Vectus Naval Base

Present Day

"A dog has a military mind. He respects the chain of command. He needs to know who's in charge for the good of the whole pack, and if there's no leader, he'll take the job himself – because somebody has to. The difference between a human and a dog, though, is that the dog doesn't lie awake at night dreaming of having that power."

Sergeant Bernadette Mataki, explaining her fondness for dogs

I had planned on spending the whole day with Ace, but Mataki had a different idea. She came to fetch me from the mess hall, with Byrne following diligently in her footsteps. I might have been approved to go on missions, but evidently that didn't mean that my training was over. Although, the longer I spent training with her and Byrne, the more I realized that they probably just wanted me for my dog.

Byrne held up a squeaker ball and gave it a couple of squeezes. "Alright, my lovely namesake," she said as Sam gave her rapt attention. "This is a bomb. You are going to find it. Ready?" With Byrne's other hand, she duct-taped a small piece of C4 to the side of the ball.

"Uh," I interrupted. "I'm not so sure I'm comfortable with this."

"Relax," Byrne said. "C4 is complete safe. We could feed her a whole block of it and she'd be fine. You know, as long as she didn't eat a couple of detonators with it."

"And she's not going to eat it," Mataki reassured me. "Just sniff it out."

Ever since the civilian bombing, both Byrne and Mataki had been enthralled by the idea of turning Sam into a bomb-sniffing dog. The idea had merit, I had to admit, as Sam already knew how to track when I scented her off an item. It was just a matter of training her to alert to common explosives and accelerant.

I still wasn't sure I agreed with their training methods, however.

Byrne dropped the ball to the ground and dragged it along behind her in the grass. She circled around behind a log and casually dropped the string once the ball was out of sight. Loping back to us, she pulled out another small piece of C4 and held it out for Sam to sniff. "Alright, girl. Find it."

Sam stuck her nose the ground and was off as fast as I could run behind her. The leash pulled taught as she perfectly traced the line Byrne had left. She was on the ball in a matter of seconds. "Sit!" I commanded her. This was the important part – teaching her to sit to alert us once she found an explosive. Sam's nose and ass changed places as I quickly grabbed the ball, removed the tape, then gave it a couple of squeezes. "Good girl!" I tossed the ball in the air. Sam snatched it mid-air, then pranced around with it, giving it a couple self-satisfied squeaks for good measure.

"She's picking it up pretty quick," Mataki observed as the pair of them joined us.

"If only we could get her to chase down Stranded." Byrne said.

"Give her a scent, and she'll find it no problem," I boasted.

Byrne pulled out a cigar and ran it under her nose. "Is that so?"

"Guarantee it."

A curious smirk crossed her face. "Want to make it interesting?"

I glanced at Mataki first, who was rolling her eyes. "Sure," I agreed, rolling Sam's leash into a tight ball around my fist. "What did you have in mind?"

She considered. "Give me a five-minute head start," she offered. "Then set her loose. If she can find me in say, two minutes, then you win."

"Deal," I agreed. "And when she finds you…you cover my patrol shift tonight."

"You're on," she held out her hand for me to shake. "And when she can't…I get to test out your sniper rifle."

I paused before placing my hand inside hers. A snipers' rifle was treasured. It was like asking to try out one of my kidneys. But more than that, it had been Ace's rifle. I didn't just pass it around like a party favor. I glanced at Sam – still chewing happily on her ball – before shaking Byrne's hand. "Deal," I agreed. I knew Sam, and her skills. There was no way Byrne was going to win this bet.

"You guys go take a loop in the packhorse," Byrne said, taking a few steps backwards. "Come back in five and just try to find me."

I called Sam back, and Mataki followed us down the hill. To her credit, she wasn't putting a stop to our anticks. "You okay with this?" I asked as we loaded in the vehicle.

"Training is training," she said as she cranked the engine and pulled away. "Kinda curious to see what that dog can do. Besides," she side-eyed me from the driver's side. "I'm sure you're certain you can win this. I'd die before loaning out my gun."

I smirked. "Not a doubt in my mind."

Mataki drove a long loop down and towards the base, then circled back to where we had been, giving Byrne her five-minute head start. Once we got back to where we had been standing near the road, Byrne was nowhere in sight. The only sign that she had been there at all was one of her bandanas tied to a nearby sapling. I leashed Sam again, tossed the ball back into my pack, then grabbed the bandana. "Start the clock!" I called to Mataki as I held out the square of cloth. "Alright, Sam. Don't let me down. Find it!"

Sam pressed her nose into the cloth, took two deep sniffs, then stuck her nose to the ground. Almost immediately she picked up the trail and started off at a slow gallop. I had to run to keep up, making sure to keep a tight hold on the leash lest I got left behind.

Sam ran down into a gulley, did a wide circle around a dried-up creek bed, and then headed up the side of the hill and deeper into the woods. I could see where Byrne had cut back, dog-legged, and even tried a wide zig-zag shape to try and shake Sam off the trail. None of it even slowed her down. Sam ran deeper into the woods, then braked hard and circled around an old oak tree. She sniffed hard at its base, then lifted her head to sniff at the bark. Once she spotted Byrne dangling from the upper branches, Sam threw her head back and howled.

"Sit!" I ordered her, reminding her of her new alert command. Sam immediately sat, but kept barking as Byrne tried to not fall out of the tree.

"What, did you think you were being clever?" I asked, laughing. "Don't you know how many wretches she's treed?"

Mataki came up the hill behind us, checking her watch. "A minute fourteen!" she called out.

