The holographic gaming rig beeped and before him floated a large, three-dimensional number ten—blocky, white, and carrying with it a hint of authority. Through it he could make out Trance's outline. Hair done up in a braid. Athletic shorts and sports bra with training shoes instead of her usual slouchy boots. She stood ready with knees bent and hands palm out in front of her like she was ordering him to stop. Her muscles were taut and eyes on the numbers. Ready to compete—not enjoying the view—like him. Maybe that's why he hadn't won a game yet?

"Countdown has begun," the console announced in a flat, feminine voice and the ten flashed to nine.

Harper tore his eyes off Trance and focused on the numbers. He shifted his weight to the balls of his feet and put his arms up like a boxer in the ring. Lifted his shoulders and let them fall a few times then took a couple of deep breaths. Time to get his game face on.

"Ready to lose?" he asked.

She smiled and raised her brows. "What makes you think this game's going to be any different?"

Seven. Six. Five.

"You can't win every time, and Seamus Harper is nothing, if not optimistic."

Three. Two.

"You have to keep your eyes on the orbs if you want to win." Playful laughter followed. So she'd noticed him watching. No big surprise there.

One. Zero.

A bell rang and a pale orange and green orb appeared between them with a 'shoom'. A five-minute timer popped up above the playing field. Trance lunged for the orange orb, hitting it a second before he got to the green orb. Off to the side of him, a floating green '1' appeared. Shoom. Two more orbs. They each lunged for their respective colors. The game continued, orbs coming first in quicker intervals and then multiple orbs at once. Soft, musical tones filled the recreational bay with each orb defeated.

Three minutes left.

They'd begun the game outside of the playing field but moved in as it intensified. Now they stood side by side and the game positioned the orbs around their bodies. They lunged and moved around each other in a strange dance, his heart giving him a swift and steady beat to follow. The pace picked up and sweat dripped from his hairline. His muscles burned pleasantly as he crouched and jumped and worked them out.

Two minutes left.

All that existed now was the playing field. Trance reached in front of him for one of her orbs and then darted away to grab another, and he lost his focus as he had in each of five games they'd already played. Quick and agile as he was—for a human—Trance moved with a grace and speed he couldn't match.

Sometimes, in moments of boredom, he watched her retrain the acrobatics skills that had made her so useful as a thief on the Maru. Looked on as she pulled herself up on the uneven bars, twisting and spinning around them. Marveled as she ran and flipped off a springboard into a pit of foam, her body doing impossible things in the air. It was that way now. She moved like the gymnast she was. Reflexes so fast it was as if she knew where they would be a split second before they appeared. Mesmerizing. Nine months ago she'd needed nanobots to strengthen her muscles enough to walk. Now, look at her go.

One minute left.

The bay door opened and he only noticed because the light shifted. Beka and Dylan's voices mingled with the game's music and then dropped off and he assumed they'd stopped to watch. He glanced at his score, then Trance's. Surprisingly, not too far apart. Time to focus again. Get back in the game.

He darted for the next orb and jumped to another after. They stood back to back for a moment and then switched places. Orbs buzzed around them as they disappeared, some coming and going too fast for either of them to reach now. Colorful chaos. He pushed himself harder than he had in any of their earlier games so that his calf muscles screamed and his lungs burned. The air must have gotten thicker for how heavy his arms felt. But his score climbed until for the first time all night, it topped Trance's. All it had taken was everything he had.

But thirty seconds remained.

Seamus Harper didn't just rely on optimism to reach his goals. Or even hard work. Wasn't the Harper way. With a huge smile he lunged forward, but instead of tagging an orb, he grabbed Trance around the waist with one arm and sought out a ticklish spot with his free hand. She squeaked and laughed as the timer wound down and the console announced, "Green Wins".

"You cheated," Trance said through laughter.

"You're surprised?" He shrugged and tickled her again for good measure. "Besides, I prefer to think of it as employing creative strategies to ensure my success."

"Looked like cheating to me," Beka said and Harper released Trance. Beka and Dylan stood off to the side dressed casually, both sporting wide smiles.

Trance's shoulders danced and that wide, toothy smile he loved stretched across her face. She winked. "See, Beka saw. You're a cheater."

"How else am I supposed to get ahead?" Harper dipped down and picked up Trance's water bottle, tossed it to her, and grabbed his own. He looked to Dylan for backup. "Did you see the way she moves? A lowly human like me can't hope to compete."

Trance took a long drink from her bottle, then turned to him. "You could easily if you stopped getting distracted." Emphasis on 'distracted'. Who? Him? Never. Such slander from such a beautiful woman.

