun slowly in the distance, massive broken rings circling a gleaming central spire, like the spine of some ancient and broken creature, a glimmering white stretch of bones in space.

Looming behind the Ganymede station, impossibly dwarfing the superstructure, was a Dreadnaught. The central sphere of the ship was easily triple the size of the Hollis, with sweeping arced structures like crescent moons or perhaps pincers extending from the fore and aft of the ship. It reminded Emily of a trap spider- settled and still in its hole, the black of space enveloping it, biding it's time until some small prey fell into its orbit to be rent apart in a flash of blue fire.

Emily knew that each of those sharp curved arms housed a hangar capable of fielding its own squadron of Assaulters and half again as many Aggressors. With devastating long range artillery and an incredible number of personnel keeping the ship running, the presence of a Dreadnaught didn't just represent a foothold in a system, but an entire human outpost. Allied Galactic only had a dozen of the ships in its entire fleet, and with two already decommissioned from lack of manpower, they had frozen construction on any more of the super-ships- the resources required to build and run them deemed simply too costly.

"Jesus," Emily breathed. When Vanderwaal had reported that her company was prepared to commit resources for the protection of refugees, she'd had no idea that this amount of firepower was at her disposal.

"If Vanderwaal Industries has the second largest private security force in the galaxy, who has the largest?" She asked, mostly to herself.

"That would be Leona Vanderwaal," Spencer supplied, her constant pacing momentarily stalled by the sight of the Dreadnaught.

"My mother," Mona smiled from behind her console, "She prefers to travel with...complete security."

Emily shook her head at the massive spectre of the Dreadnaught, "I'll bet," she murmured to herself.

"When the board heard about what happened on Oros, they must have decided to increase their protection detail for the refugees. A few frigates might have made an even more tempting target, but a Dreadnaught? Well-" Mona smiled, something like bloodlust in her eyes, "that would be unwise."

"We're receiving a hail from the Dreadnaught," Hanna said, pulling the feed onto the view window.

A man with dark hair and a thin face appeared on the screen, "This is Captain Wren Kingston of the Dreadnaught Albatros," his accent and precise way of speaking made him sound more formal than his rakish uniform implied, "How can we be of assistance, Captain Fields?"

"I think this...impressive display of force will be more than enough."

"I suppose a little paranoia is to be expected after Oros," Kingston inclined his head conspiratorially, as though he wasn't projected on a screen for the whole command room to see, "Allied Galactic is keeping it quiet, but Vanderwaal Industries has it's own information channels."

Emily frowned- she had no idea why the Allied forces would be keeping the attack on innocent refugees a secret. It should have been big news, and the loss of Augmented civilian life on such a scale should have pushed more moderate voices towards supporting Augmented protections.

"Even so," he continued, "the Dreadnaught does seem a bit much, doesn't it? Perhaps a bit unsporting playing a trump card so early, but the board was insistent, and I go where they pay me."

His attitude rankled Emily. Maybe it was his easy smile after they had faced such tragedy, or his apparent belief that there was anything "sporting" about war, or that a Dreadnaught would be far more effective stabilizing the front than ferrying a rich CEO around- any combination of those things could have triggered her instant dislike of the other Captain and she responded with some acidity.

"I'm sure the refugees appreciate that dedication to your paycheck."

Wren Kingston smiled, the flatness in his eyes the only sign the gesture was less than genuine.

"Noble intentions don't save lives, Captain Fields. I wonder if those refugees would have preferred your ship or mine on Oros?"


"Stay in formation, Kahn," Paige snapped at her team leader. Noel evened out of the loop-the-loops he'd been flying.

"Heard, Commander. Wouldn't want to lose focus on this critical mission," Noel snarked.

"I don't like sloppy flying. Blacktip team can practice their formation scraping grav-burn off the hanger floor when we get back."