"Damn," Byrne said as she maneuvered through the branches and back to the ground. "I was looking forward to trying out a longshot."

"And I'm looking forward to my night off," I said, slipping the ball out of my pack and tossing it for Sam to chase.

"I thought dogs couldn't look up."

"That's pigs," Bernie said, sounding out of breath. "And it's not true."

Byrne's face soured as she lit her cigar. She pointed through the smoke at Mataki, who was breathing harder than normal. "You alright, grandma?" she asked. "Shit, you sure you're cleared for field work? You're closer to 80 than 70."

"I'm 65, arse-wipe," Bernie snapped. "And still able to kick your lily-white arse, thank you very much."

Byrne held her hands up and started walking back down to the packhorse. "Alright, alright!" she surrendered. "C'mon. Let's finish this patrol and get back to base. So, I can go back out on patrol, fuck you very much."

I laughed as she stomped away. "Aww, come on!" I called after her. "No one like a sore loser!"

Byrne gave me a one fingered salute as she stormed away. I whistled for Sam as we headed out of the woods. I could hear her squeaking away long before I actually saw her. She jumped in the back of the packhorse and settled in; the ball clasped between her two front paws. "Good girl," I whispered as I climbed in next to her, tussling her ears affectionately.


Command was a flurry of activity when we arrived. Mathieson was manning the front desk and the radio. He chattered away into a headset as Mataki passed back the keys to the packhorse. When he took a second to breathe, I interrupted. "Private Byrne is covering my patrol shift tonight," I said with a shit eating grin.

Mathieson glanced at Byrne, who begrudgingly nodded her agreement. He noted the change to the patrol schedule, then answered another call with, "Control to bravo squad, receiving."

As the three of us turned around to leave, the door to the conference room opened. Prescott exited first, followed by Hoffman and Michaelson. Bernie called the room to attention, just as a fourth man exited the room. He had dark hair and a goatee, both kept trimmed short. He was wearing a heavily ornate military uniform that I had never seen before, made from a rust-red color. I felt a chill go down my spine as I recognized the Gorasnaya sigil adorning his chest.

"Sergeant Mataki," Hoffman addressed Bernie. "May I introduce Commander Trescu of the Gorasnayan army."

Mataki offered a salute to the Commander, which Byrne and I mimicked. Trescu returned the gesture, but that sly smirk never left his expression. "Mataki," he repeated in a heavy accent. "You are from the islands, no?"

"It's a family name," Bernie answered, layering her hands behind her back. "I was born on Galangi in the Southern Islands."

"Right, right," Trescu muttered, examining her uniform. He motioned with a nod of his head towards her unit insignia that she wore on her shoulder. "26th Royal Tyran Infantry, yes? Weren't they the ones who conquered the southern islands?"

"They were," Mataki agreed. "After the UIR attacked and slaughtered Irohma island."

The two soldiers stared at each other, their dislike warming the air. Most gears over the age of thirty-five wouldn't remember the pendulum wars. But Bernie - and Hoffman, for that matter - definitely fell in that age range.

So did Dom, and Marcus.

"The Pendulum wars were a whole war ago," Prescott interjected, ever the diplomat. "We cannot afford to maintain petty squabbles."

"Of course, sir," Mataki agreed. "Just remind me, where have the Gorasnayans been hiding all this time?"

"Not on the mainland," Trescu answered, deftly ignoring the slight edge in Mataki's voice. "But where we were is not as important as where we are going."

"Let's not get ahead of ourselves," Prescott interjected yet again. "No need to set the rumor mill spinning preemptively."

I glanced at Mathieson, who was doing a good job pretending he didn't exist.

"Very well," Trescu said. He nodded his head to Bernie. "A pleasure to make your acquaintance." He turned and followed Prescott and Michaelson out of the control room.

Snake, I thought, watching him go.

"What the hell is he still doing here?" Mataki snapped at Hoffman as soon as they were out of earshot.

Hoffman sighed, and motioned us all back to the conference room. "What the hell," he sighed. "You'll find out sooner or later anyway."

I entered the room behind Bernie, hoping that Hoffman wouldn't notice me and kick me out. Byrne entered as well, taking a seat on top of the conference table and letting her legs dangle. She twisted her cigar between two fingers. Hoffman pulled the door shut behind him and sighed. "Gorasnaya is joining the Coalition," he stated. His voice had no inflection, no clues on how he felt about the matter.

"And why the fuck are we letting them do that?" Bernie's voice held no secrets. It was clear from the expression on her face how she felt.

"Fuel," Hoffman answered. "The Indies have an offshore imulsion rig, around seventy kilometers north of the Lesser Islands chain."

The room went silent. Even Bernie didn't immediately jump in with an argument. Regular access to imulsion would be a lifeline to the COG. It would keep the ships running, and the helicopters flying. It would be our way back to the mainland someday. Vectus had its fair share of hydro-electric, wind, and solar, but none of that would be enough to keep an army or navy fleet moving. And an imulsion rig so close to the island meant that we wouldn't have to ship imulsion in from drilling platforms on the mainland, which meant less risk to our fleet. Less trawlers to go missing between here and Ephyra.

It was a hell of an admission ticket.

"So, we get their imulsion," I broke the stunned silence. "What do they get?"

"Good, old fashioned, COG protection, I'm guessing?" Byrne interjected.

Hoffman nodded. He looked like he had aged ten years in the last week. "Their population is only about 4,000 strong. They don't have the manpower to run, protect, and utilize the platform. They've got a tanker, a frigate, and some patrol boats, too. They're turning it all over in exchange for sanctuary on Vectes."