The bay doors hissed open again and a drone wandered in, a cart laden with snacks and drinks. Friday game night was officially a go.

"Nope, can't win," he teased, "you're far too flexible and agile."

Trance raised her eyebrows and locked her eyes with his, mischief gleaming in them "You've never once complained about my flexibility before." She swayed her hips for good measure.

Dylan coughed and Harper's cheeks grew hot. He stole a quick kiss and through his own laughter, rising from deep within his belly, said "Cool it, Flapjack. You're fiesty today."

Beka snickered. "That's a lovely shade of red you've got going on there, Harper. We should take a picture for posterity."

The drone left and as it headed out Rhade, Doyle, and Rommie made their way in. Friday nights were something to look forward to. The Universe had gone insane in the six months since the Tagarian sun ate its system. Political upheavals, natural disasters, border skirmishes and far more Nietzschean activity than Harper wanted to ponder. Everything Trance warned would happen when she told the story of her people months ago. Every other day another fire, and as the flagship, they were the firefighters— Andromeda and Beka's merry band of Nietzschean loyalists.

No wonder they needed a break.

"You started the party without us?" Rhade asked when his eyes met Harper's. Speaking of Nietzscheans.

"Oh come on, who invited him?" Harper asked, bumping his shoulder against Rhade's arm as he moved past towards the drinks and snacks.

"Ha. Ha." Rhade turned to follow. "Maybe you should have showered before you showed up. Looks like you came right from the gym."

"You've smelled worse," Harper replied with a grin. "We weren't partying, we were exercising. Even though she was sick all last week Trance decided she absolutely needed a workout today because Doyle cleared her yesterday and she didn't get one this morning. The environmental systems on deck two section four in hydroponics freaked out and almost killed the entire crop of pines she's been growing for the Del Arsa mountain range on Tarn Vedra. "

"They only exist on one other world that I know of and it is an extremely fickle plant. I've spent the last five months trying to engineer a faster-growing version. This is the first crop that's survived." Trance explained, worried creases above her brow. Like a mother talking about a sick child. "It's going to be a few days before I know if there's been any lasting harm."

"Don't you have enough work to do on Andromeda without practically running the environmental restoration project yourself?" Rhade asked. "No wonder you keep getting sick, working two full-time jobs."

Trance shrugged, "I don't like to be bored."

Beka stepped in beside them and picked up a plate. "Thank God, I'm starving." She loaded it up with chips and sandwiches, then glanced at the drink table. "So Trance, your night to plan, what's there to drink?"

"For you, fresh squeezed lemonade. For those who want alcohol, lemon margaritas. The lemon trees are fruiting so much right now. We'll have quite a few in stasis soon."

Trance had told him that she'd planted the lemons as a reminder for both of them that life was what you made of it. The whole Earth garden, not just the lemons, thrived under her care and it smelled of sweet citrus, strawberries, and roses. If he squinted his eyes it was like looking at a stained glass window with dozens of colors bleeding together. The answer Trance didn't give to Rhade, the reason she worked so hard, was that she hoped to bring the whole of Tarn Vedra back to life the way she'd brought a small bit of Earth back on Andromeda. She hoped to see her world beautiful again.

"Lemon margaritas?" Dylan asked, pouring the yellow liquid into a stem glass.

Harper grabbed a finger sandwich off the table and took a bite, savoring the cured meat. Synthesized, but still delicious. "You know, if life gives you lemons, make lemon margaritas?"

"I thought that was lemonade?" Dylan nodded towards the second pitcher Beka held in her hand.

"Margaritas are a bit more fun. Don't you think?" Trance asked. She carried her plate and margarita over to a long glass table with seats for seven and Harper followed. Doyle and Rommie had already taken their seats and spoke to each other in hushed tones. The women smiled when he and Trance took their seats.

Dylan took a seat on Trance's other side. "They certainly can be. I'm glad to see you back in action."

"Yep. It was just a cold. I was fine yesterday and could have worked, but Doyle insisted I rest until today." Her voice cracked and she coughed. It was followed by another, and another, barking from behind the arm she used to cover it. His heart dipped. Working out had been her idea, but he hadn't argued because it was damn hard to argue with her sometimes.

"You okay?" he asked. From the corner of his eye, he could see Doyle watching and assessing.

"Coughs can linger for a couple weeks. I'm fine." There was a tiny hint of an edge to her words. She'd said as much this morning. But he worried. A bunch. Because one nearly fatal illness was plenty and no matter how often she said she was fine his heart remembered those moments of terror on the Andromeda when he'd almost lost her. Almost lost all of this before it had a chance to develop.