The freighter docking procedure had been long and monotonous. Ganymede station refused to process more than one ship's occupants at a time, thoroughly combing through every refugee's papers and medical scans and creating an impatient holding pattern for the remaining ships. Shark squadron had been patrolling the quadrant diligently, but it was both mind-numbing and exhausting work. Paige could feel her own temper simmering just under the surface as she waited on the slow progress of Allied Galactic bureaucracy.

Her com buzzed as a squadmate requested a private channel.

"Everything alright, Shana?" Paige asked, watching the other pilot's Assaulter slide seamlessly alongside hers.

"Everything seems to be," Shana replied.

Paige grimaced, "You know I like 'em tall, dark, and mysterious, but would you mind being a little clearer?"

Shana sighed, the sound of her breath crackling in Paige's ear, "Maybe it's nothing."

"Spit it out, Shana."

"This is taking too long-"

"Shana, there's two hundred refugees-"

"And it's still taking too long. We should have warped out of here an hour ago, but they had every freighter send their security clearance three times, they're going over medical records person by person when they could just impose a quarantine, they've only opened one docking bay for the ships," Shana paused, "Paige- this feels like stalling."

"Stalling for what?"

"I don't know."


Emily was beginning to feel some semblance of pressure relief, now that a full scan of the quadrant had been done and they'd received allied hails from each of the Vanderwaal Industries ships patrolling the area. It left her feeling exhausted- all of the adrenaline dissipating and dissolving tense muscles into mush. Spencer, though, still looked like a bowstring about to snap, and Emily knew her First Officer better than to suggest she leave the Control Room now that the danger was past. Spencer would probably retain the tension of the day for another week before she dropped back to her typical high-tension equilibrium- it was just her way. She decided to let Spencer do what she did best, and leave her in charge of the final aspects of their presence in the quadrant- mainly paperwork- and quit the Control Room herself. Her bridge officers didn't need two senior officer's with too little to do staring over their shoulders while they tried to work.

"Room sterilization complete. Welcome, Captain Fields," A reported as Emily walked into the officer's gym, pulling her hair up and into a tight bun.

Emily tried not to sigh as she looked over the empty room, a sinking disappointment settling in her chest over Paige being in an Assaulter and not on the mat beneath her. Their clipped communication over the course of handling the docking procedure had left Emily frustrated and jumpy, a jangling nervousness that would only be stilled by her teeth sinking into Paige's skin. She shook her head, trying to focus.

"Initiate AI combat. Single opponent. Dual knives. Expert level."

A series of holo projectors in the room hummed to life, a humanoid figure of fractured gold lines and angles taking shape in the center of the room.

Emily moved to the equipment wall, taking down a pair of Holo Gloves and slipping them on, the material syncing with her smart watch to read her vitals and map her body, allowing her basic interaction with the holo projection. Emily flexed her fingers and fell into her stance on the mat.

"Begin," Emily said.

The gold holo crackled into movement, the lines of it shifting like its center was a Tesla coil, the knives in its hands spinning in expert arcs.

Emily lunged forward, sliding beneath a swing at her chest and slamming her heel into its sparking ankle. She felt a slight warmth and electrical buzz at the contact, and the holo stumbled backwards in a rough approximation of how a human off-balance might. Pressing her advantage she pushed after it, deflecting another stab with the flat of her palm and catching the joint of the wrist in a lock, pressing it until the knife spun out of its grasp, fizzling away to nothing in the air. She snapped her head back as the second knife sliced towards her, a tingle of shock in her cheek where the tip grazed her skin. Emily used her grip on the wrist of the holo to yank the arm upward, momentarily trapping the other arm at the end of its sweep. With its arms incapacitated, Emily slammed the heel of her palm under its chin, slamming its head back. The gold of the holo fractured and shattered, dissipating with a faint smell of lightning, its defeat ending the program.

"Initiate new opponent," Emily said, grabbing a towel and wiping the thin sheen of sweat off her burning arms. It was time to kick up this session a notch, "Technorganic drone."

A holo briefly flashed in the center of the room, the creature it depicted coming in and out of focus in a gold storm. The projectors buzzed and then clicked off, the half-formed Technorganic disappearing.