"They've got a submarine," I reminded him coldly. "And torpedoes. And itchy trigger fingers, evidently."

Hoffman sighed and leaned against the table. "That was part of the conversation as well. Evidently, they've had problems with Stranded attacking the platform, and pirating goods. They saw it as an opportunity to eliminate a problem."

My forehead creased in confusion. Ace's Stranded group – the Free Trade Commission – they weren't pirates. Ace wouldn't work with them if they were. They had to be the good kind of Stranded. Like Dix and his camp.

But they tortured Massy to death.

But he deserved it.

Right?

Suddenly the answer appeared so quickly I wanted to slap myself. The boat they shot wasn't the FTC's. It was Cormick Allam's. Trescu probably thought he was firing at the likes of Massy and his gang. The raping, thieving, dangerous sort of Stranded scum. It was simply a case of mistaken identity.

I could feel the weight lift off of my body. "So, when are they moving in?" I asked Hoffman.

"Nothing's settled yet," he answered. "I want eyes on the imulsion rig first. You're actually early to the debrief. I'm sending Delta out first thing tomorrow to do a full assessment."

I smiled for the first time since this little meeting had started. "Cool. Baird's going to have a field day."

"And Pelruan?" Bernie asked.

"What about them?"

"They weren't happy about the COG moving in," Bernie explained. "There's a lot of old soldiers here who remember the Indies. Remember their forced labor camps, their bombing runs, their sieges and starvations tactics."

Ace's warning about Gorasnaya ran through my mind. If the COG was smart, they'd drown the lot of them.

Hoffman sighed. "That's a problem for Prescott," he finally acquiesced. "Maybe the Chairman will finally be good for something."


I headed back towards barracks, while Byrne went back out to cover my patrol, and Bernie stayed behind to speak to Hoffman in private. Sam trotted contentedly by my side. The streets of the city were significantly more packed than they had been even only a week before. The base was full now. There were still citizens living on the ships in the port, waiting for housing to be built so they could move onto solid land. And now Gorasnaya was moving in as well. Hopefully they would bring their own supplies. I really didn't want to deal with resource riots.

I stepped closer to a building to allow a packhorse to pass in the narrow alleyway. I lifted a hand and waved as they passed, then stepped back into the street to continue up the hill. I could hear my radio crackling away in my left ear, but I had become adept at tuning out most of the chatter. That is, until I heard a familiar voice call over the line: "Private Santiago, rendezvous to your right."

I paused mid-step, then turned right and searched the crowd. Just when I raised my hand to key up my comm and demand the speaker identify themselves, I spotted Dizzy and Ace on the roof of a nearby building, both watching me with grins.

I rolled my eyes, then crossed the alleyway and ducked inside the building through a side door. From there it was easy to find the stairs, and then the roof-door that had been propped open with a rock. "There she is!" Ace called out as I joined them on the rooftop.

"Pretty sure you guys shouldn't be up here," I said, returning the one-armed hug that Ace greeted me with.

Dizzy guffawed. "Erry'body so caught up in their own shite, nobody gonna notice a couple o' us hanging out." He held out a mason jar that smelled like antiseptic. "'Sides. We're celebrating!"

"I can see that," I said, taking the jar away from Dizzy. I didn't want any, but Diz had that glassed-eye look that told me he had been 'celebrating' for quite a while. Ace also looked properly sloshed as well, but he wasn't quite as far gone. "Guess you two finally found each other."

"Hells yeah we did!" Dizzy slapped Ace on the back with a hearty laugh. "Our boy came back to life!"

'Our boy' tolerated Dizzy's enthusiasm, but his smile was small and short lived. "Did Maralin and Teresa tell you?" I asked Dizzy, trying to get his attention off of Ace.

"Nah. Had to find out ta' hard way. Walked into him on ta' street! 'Bought had a heart attack – thought I was seein' a ghost!"

Ace finally cracked a genuine smile. "I had to fight the urge to play it up like I was a ghost. Come back to haunt the COG. Nothing less than they deserve." He held his hands up and made a spooky noise in the back of his throat. "WooOOOOooo!"

I made an unimpressed noise as they laughed their asses off. Ace reached down and snagged the mason jar from my hand and took another swallow. Drunk people were amusing when you yourself were drunk, but when you were sober, they were downright annoying. I squinted at Dizzy. "I thought you had duty tonight?"

Dizzy checked his watch. "Oh shit!" He gave another deep belly laugh. "This shifts gonna be fun!"

I felt a knot grow in my stomach. "Maybe you should go sleep it off," I suggested. "I can find someone to cover for you."

Dizzy waved me off. "I'm fit as a fiddle! I can sail while three sheets to tha' wind! See?" Dizzy stood on one foot and slowly brought his finger to touch his nose. Before he got halfway there, he listed to the side, then stumbled towards the edge of the roof.

"Diz!" I screamed, lunging forward and grabbing him before he could tumble off the side. Ace dropped the mason jar and did the same, pulling Dizzy away from the edge as the glass shattered behind him.

"A-whoops!" Dizzy laughed, somehow managing to stay on his feet. His expression soured when he saw the broken jar, and the moonshine sinking into the stone of the roof. "Ahh, hell. Wadja have to drop it for?"

"I think you've had enough," I said, my voice sharp as a blade. "You need to get off this roof."

Dizzy glanced from me to Ace, and a twinkle appeared in his eye. "Ahh, I geddit. You two wanna be alone."