Trance realized everyone had stopped to stare and fidgeted. After a long drink of the margarita and her voice was more solid. "Really, I'm fine. I just forgot to take the next dose of my cough suppressant."

"But you aren't always the best judge," he said, margarita in hand. "Like six months ago on our way back from Rindra when you told me you were just tired then spiked a fever so high you were delirious and spoke in tongues? Dylan was the only person who could understand you once we got back to Andromeda."

"I wasn't speaking in tongues. It was my native language. I had no other symptoms of illness until the fever."

"Okay, four months ago when you caught that stomach bug, said you were fine, and an hour I after I went to work you passed out from dehydration? Or the allergic reaction you had to those nuts on Hart Drift after you ignored your mouth itching?"

Her eyes narrowed. "I am fine right now. You can ask Rommie or Doyle."

Was she speaking more slowly than usual? Training her eyes on him a little too sharply?

Rommie raised an eyebrow. "Trance is healthy, Seamus, but I do detect an elevated heart rate. There is some vaso-dilation in the cheeks as well and her surface temperature has gone up one and a half degrees."

Dylan shifted in his seat. Beka, across from him, had developed a strong interest in the pulp drifting to the bottom of her glass. He got the distinct impression that he'd let his mouth run away with him and said something wrong, but the worry came back. "What's that mean?"

A snicker from Beka. Rhade slipped into the seat next to her and exchanged a look with Dylan. Doyle was sympathetic. Sort of. If he squinted real hard.

"I think what Rommie is trying to say in her normal diplomatic fashion and what Trance is too polite to tell you in front of all of us is that you're annoying her."

Awkward. The silence stretched on. He bounced his leg and looked over to Trance and it dawned on him that he'd done to her exactly what he hated others doing to him. That he'd yelled at her for doing to him on more than one occasion—though she'd always been right. Tried to pretend he knew better than she did. That he was the expert on Trance.

Whoops.

"Sorry, I was being kind of a jackass there. You're the best judge of how you feel," he said in English, stumbling over and struggling with the words. Hadn't taken him long once they returned from Rindra to agree to let her teach him, and it had surprised everyone how fast he'd picked it up under her tutelage. Now, he wrote and translated his own communications with resistance cells—passed on relevant information about Nietzschean alliances and Commonwealth doings that the slave planets and drifts might be unaware of. It gave him more independence in the process without needing to rely on Andromeda or Trance.

"Thank you," Trance replied, also in English.

The awkward silence remained, punctuated by silverware scraping and glasses bumping against the table. Beka cleared her throat and whispered, a little too loudly, to Rhade, "Don't you hate it when they speak in another language. We can't eavesdrop anymore."

Her words, bringing smiles across the table, broke some of the tension and dinner picked up again with light conversation, Harper's faux-pas forgotten. And just when it seemed like everything was right again in the Universe, Andromeda's hologram popped up to the side of the table.

"I hate to interrupt, but we're picking up a distress signal. Nietzscheans are attacking an orbital habitat in the Donbar system. They have an impressive defensive grid, but they are concerned it will give out under the barrage. We are the closest ship."

Harper pushed his plate back at the same time the others. Beka gulped down her lemonade and Trance frowned at her margarita before getting up. No orders needed. They knew the drill. This particular scenario grew more common every day.

"Donbar? Didn't they apply for Commonwealth membership a month ago?" Rhade asked.

Coincidence that. The last distress signal they received, which the Sabra-Jaguar answered, had been another world who'd expressed interest in joining.

"Once is one thing, but twice is starting to look like a trend," Beka replied.

Dylan huffed as he reached the ladder ahead of them. "So much for a night off."


The Nietzscheans had a dozen ships. All traditional, unmodified Garuda class fighters, meaning there should be a carrier ship nearby. Not visible, though. Rommie linked into the mainframe, but couldn't detect any sign of a carrier ship within her sensor range. Either they'd hidden it, or it was one or two slips away. As this was a slipstream nexus with seven entry points, it could be anywhere in the Tri-Galaxies. Got to keep searching, but first she needed to identify them. She zeroed in on the markings. There.

"What are we looking at?" Dylan asked.

"Dozen Garuda class. Perhaps some upgraded weaponry, but nothing more. Markings indicate that they are from the Cignus and Kenja Prides."

"Cignus is a little far from home," Trance said as she pulled up a running report of environmental and artificial gravity systems' status. Harper, beside her, pinged the mainframe for engineering reports. She sensed Doyle in the mainframe too, prepping Med Deck for potential casualties. Down there, stations sprung to life and both defensive and helper bots moved in to greet the medics when they arrived.