"AI Combat error," A supplied, "File inaccessible. Please check error logs."

Emily sighed in frustration, the brief workout doing little to stem the build-up of tension in her body. She stalked towards the door, intent on waiting for Paige's Assaulter to return, determined to remind both the pilot and herself where Paige belonged.

Emily's inattentiveness nearly sent her face first into the metal before she realized the door hadn't opened. Emily frowned and swiped her smart watch over the door's control panel. The panel lit green but the door stayed stubbornly closed. She swiped her watch again and the panel flashed red.

"A, open the door."

"Affirmative, Captain Fields. Door opening."

The panel flashed green again and Emily looked expectantly at the door. It hissed on its hinges, but remained closed.

"Open the door, A."

"Command not recognized."

Emily slapped her palm on the door in irritation. If Caleb had forgotten to run a scheduled defrag on the computer, so help her she would-

"Room sterilization initiated," A interrupted her thoughts softly.

"Belay, A," Emily said with a frown, concerned that the computer hadn't read her life signs in the room.

"Organic material detected. Sterilization aborted," A responded, and Emily huffed out a breath. Now for the door.

"Sterilization reinitiated. Organic detection override in place."

Emily squared her stance in command, holding her smart watch against the display panel, "A, this is Captain Emily Fields. Belay sterilization."

"Command not recognized," the computer responded evenly, "Sterilization proceeding in two minutes."

"Caleb!" Emily keyed on her smart watch, "A is malfunctioning. It's not responding to commands."

"Captain?" Caleb's voice crackled through her com, almost completely obscured by static, "Where-at-computer refusing reboot-taking commands-manual override."

"Caleb- you need to turn off sterilization procedures in the officer's gym!" Emily said, slamming a fist against the sealed door.

"Room sterilization in 1 minute, 30 seconds."

"Can't get the-blocked-interference when I-Captain-core-" Caleb's voice fizzled away into static, and then the com feed cut-off completely, leaving a heavy silence in her ear.


Paige had been hyper-vigilant since her conversation with Shana, both pilot's concentration on the mission restored with the vague fear that something might be off. Paige's eyes flicked constantly down to her Nav HUD, tracking every ship in the quadrant, alert for any movement out of the ordinary.

She maneuvered into another lap around the Ganymede station, her turn less crisp than she would have liked. Her thruster response was sluggish, the port side engines almost appearing to sputter before they caught, her Assaulter executing something closer to a drift than a hard bank.

"Caleb, I'm getting some weird engine response here," She spoke into her com, "are you getting this?"

She brought up her engine readings as she waited for a reply- the holo showed no physical damage and the computer insisted it was operating at 100% efficiency.

"Caleb?" she called again, her concern growing with the persistent silence.

"Shana," she said, clicking over to another channel, "Can you raise Caleb? I'm having some engine trouble over here."

Silence.

"What the hell?" Paige muttered. Her com-line must have gone down. She pulled back on her thrusters, attempting a hard break- her team would take it as a sign that something had gone wrong. The thruster level felt loose in her hand, almost no resistance as she pulled it back all the way, and yet her forward drift refused to slow at all.

"A, what's going on?" she demanded.

"The core has been disabled, Commander," A responded, "All automated procedures are off-line."

"Well, get them back online!"

"Command not recognized."

"Turn the fucking ship back on, A!" Paige snarled.

"Command not recognized."

"Fucking, fuck." Paige exclaimed, slamming her hands on the console. She could see the rest of the Sharks on her Nav HUD, and she twisted the holo-orb to get a better look at their trajectories. They were staying roughly on course, but something seemed wrong about their flight pattern- it was looser than it should have been, with strange, clipped turns. It lacked the personality of her pilot's somehow- no flashy twists from Noel, no sudden accelerations from Sydney, none of the friendly one upmanship between Shana and Sean.

With a chill, Paige realized that not a single one of her pilot's was still in command of their Assaulter.

This was more than malfunction.

This was sabotage.