"No, Diz-"

"Don't hafta tell me twice!" he staggered to the door, wrenched it open, and managed to make it to the stairs. I had to dart forward again and grab the door before it swung shut. I kicked the rock back into place to hold it open. From the rooftop, I watched as Dizzy turned the corner and disappeared into the alleyway.

"You shouldn't encourage him to drink," I admonished Ace, who was picking up the shards of glass. I motioned him away and finished collecting the pieces, then tucked them into my pack to recycle later. "He finds a reason easy enough on his own."

Ace scoffed and motioned to where Dizzy had been standing. "I can't have a drink with an old friend?"

"A drink? Sure," I snapped at him. "Getting shit-faced in the middle of the day when he has a shift to get through? Not so smart."

"Hey, it was his decision to drink," Ace defended himself. "I didn't pour it down his throat."

"He's a drunk, Ace! Once he starts, he doesn't stop." I shook my head. "He'll probably find another bottle and drink the rest of his shift. And it's Maralin or Teresa who'll have to go looking for him, and get him cleaned up tonight."

I rubbed my hands down my face, and tried to let the irritation fade away. Dizzy was a grown man, I reminded myself. "Sorry," I apologized. "You're right. It's not your fault. You didn't know."

Ace wore a properly abashed look. "His drinking has gotten worse?"

I sighed. "A little while after you left, he promised the girls he'd quit. I didn't see much of him for a while, but he seemed like he was doing okay. And then…I don't know. Something happened and kicked him off the wagon." I shrugged. "Usually, he can get through his shift while sober. Guess that's not going to happen tonight."

I stared over the edge of the roof and down into the alleyway. Ace was quiet for a long time. "Look," he said. "It won't happen again."

"Yeah. It will," I said in a mournful tone. "He'll just be alone next time."

I shook my head, trying to get Dizzy off my mind. "Well, what else do you have planned for today?"

Ace rolled his shoulders, his one hand rubbing at the back of his neck. I smiled slightly at the familiar gesture. "I dunno. Want to grab dinner?"

My mouth twisted. "I can't. Sorry. I have…patrol."

Ace squinted at me. "You just glanced to your left."

"So?"

"So…you're lying. You glance left when you lie."

I gave him an embarrassed smirk. "You remember that?"

"Of course. So, what's the truth?"

"I did have patrol," I answered. "But I got it covered by someone else because…because I have plans."

He scoffed. "Plans? Really? Blow them off."

"I would, but someone spent a lot of years trying to teach me about 'responsibility' and all that crap."

He nodded. "I knew that would bite me in the ass someday."

We both laughed, letting the previous tension between us fall to the wayside. I missed how easy it was with Ace. How we just understood each other. How we could read each other's minds sometimes.

"So, what're these plans?"

Of course, having someone who knew when you were stretching the truth could also get annoying. "It's not that big of a deal."

"But they're big enough of a deal that you won't drop them?"

I blew out a breath. "Fine. It's…a date, okay?"

Ace's eyebrows disappeared into his hairline. "A date? Wow." His voice sounded impressed, but I knew him well enough to recognize the teasing undertone. "With who?" I bit my lip and glanced away, and immediately he put it together. "Oh, Christ. Don't tell me it's that asshole from this morning."

I shrugged helplessly. "I know, I know. He may seem like an asshole on the outside. And…on the inside. But once you cut through all the piss and vinegar, he's actually a pretty great guy."

Ace gave me a disapproving look. "You're really blowing me off for that jerk?"

"Well, technically I blew him off last night for you," I said with a smirk. "At this point you're just taking turns." Ace frowned, but he didn't answer. "It's one night," I reassured him. "There are tons of things on this island I can't wait to show you! Pelruan, the bluffs, the port…"

Ace's expression shifted into something darker. "Well, send me a picture. Prescott has me confined to base."

That took a second to sink in. "He what?"

"Apparently I'm a 'security risk'." Ace drew air quotes with two fingers. "I'm not allowed past the gates."

"That's bullshit!" I seethed. "You're a Gear!"

"Not anymore. Not in the eyes of the COG."

"Look, I'll talk to Hoffman," I promised him. "There's no way he'll agree to that."

Ace shrugged, like it didn't really bother him. "Aren't you going to be late for your date?" he said teasingly.

I started for the door, clicking my fingers for Sam to follow, but I paused. "Also…this whole thing with Baird…it's pretty new. We're not really telling anyone yet. So, if you could just…keep it between us?"

Ace gave me a smile that didn't quite reach his eye. "Of course. Anything for you."


I tried to put Ace's disapproving look out of my mind as I walked through base. Everything in my life had changed in the last five years – hell, in the last five months. I didn't expect him to understand yet. I knew from experience that he'd come around.

Dom was out with Marcus and Cole, so the room was empty when I arrived. I grabbed a quick shower, then dressed in fatigues and my old Stranded leathers. I kept my weapons with me. The town was getting safer every day, but the woods were still filled with Stranded men who had refused Prescott's offer of amnesty. Civilians weren't allowed in the woods. Technically anyone without authority to be off-camp – which included farmers, work parties, and Gears on patrol – was a target.

Fortunately for me, I had plenty of experience sneaking around under the COG's nose. And, more importantly, I had the patrol schedule memorized.

Sure, civilians were confined to base. But Ace was a Gear – wounded or not. He should have the same respects offered to other Gears. And they could go to Pelruan, or down to the harbor. The woods were more of a grey area. I made a mental note to speak to Hoffman the first chance I had.