Dylan hit the alert klaxon and it blared throughout the ship. At its cue, Rommie readied weapons for Rhade and checked in with each station as crew members rushed to them. Some were only in partial uniform, having left their dinners behind in the Crew Mess. Quick though, despite being out of uniform. Every station was manned in under three minutes. She'd have to tell Dylan after everything settled down.

"Those bastards. I spent twelve hours in negotiations with Kenja last week." Beka said, "Broke out the nice plates and everything—I thought we really had that spark. That we were gonna be best friends forever."

"Just goes to show you. Some people have no respect for hospitality." Harper added, tapping at his console with a little more force than necessary.

"Well, perhaps if the nice plates couldn't convince them that our cause is the right one, missiles can," Rhade added, tapping at his console.

Dylan held up a hand, "Let's hold off on that until we get a little bit more information. Rommie, how's the drift's defense grid holding up?"

Outside, in orbit around a dim gray moon, the drift floated in four large, interconnected sections. Boxy, brown, and with a cobbled together appearance, it reminded Rommie of the Eureka Maru. A good little ship, serviceable and tough, but not pretty. A swarm of point defense satellites and defensive drones circled the entire station, firing at approaching missiles. As Dylan spoke, a missile slipped past and hit one of the satellites. It exploded in a flash of orange.

Information streamed through her mind as she opened it to the world outside and directed her sensors to the drift. Too much information. A few commands tapped into the console narrowed her view. "There are holes in the defensive grid to their starboard. It's resulted in hull breaches on the lower decks of what looks like the ore processing section and micro-fractures on the upper decks. The other three sections are unharmed."

Life was her next focus. She searched for heat signatures, heartbeats, and other signs of life; Humans, Castillian, Nightsider… a handful of other species. Their numbers matched her expectation. "They don't appear to have sustained many casualties, however, there are hundreds of people in the upper decks and another direct hit will likely create several massive breaches."

"They are also leaking oxygen from the hull breaches," Trance added. "The fighters are avoiding the habitat and commerce sections. See, there? They're focusing on the defensive grids around the command and mining sections."

"Taking slaves," Harper spat out, voicing Rommie's same conclusion.

"Well then, Beka, bring us in. Let's put an end to this."

The Nietzschean fighters had ignored the Andromeda when she exited slipstream, but they reacted now, half pulling together into a defensive formation and rounding on the Andromeda while the rest continued their attack. Rommie kept part of her focus on the Drift in case they needed her to swoop in.

"Well, we've got their attention. Even if they continue their attack, this break will give the Drift a chance to fill in the gaps in their grid," Rhade said. "Should I announce to the Kenja and Cignus prides that we have the Matriarch on board right now?"

An airlock on the Drift opened and two defensive satellites shot out and moved towards the gap in the grid.

"You know, if they cared about that, I doubt they'd be pointing their weapons at us right now," Beka said, shooting Rhade a smile over her shoulder.

"I'm inclined to agree with Beka," Rommie said. They lead ship has fired a volley of offensive missiles."

"Well, that's not very nice of them," Dylan said. "Load defensive missile tubes one through twenty and fire."

"Aye," Rhade noted then entered the Commands. The missiles launched, their computers zeroing in on the Nietzschean missiles, meeting them long before they reached her hull. They exploded in quickly squelched bursts of fire and debris. A couple of now target-less missiles continued on to the ship and smacked into its hull. The ship jerked to the side before righting itself. A warning shot.

"Target the lead ship with offensive missiles," Dylan ordered.

Rommie nodded. "Done."

"Would have been nice for them to at least try to talk to us before firing. Communication is so important in a relationship. Open a channel, Rhade. Beka, order them to stand down as their Matriarch and let's see what happens." Dylan took a step forward and folded his hands behind his back, eyes intent on the screen.

Beka shrugged. "It's worth a try."

Rhade's brows lifted, but he did as ordered. "Aye, channel open."

"Kenja and Cignus ships, this is your friendly neighborhood Matriarch speaking. Just wanted to remind you that I'm onboard the Andromeda and would appreciate it if you stopped attacking and went home. These people are now under my protection." Beka twisted around and gave Rommie a small smile. "And if that isn't enough to convince you, consider your chances of survival against a fully armed Glorious Heritage Class warship."

A beat, then Rommie closed the channel.

"Flattery will get you everywhere, Beka," she said with a smile.

"It's always a good idea to keep your ship happy."

The ships outside remained in place. Her sensors, trained on their weapons, detected nothing. A stalemate of sorts. She imagined the Nietzschean crews standing on their Command decks, much like hers, but having entirely different conversations. That part of her that shared thoughts and emotions with Andromeda was eager to fight so she could test herself against the small Nietzschean swarm. Another part of her hoped they'd listen and move along. Every battle, even one against inferior foes, ran the risk of hurting her crew and damaging her bodies. Too many variables that could never be accounted for.

"They're sure taking their time," Doyle said with her eyes glued to the screen.

Right when the tension among the crew grew to the point that it must break, the ships peeled off. A slipstream portal opened nearby and they took off through it.

"Do you want us to try and follow them?" Rommie asked, though certain of the answer.

"No. Hail the Drift, let's see if there is anything we can do to help."

"Can you believe they just ran away? Cowards." Harper stooped over his desk, tinkering. Trance looked on, with a small smile. A flexie abandoned on the mattress beside her—the paper she'd been reading less interesting than Harper's goings-ons. He poked and prodded at the cobbled together monstrosity of a communications device that'd frustrated and vexed him for months. His lips made a straight line and little wrinkles had formed above his brow, but he was relaxed. Happy. Never more content than when there as a project or a puzzle in front of him—movements focused and refined—an artist in a studio, but with gears and gizmos instead of paints and brushes.

"Did you actually want them to fight us? We're much bigger and stronger, but a dozen Garuda class fighters can still hurt pretty bad."

"No, I guess not. It's just typical of slave raiders. All their Nietzschean talk about being bigger, badder, and stronger than the rest of us poor schmucks and they never pick on someone their own size."

"Or maybe they're just waiting."

He stopped working and craned his neck to look back, eyes flashing. "What do you mean?"

"I don't know what I mean." With a heaving sigh, she adjusted herself on the mattress and placed her flexie on the nightstand because there'd be no more reading tonight. "This is the fifth raid this month with just as many prides. All of them small and indirectly related to the Dragons. All of them taking slaves and supplies—especially the raw materials for manufacturing ships and weapons."

"And, don't forget, they're some of the nastiest, blood-thirstiest pieces of work out there. Pirates and bandits the lot of 'em."

Harper wasn't wrong; these were prides Beka had little chance of wooing. They'd never bend the knee to Humans or work alongside them. In the last three hundred years they'd forgotten that at one time Nietzscheans had been known throughout the Commonwealth as more than brutal warlords. These prides had forgotten that strength wasn't always about physical prowess or how well they lorded over those around them. Even the Sabra-Jaguar, known for their ruthlessness and cunning, understood that true strength came from alliances and bonds, even with those who didn't share the same worldview.

"Charlemagne believes the Dragons intend to go to war and are biding their time."

Harper turned back around and tapped a few commands into the console on his desk and the monitor above flashed to life with a diagram of the Tri-Galaxies and a symbol in the center that meant Andromeda's processors were extrapolating whatever he'd asked for.

"Is that what Charlemagne says?" Harper asked, shoulders tensing. Trance didn't miss the way he emphasized the Archduke's first name. Hard to tell if it was general animosity or if Harper had a grudging respect for Charlemagne. Like with Tyr and Rhade.

Trance slipped off the bed, padded over to Harper, and wrapped her arms around his neck, resting her chin on his shoulder. Three months ago Dylan had insisted that they move into one of the larger VIP quarters when he realized they were both living in Trance's quarters. Andromeda had thoughtfully sent her bots in to re-outfit it for a couple. One large bed, two desks, and a living space set up for two to relax and share meals. She'd even personalized it with a better setup for Trance's plants and lots of storage built around Harper's desk to keep tools and odds and ends out of sight, but even with all the extra storage, his desk was a chaotic mixture of flexies, tools, and broken bits of equipment with wires popping out of them. An extension of his machine shop. Things he wanted to work on while spending time with her instead of closeted away.

She rarely ventured into Machine Shop 17 anymore, convinced that she could feel the voltarium in there, though it shouldn't matter to her body anymore, and it wasn't something he left lying around. It had to be locked away in protected vaults, for good reason. She hadn't asked, and he didn't say, but she was certain he was onto the mass production of the weapons. Wasn't going to think about that right now. Dwelling on it would only give her terrifying nightmares and it was almost bedtime. Nietzscheans were a safer topic than the Lambent Kith.

"He has come to our aid and Beka's whenever asked and has complied with freeing Sabra-Jaguar slaves to the point that there are no slaves on the homeworld, only paid servants. It's only been six months. He's obviously serious about doing what Beka asks. I think we can trust him about as much as you can trust any Nietzschean."