The easiest way into the woods and to the cabin was to head down to the pier, around to the outer reaches of the port, and then sneak away into the woods when everyone's back was turned. I kept Sam leashed at my side as an easy excuse if someone did stop me. I could always claim to be out walking my dog. And, seeing how Sam was quickly becoming a military asset, it was a pretty damn good excuse. Luckily, no one even glanced my way as I skirted the outside of the base and melted away into the woods.

It was about a mile and a half hike out to the abandoned hunting cabin. Once we were far enough away from the port, I let Sam off leash to explore. She led the way to the quiet meadow where I was meeting Baird. When I had last seen the cabin, it was only a one-room shack, barely big enough to be included on a local map. I'm sure most people didn't even know it existed. It was a good spot for Baird and I to actually spend some time together without constantly looking over our shoulders.

As I got closer, I could feel the ball of nerves in my stomach tighten and pull. Stealing kisses and private moments were one thing, but what if tonight made it obvious that we weren't right for each other? Or, worse yet, what if tonight made me fall for Baird but made him realize that this was a mistake? Tonight had the potential to go in two very different directions, and I wasn't sure which one scared me most.

I could smell the campfire smoke before Sam and I made it to the clearing with the small cabin. As I broke through the tree line, I expected to see the old, mildewing pile of logs and old fishing equipment that barely deserved to be called a shack. Instead, somebody – probably Baird – had obviously spent some time and effort cleaning it up.

The roof had been braced with new, fresh-cut lumber. Before, the front porch had leaned at an interesting angle, but now it balanced completely level upon cinder blocks. A new fire pit had been dug a couple of yards away from the porch, and a stack of firewood had been cut and piled between two trees. Above the fire was a grill grate, complete with a cast iron skillet that was pre-heating.

"Baird?" I called out. When no response came, I walked up onto the porch, and pushed open the faded green paint-flecked door. The inside had clearly been renovated as well. Before, it had been a massive pile of junk – old, broken furniture, copious amounts of cobwebs, and the distinct scent of something that had climbed inside and died.

Now, it was almost cozy. There was a bed in the corner complete with blue flannel blankets and pillows. The table had been fixed up with various types of wood, then lacquered and sealed. The result was a vaguely rainbow effect. Two mis-matching chairs were safely tucked underneath. Along the left wall were two brand-new work benches. I could see the wood-working tools that evidently had been used to fix this place up. Further down were some more electronic looking things that I didn't recognize. Hanging from the ceiling were some more cast-iron pots and pans that gleamed darkly, freshly stripped and re-seasoned. In the corner was some old fishing net with various baits and tackles hanging like trophies. Even the floor was decorated with old, hand-spun rugs that had obviously been painstakingly cleaned by hand.

"You weren't supposed to beat me here," Baird called from behind me. I spun around, and saw him emerging from the tree line while holding a plate. "Thought you were on patrol until later?"

"Byrne made a bet with me. She lost," I said, lightly stepping off of the porch and in his direction. I motioned vaguely at the cabin. "Did you do all this?"

Baird squatted next to the fire and used a stick to stir the embers. "Never had my own place before," he answered me. "Needed a spot I could get some work done without being interrupted. You like it?"

"I'm torn between being impressed, and jealous that I didn't think of it first," I answered him honestly. "You had to have been working on this for ages!"

I took a seat on a nearby stump as Baird dropped a small square of butter into the heated pan, which sizzled on contact. He rolled the pan around, coating the inside with butter, before pulling back a linen towel that covered the plate he had carried in. He added the two small fish to the pan, then settled it back atop the grill grate. "Didn't take that long," he said as he worked. "Cleaning the rugs took the longest."

"You can cook?" I asked, a small bit of amazement in my voice.

"Sure," he said, stepping away from the fire. "You're not the only one who suffered through Mataki's survivalist training. What about you – you cook?"

"Oh yeah," I said with a smirk. "All kinds of Stranded delicacies. Smoked rat over foraged greens, sauteed crickets in an aged can of stewed tomatoes, and – my specialty – roasted squirrel brains."

He clicked his teeth with disappointment. "Damn. I knew I should have sprung for the squirrel brains."

I laughed as I got to my feet and glanced at the frying fish inside the pan. "What are we having instead?" I asked, innocently sidling closer to him.

"Grouper, stuffed with crab and wild rice."

"Wow. How'd you swing that?"

"You wouldn't believe how much stuff on this island needs fixed." He motioned around us. "Generators, radios, tractors, boat engines… I trade my skills for whatever I need. I even had an old woman ask me to fix her hair curlers for her."

"Did you?"

"Hell yeah! She gave me a slice of the best damn blueberry pie I've ever had."

I laughed. "So, is this whole island going to be indebted to your genius?"

Baird used a pair of tongs to flip the fish. "Joke all you want," he said. "I'm doing shit I like now."

I smiled at his enthusiasm. He's happy, I observed. "What did you fix in trade for our dinner tonight?" I asked.

"Depth detector on an old man's fishing boat." He stood, giving the tongs a couple of clacks for good measure.

I nudged his arm. "Is there anything you can't do?" I asked, only half joking.

"Wiggle my ears," he said seriously.

"Ah-ha!" I exclaimed. "So, you do have a flaw!"

"Just one."

"That's good. Makes you less intimidating."

"I'm intimidating?"

"As hell."

He shrugged. "Good. Makes me idiot proof."

"Better be careful, though," I warned in a teasing tone. "You fix enough stuff and soon you won't fit inside your armor."

I had worried that this would be awkward, but instead it just flowed between us. I could feel myself relaxing. I genuinely enjoyed being around Baird. And, judging from the indulgent smirk on his face, he enjoyed being with me.