"Yeah, yeah," he muttered. "Doesn't say anything about all the other worlds that sill have slaves, and the Sabra-Jaguar economy is strong enough that they could afford to pay them better than Commonwealth minimum wage."

"Glass half full. It is a start and Beka is happy, that's what matters right now. It takes time to change three-hundred years of programming."

The screen above the desk flashed. Half of the diagram darkened and hundreds of green dots popped up on the other half. Trance gave Harper a little squeeze. "Oh, that's better than the other day! You only have to search half of the Known Worlds now." Another glass half full moment. She tried to keep her tone excited, though after months of searching between slow-going messages between slave worlds and Drifts and Harper's communication device—enhanced with the Vedran communications technology Ollie and Orlund were neck deep in these days—they'd still only ruled out half of the Universe.

Harper's shoulders rose and fell as he let out a deep sigh. She pulled her hands along his chest up to his shoulders and kneaded the hard knots there. He melted down into the chair. "You can worry about the rest of this tomorrow, and if you need to do any tweaks to the Vedran tech, ask Orlund. Ollie has entrance exams and her project presentation this week. We don't need to bother her until we head back to Tarn Vedra next Friday."

She rubbed circles on his neck with her thumbs, digging into the muscles—an attempt to relax the tension. He sighed again. "I guess you're right. We're getting closer. Glass half full, right?"

"Exactly." She kissed the back of his head. "Now let's go to bed. Who knows what tomorrow's going to bring."

Trance shot up, heart a hammer against her chest wall, at the insistent blare of the code black klaxon. The imminent threat of attack. The lights flashed, painting the walls with harsh, jagged shadows.

"Code black. All hands to battle stations," Andromeda said, calm and stern. The demand repeated after a few seconds pause.

"What the…" Harper muttered beside her as he swung his legs off the bed. "Pants, pants, where the hell are my pants?"

She blinked once. Then twice. Tried to clear her vision. The chronometer said she'd been asleep for three and a half hours but it had to be wrong because she'd only just closed her eyes. As her feet hit the deck the everything tilted to the side with a loud vibration running through the hull. Kinetic missiles. Starboard, mid to lower decks. Not a warning shot—their attackers meant for this to hurt.

"Andromeda?" Trance asked, voice hoarse from sleep. A quick drink of water from the bottle beside the bed. Pants. Tunic. Both laid on on the nightstand for emergencies. Boots next. On the other side of the bed, Harper crashed about.

"Two Nietzschean carrier ships have opened fire. Dylan is on his way to Command," came Rommie's matter-of-fact reply.

Across the room, on her desk, her holster. As she passed by Harper pressed something cold, wet, and metallic into her hand. She blinked for a moment confused at the need to process something beyond standard emergency protocol.

"Power boost. Drink a bit and give the rest to me. You'll thank me later" He picked up his tool belt and cinched it around his waist, then grabbed for his holster.

Unable to argue, she put the can to her mouth, took a large draft, and almost gagged at the syrupy bubbles that filled her mouth but forced three large mouthfuls down. Caffeine to shake off the fog and bring the world into focus. She handed the can back and slipped on her holster with her force lance, comm, and tools already tucked into its pockets.

"Let's go," Harper said and together they took off at a run, meeting Rhade halfway down the hall. Andromeda pitched again and Rhade's arm shot out and grabbed her bicep hard enough to bruise so she didn't hit the floor.

"They aren't messing around," Rhade sad as he gripped the ladder's rungs. Harper motioned for Trance to follow, taking up the rear. A habit developed during her convalescence the others had not shaken. Always someone to catch her if her strength failed and Andromeda couldn't react fast enough.

Halfway to the next deck, at the entrance to the service conduit, the ship pitched again. Deeper in, metal crashed against metal and a rush of hot air set fire to her cheeks.

Harper grunted. "Dammit. Rommie, send a team in for damage control after the fire is out, will you? That's gonna mess with sensors. Also, see if you can divert power for now. Backups will have to do." No hesitation. The shroud of immaturity normally wrapped around him dropped. Focused, ready to protect Andromeda and the people he loved with the single-minded focus and passion that made him an amazing engineer.

"On it," Andromeda answered as Rhade hefted himself up into the corridor outside Command. He reached an arm out to her and helped her off the ladder as everything shuddered and jerked. For a split second, gravity dipped and corrected itself much to the displeasure of both ankles. Harper stumbled and she caught his arm. With a nod, they pushed on through the doors of Command, heavy boots on the deck in the opposite direction announcing more arrivals.

Rhade peeled to the right while she and Harper booked it to their shared station. Two large, angular, ships consumed the view outside the screen with thirteen fighters swarming around them. There had to be more where she couldn't see them. She glanced at the readout across the deck. At least six more outside of view. Dylan stood in the center of the deck, eyes forward, countenance solid as if he hadn't been woken up the same as them.

In her veins, the caffeine hummed and a jittery sort of focus took over. She called up running reports on life support systems and artificial gravity. Harper cursed under his breath beside her and she didn't ask, because she had her own fires to put out. Literally.

"Deck seventeen, section three is on fire and the suppression systems aren't working," she announced. "Rommie, is everyone out of both sections three and four?"

"I'm not detecting any life signs in those sections."

"Good, sealing both off and venting oxygen."

Outside, bright lines of fire shot out from both ships at the same time. Dozens of them. Then more from the smaller fighters.

"Defensive missiles," Dylan ordered in the way of someone who was already tired of this dance.

"Launching defensive missiles from all tubes," Rhade said.

Trance glanced at the radar display. A number of tiny red triangles, meant to represent missiles, disappeared as little green triangles intercepted them. Six broke through. The point defense lasers knocked three of them off course. Trance braced herself against the console as the other three hit. A crew member screamed behind her as he was thrown from his console. Doyle was on it by the time she turned around.

"Hull breach, deck three." Rommie announced.

Trance called it up on her screen. "Sealing breach, correcting life support levels."

"That hit also took out aft sensors. They were already compromised from an earlier hit. I'm sending out sensor drones so we can see behind us and let's just hope those fighters out there don't swat them like flies." For emphasis, Harper clapped his hands in front of his face and rubbed them together.

"We're good to launch." Beka's voice rose through the comm.

"By all means, do," Dylan said and a dozen sleek slipfighters joined the fray. Beka's face popped up in the corner of the screen. Dark circles, drawn lips, but bright eyed and rosy cheeked from adrenaline.

"This is your matriarch speaking. Apparently, you all aren't tired of hearing my voice because here we go again for the second time tonight. I'm currently leading the slipfighters that are about to take out your fighters. Any chance you'll respect my wishes and turn around and go home? It's late and I'm pretty cranky right now."

No answer. A beat of silence and Trance's heart skipped a beat when two fighters opened fire directly on Beka. Her expression remained calm as she maneuvered her fighter out of the way. The missiles jolted past and Andromeda's point defense lasers took them out.

Beka raised her brows and shrugged. "Didn't think so. Guess we'll have to do this the hard way. Last time I break out the fine china for you guys. Team, you know what to do."

Her face disappeared and out on the viewscreen a deadly dance began. Beautiful. Almost seemed choreographed the way Beka's slipfighteres dove in and out of the battle. They were outnumbered, but it didn't matter. Two Nietzschean fighters exploded and Andromeda shuddered from the shockwaves.

"Last volley damaged slipstream. Should be an easy fix, but my team's complaining about the AG fields fluctuating?" Harper raised an eyebrow at her.

She returned the look with both her brows raised. "I'm on it. Had another fire in crew quarters. I see it. Rommie, activate backup generators both around the slipstream and two decks above and below." Maybe a little overkill, but better safe than to pancake the crew on those decks if AG fields failed on acceleration.

The battle carried on and the list of compromised systems grew. Harper's fingers flew over his console as he directed teams of people, drones, and bots to where they needed to be. No matter how good a tactician Dylan was, he couldn't stop every missile from making its mark, so the responsibility fell on Harper.

"Fire," Dylan ordered again. Trance had lost track of how many times. A ray of light, like a shooting star, then fire exploded on one of the carrier vessels. A second followed it. Then a third. The final hit set off a cascade of explosions and the ship burst into a cloud of mechanical and organic debris. She looked away from the screen for a moment, lips pressed together. What a waste of life. A second to wish their families peace, then back to work. Their choices, like hers, had lead them to their fate. For better or worse.

But it nagged at her, the coincidences that led the Kenja and Cignus prides to attack this particular drift when only the Andromeda had time to get to them. If life was always a series of choices that lead to a specific outcome—and she had no reason to believe differently after how long she'd lived—then every coincidence was suspect. Then again, Harper often told her that the simplest answer was usually right. Something about a razor. Oxford's razor? Maybe. Either way, these prides didn't need huge conspiracies to go around looting and pirating.

Another Garuda class fighter exploded on screen, the slipfighter that finished it off looping around in a sort of victory dance before rejoining its team. Then, the Garuda fighters gathered together and made their way back to the remaining, carrier vessel.