But before he could respond, we were interrupted by a short bark from Sam, who was sniffing the far side of the meadow. I craned my neck, trying to see what she was so intrigued by. She gave a couple more short, staccato barks and I walked over. "Sam!" I called, and she retreated to my side. I rested a hand on my sidearm until I saw what she was alerting to.

There was a small brown and white bird that was hopping around on the ground. It chirped at Sam, then gave a fluttery attempt at flight but couldn't quite make it off the ground. "What's wrong with it?" Baird asked, coming up on my right. "Broken wing?"

I tried to hide my smile. "It's a killdeer," I informed him. "We must be near her nest. Look." I examined the open meadow surrounding the cabin until I spotted a small mound of rocks, shells, and sticks. I pointed it out to Baird. "That looks like her nest, over there. Now, if I walk towards it—" As soon as I stepped toward the nest, the bird chirped loudly in alarm, and hopped a couple of steps my way. Her injured act took up a sense of urgency.

"But," I said, taking a couple of steps towards the bird, "If I walk towards her-" The bird hopped away towards the edge of the meadow. When I was only a pace or two behind her, she took flight, landing in the tree several meters above my head. I spun on my heel and threw my arms up in the air. "See? Not injured. They pretend to be easy prey to lure predators away from their nests. Once they're far away enough, they'll 'heal' and fly away."

"A time-honored fake out," Baird said. "Kinda like your friend."

I blinked in confusion. "What, you mean Ace?" I rolled my eyes. "It's kind of hard to fake missing an arm."

"I didn't mean that he was faking it," he clarified. "Not a bad way to weasel his way back into the COG, though. Who's going to question the wounded Gear?"

The warm feelings I had earlier were beginning to evaporate. "Watch it, Baird. He's my friend. He's not trying to weasel his way back into anything."

"Yeah? Then where has he been for the last five years?"

"On an island," I snapped at him. "Hundreds of kilometers away from Jacinto."

Baird shrugged. "So was Mataki. She made her way back to base."

"Mataki has both of her hands. And it wasn't exactly an easy trip for her, in case you missed that." My voice soured and my arms crossed in front of my chest. As Baird opened his mouth to state another point, I interrupted him. "Stop," I said sternly. "Ace is not up for discussion. We can find something else to talk about, or I can leave."

He cocked an eyebrow, and I could see how he was dying to argue more. But I meant what I said; I wasn't going to sit here and listen to Baird slander Ace about a situation he knew nothing about. That was a boundary I wasn't about to cross. There was a brief moment where I could see Baird wanted to continue the argument. He struggled over what was more important – being right, or being with me. But ultimately he stopped himself, considered, and, finally, he simply shrugged. "Food's ready, anyway."

I slowly relaxed as Baird used the towel to grab the handle of the pan, and headed in to the cabin. Letting go of a disagreement – especially one where he was certain he was right – wasn't easy for him. It meant a lot that he respected me enough to do so. I followed him in through the door he had left open for me.

Baird had set the pan down, and was searching though the singular cabinet for some plates and cutlery. He served up the fish – one to a plate – then set the table. "Beer?" he offered, grabbing two dark bottles from a bucket of ice that I hadn't seen earlier. I nodded, and he popped the caps off of both before setting them on the table. He motioned broadly at it all. "Bon appetite."

I gingerly took a seat at the table. Having his generosity served up to me just reminded me of how big a bitch I was being about Ace. "It smells great," I said honestly. I wanted to get back to the free-flowing ease between us. "Mataki would be proud."

"Mataki would take points off for not making a necklace from the fish scales, or some shit," he said around a mouthful of fish.

"Sharpen the bones into fish hooks."

"Make a stew from the fish guts."

I crinkled my nose. "Ew. I don't think she'd go that far." I took a bite of the food, and the explosion of flavor across my tongue brought me up short. "Holy shit," I whispered, chewing slowly. "Damn, that's good."

Baird threw his hands up in a 'hallelujah' pose. "Finally, she sees my genius."

"But you still can't wiggle your ears."

He pointed his fork at me. "I'm working on it. And someday you're going to eat your words."

"If they taste as good as this, I'm okay with that." I ate another bite, and washed it down with the ice-cold beer. I pointed at the disassembled parts on his workbench. "What are you working on?"

He looked over his shoulder to see what I was pointing at, then shrugged. "Had to pay for the beer somehow. It's a beer dispenser for the bar in Pelruan." He stood, and picked up a part with multiple circle pieces. "This here's the regulator. You connect this part here to your CO2 tanks, then run a gas line to your coupler." He picked up another part, and showed me how they connected. "This coupler connects your keg to your beer line. Add some insulation and refrigeration, and you've got ice cold beer on tap."

While he spoke, I got up from the table and joined him at the workbench. When he finished his demonstration, he looked at me expectantly. I nodded slowly, then slid an arm around his waist. "Intimidating as hell," I said in a low voice. I had to go up on my tip-toes to reach his mouth, but I gave him a kiss that was long, slow, and deep. For the first time I didn't have to worry about anyone walking in on us, or being caught, or being pulled away by duty. And I took full advantage of the opportunity.

Baird sighed thinly through his nose as he dropped the components back to the bench, then wrapped his hands around my waist. There was a brief feeling of being lifted, and then I was sitting on the bench next to his project. I used my grip on his shirt to bring him in closer, then wrapped my legs around his waist. I could feel the heat trail left by his fingers as he explored my thin fatigues. As his head dipped and his mouth traveled lower, and lower, and lower, somehow his shirt came off.

"Wait, stop," I said after several minutes of getting lost in each other. Baird froze, then pulled away immediately.

"You okay?"

"More than okay," I laid my palms flat against his chest, holding him at arm's length. "I just…don't want to go too far. Okay?"

He glanced down at the growing pile of clothes at our feet. "How far is too far?" He tried hard to hide it, but his expression resembled a child who just had their favorite toy taken away.

"Pregnant," I said with a laugh. "Pregnant would be too far."

He nodded. "And who would have kids with someone who can't wiggle their ears?"

"Obvious genetic fault," I agreed. I picked up my shirt from the bench beside me and tugged it back on over my head. "Besides, I think we definitely figured out that this works."

His eyebrows creased. "What works?"

"You and me," I said motioning from my chest to his.

"Oh yeah, that." He nodded his head. "You know if we're going to do this…we're eventually going to have to tell Dom, right? Too much drama to do this behind his back."

"Yeah," I sighed. "He's totally going to freak. He'll think you're too old for me."

"I probably am," Damon admitted. "How old were you when E-day happened?"

"Four. You?"

"Eleven." He craned his neck. "Not too bad. You're not jailbait, and I'm not robbing the cradle."

I smiled. "Just enough of a difference that when you're old and grey, I'll still be smoking hot."

"I'll never go grey," he said, vaguely wounded. "I'd shave my head first."

"So, you're just tolerating all the blondie jokes until then?" I asked, disbelieving. "Like grey is somehow worse?"

"Laugh it up," he taunted me. "I'd trade my left nut to see what Marcus has hidden under that do-rag. I bet his hairline has receded into his ass crack."

"I'll let Marcus know you're interested in seeing his ass crack."

He winced, then smirked. "Fell right into that one, huh?" His hand fell to my knee, then gently massaged its way up my thigh. "You know…" he trailed in a deep, leading voice. "There's a lot of things that don't end in 'pregnant'."

"Oh yeah?" I bit my lip as his thumb traced a lazy circle on my inner thigh. "Well, then teach me something new, my little genius."


When I woke the next morning, I felt like I was still in a dream. I kept finding myself smiling for no reason, or floating down the steps to meet up with Delta. Dom noticed, of course, and made a comment about how happy I was now that Ace was alive. And I was, of course, but the real reason for my elated mood sat next to Cole with a satisfied smirk.

The King Raven we rode was idling at its typical eye-searing volume, but this time I had a comm and could finally hear the conversation that went around the bulkhead. We were riding out to verify the imulsion platform Gorasnaya had offered in trade. Verify that it existed, for one, but also that it was functional and not some sort of trojan horse. The ride out had taken most of the morning. Luckily, Cole had decided to forego breakfast.

Gettner called over the radio to look sharp, and I turned to look out the crew bay door. At first, I couldn't see anything, then I shouldered my longshot and scanned the horizon. Finally, like a lone tree sprouting out of a barren field, I saw the platform. It was a lonely building, marooned in the middle of a vast ocean with only a few sprawls of sea birds to keep it company. It was splotchy with spreads of white bird shit and reds strips of rust. Only patches of the original grey paint were visible. As we drew closer, I could see a moldy grey patch of fabric that billowed in the wind; a flag that was far too sun bleached to display any emblem.

Next to me Cole gave a long, low whistle that pierced through the wind noise thanks to the comm. "That's a long way from home," he said, staring over my shoulder. "Imagine being stuck there and runnin' out of coffee."

Baird stood, seeming riveted by the view. "Awesome engineering," he said in the same breathless voice that he had used last night. "You know how deep that water is? Three thousand meters. Our submarines can't go much below three hundred. Those tethers had to be sunk via a remote."

I bit down the entirely inappropriate remark I wanted to make, and settled for laughing along with Cole as he nudged Baird's arm. "Aww, Baird's in love with another hunk of metal," he teased. "Baby, you gonna end up marryin' a bot. Maybe we better ask Jack if he got a sister."

I tuned out the rest of the conversation as Gettner drew over the landing pad. She hovered for a moment, as if she didn't trust the pad to support the weight, before gingerly letting the bird down. A group of Gorasnayan engineers stood in a line on the far side. Maybe it was a coincidence, but I noticed that they all carried huge wrenches. I hugged my longshot a little closer in response as we exited the Raven. I had foregone my Gear armor in favor of my Stranded leathers. Last mission I had almost drowned because of the extra weight, and I wasn't keen to have a repeat performance. But as I examined the men's sour expressions, I found myself wishing I could tuck myself behind those sturdy plates.

"So," the largest man said as Marcus strode forward. "You've come for our dowry." He held his hand out to shake, but I noticed he didn't loosen his grip on that wrench. Marcus returned the handshake without blinking. "Remember that looks aren't everything. I'm Stefan Gradin. This platform is my personal kingdom, so nobody fucks with it. Okay?"

"Define 'fucks with'," Baird said, but Cole nudged him in the back.

Marcus didn't blink as he strode to the edge of the helipad and leaned over. "What's your capacity?"

Dom followed Marcus' footsteps, as if he didn't quite trust Marcus not to lean too far and tumble over the edge. Stefan followed as well, albeit a couple steps behind. "One hundred and fifty thousand barrels a day at full production," he said, answering Marcus' question. "In practice, about twenty thousand. We don't need to process more, and we haven't the bulk tankers, anyway."

Marcus grabbed hold of a ladder and slid down to the deck below, evidently expecting Stefan to follow. Dom and Cole headed down next, followed by Gradin's men. I hung back a second next to Baird, thumbing over my comm to make sure it wasn't set to transmit. "Should I give the two of you a minute alone?" I joked, motioning to the rig below our boots. "You're starting to make me jealous."

Baird's blue eyes were a shade brighter than normal. I secretly thrilled at the look on his face as he met my eye with a genuine smile. "It's clever shit," he said. "Admit it."

"It's covered in shit," I reminded him, using my longshot to motion to the smears of gull poop that coated the deck. "And manned with people who hate us."

"It that why you're hugging that rifle?" he asked, motioning to the sniper I kept low but ready. "Longshot. Single action. You sure you got enough rounds for that thing? You tap out early in a fight, and I'll be sorely disappointed."

With a coy smile, I put a hand on the zipper of my jacket. "I got something under here that'll change your mind."

"Oh yeah?" his lips curled in a half smile. As I unzipped, his eyes roved over my chest. "Girl, you're gonna get me in so much trouble," he murmured, the smile fading from his face.

I laughed and slapped away his hand as he reached for the bandolier that crossed my torso. "Look but don't touch," I warned him. "This baby holds sixty-five rounds. My guess? You tap out first."

"Where'd you even get that?"

"A gift from Dom. COG issued, certified, and guaranteed." I ran my fingers lovingly over the leather sash, with every pocket filled with a bullet. Dom had surprised me with it early this morning, before we had boarded the Raven. Evidently, he had shared Baird's concerns about me running out of ammo.

"Baird!" Marcus' voice rang out from the deck below us and sent me skirting for the ladder. "Get down here!"

Baird swaggered along behind me, evidently immune to the 'move your ass' tone Marcus wielded. I stepped lightly off the ladder and onto the main deck that branched between the helipad and the main platform. The rig was a tall, multi-storied building built upon stilts that extended into the waves far below. The helipad had been built close to the bottom, on a branch that stuck out to the side. The rest of the rig had several floors that towered over us.

"What's below?" Marcus asked, still leaning over the rickety safety rail and peering into the bottom decks.

"Crew quarters," Gradin answered, not offering any more information than propriety demanded.

We passed a couple of ladders that were almost rusted through, thanks to the near constant spray of salt water. Most of Delta was looking down below, evaluating how someone could potentially attack the platform. I, however, was looking up.

Marcus might have been content to ask Gradin where everything was, but I was used to finding things out on my own. I spotted a nearby ladder that looked semi-stable, and started climbing. It probably wouldn't have held for a fully armored Gear, but in my leathers, I was light enough to scurry to the next deck.

As I crested the top, I had to strangle a scream before it could leave my throat. My grip loosened in fright, and I almost fell before I could scramble for a handhold. I blinked hard, hoping that I had just imagined what I had just saw.

Because it wasn't a flag hanging from the rig.

It was the top half of a badly decomposed human body, dangling from a rope.

I felt a wave of nausea wash over me as the scent hit me. He – or she – smelled like the salt-cured meat we used to make at the camp. There were only tufts of black hair still clinging to the stretched skin over their skull. The eyes and tongue had been picked clean by the birds, but the bottom jaw hung at an odd angle, held fast by only the barest threads of muscle and sinew. The rope that kept him attached to the rig was tied into a noose, slipped over the neck and pulled taut by the weight of the body.

Gradin called up to me. "Stranded like to play pirates," he said. When I looked down, I could see by the expression on his face that he had been waiting for one of us to discover the body. The literal skeleton in the closet. "We play pirates too. Amuse the gulls."

"Does that work?" Baird asked.

"We don't care," Gradin said.

I stared into the eye sockets of the putrefied skull, trying hard not to imagine who they might have been before. Stranded. Pirate. Enemy. I tried to force my frozen fingers to uncurl from around the ladder rung. Human. A good soldier would have left it. It wasn't my place to assume the rules of these men, these Indies. Obviously, justice had a different meaning out here, so far from any solid land. But still my boots clung fast to the ladder, refusing to let me climb down. Finally, I pulled my knife from my belt and climbed even closer to the body. It took a few minutes of sawing at an awkward angle, but finally the rope cut free. The body free-fell for several stories before disappearing beneath the surf with an almost silent splash.

When I finally climbed back down to the deck below, Gradin was watching me. His expression reminded me of a schoolteacher after a poor lesson. Somehow, this had been a test, and obviously I had failed. "You don't like our decorating?"

"Not to my taste," I said, rage boiling just below the surface. "But feel free to head up there and take his place."

There was a tense moment as Gradin and I stared at each other. The men behind him adjusted their grips on their wrenches. The weight of the bandolier hung heavy around my shoulders. Sixty-five rounds. Plenty for all of you. I could feel Marcus just behind me, stepping closer, ready to smooth this all over.

Suddenly, Gradin laughed. He tucked his wrench into a pocket, and wagged a finger at me. "You have spunk," he said with amusement still coloring his voice. "Remind me of my daughter. Come. I show you the rest of my platform."

Marcus stepped around me, silently following after Gradin and his men. The rest of Delta followed suit, occasionally asking questions about protection, raids, and manpower. Only Dom paused to check in with me, asking in hushed whisper if I was alright. I nodded in answer, not mentioning how every time I blinked, I could still see those vacant eyes, staring blankly at me from the depths of the rotten skull.

We didn't even treat grubs like that…


Author's Note: We hit 300! Thank you all so much for sticking with me this far, it means the world! Doesn't mean you get to slack off, though! Let's make it to 400!