"Stand by," Dylan ordered, holding a hand up. "Rommie?"

"The fighters are returning to the Carrier ship."

"Wait," Trance said but wasn't sure why. It made sense for the Nietzscheans to run away when faced with imminent death. But like this? So easy? She called up the display. Perhaps the caffeine was getting to her, making her jittery and paranoid. "Something's wrong." Now to figure out what.

"What's up?" Dylan asked. She felt his gaze on her. The eyes of all the Command crew.

Trance shook her head. "I don't know. One second." Her fingers rushed over the console. Locations of all the fighters before the retreat and all the fighters after. Account for the sensor damage. There were four missing from the retreat. "Behind us!"

"Beka?" Dylan asked.

"I heard. Coming about."

Andromeda pitched to the side again. The monitors on Command flashed and she hit the ground, disoriented by the suddenness of it.

"Ouch," Harper muttered and she had to agree. She picked herself up and offered a hand to Harper who rubbed his elbow with a grimace but otherwise seemed unharmed. "It's not polite to kick someone in the aft."

"They won't get another shot off," Beka announced over the Comm.

As Andromeda came about the battle between the Garuda class fighters and Beka's slipfighters filled the viewport. One exploded, then another. The last two took off towards their carrier ship.

"Let them go," Dylan said as Beka's wing made to follow. The slipfighters slowed and held position. The Nietzschean fighters disappeared into the larger ship and a moment later it jumped to slipstream, leaving behind clouds of ship debris.

"Funny how they managed to find our blind spot and exploit it," Harper said, his eyes on the now empty screen.

"Beka, come back in." Dylan ordered, then turned to Harper. "Lucky guess or they were clued in by our sensor drones."

"That must be it," Trance said, voice quiet. But she didn't like the answer, it didn't feel right. Maybe after all of this she needed to take a run, or go down to the gymnasium and practice. Anything to burn off this excess energy. Sparky Cola had not endeared itself to her this morning.

"One serious injury, dozens of minor ones. The crew is in reasonably good shape," Doyle announced.

"I estimate repairs will take approximately twelve hours," Andromeda added.

"Good. Stand down. Let's take some time for breakfast and coffee. Take a nap if you need it." Dylan said and looked pointedly at Trance, who didn't have the heart to tell him there'd be no more sleep for her this morning. "Then we'll get back to work and get out of here. After that, we can try and figure out what the Nietzschean plan is."


"You entered a lair of dragons and vanquished them with your knowledge. Why are you still so concerned?" Orlund asked.

Ollie stopped tapping at the console and closed her eyes, rubbing the skin around them with her fingers. A heavy sigh escaped into the air and she turned in her seat to see her friend and co-pilot on the journey to rebuilding Vedran communications technology perched on the edge of his seat, leaning forward with elbows on his knees.

"I've seen real Dragons before. There weren't any in that room, only a panel of academics judging whether a slave is fit to be trained at the All System's University." She'd grown used to his way of talking about the Universe as if it were a giant book of fairytales and sometimes it exhausted her. He'd never met a Dragon. Before Tarn Vedra had returned to the Known Worlds, he'd only met a single Nietzschean: Commander Rhade. He had no idea that they weren't scaly storybook creatures, but people. Only people. Dangerous, vicious, bloodthirsty people.

"But you surely impressed them. You've studied every component of the Vedran long-range communications console and put together a working model using modern parts and you have never even been to one of their impressive schools."

Ollie frowned. "But it isn't fully functional. It works, but only as well as current long-range communication systems."

"It works better." Orlund stepped towards her, eyes and smile wide. His enthusiasm always seemed feverish. Overwhelming. She shifted her gaze past him. Focused on the way the cavern dust floated in the conical motes of light. He brushed passed and kneeled beside her console, she followed with her eyes. He tapped a few commands and a report appeared onscreen. "Don't you see, Olivia? Your system has a fifteen percent reduction in time delay and can intercept communications at a greater distance than anything the current Commonwealth has to offer."

"We're not supposed to be intercepting communications," she said and allowed a small smile. "You could get into a lot of trouble and I could lose my access to your tunnels, so I didn't exactly advertise those findings. They know about the reduction in delays, but I wanted more. I wanted to prove I belong at their stupid school."

The same stupid school Mom and Dad were both tired of hearing about and the boys teased her over relentlessly because she couldn't control her excitement. The same stupid school that would break her heart if they didn't accept her no matter how competitive the admission process. A year ago, there'd been no chance in hell she'd go to a University. Now, her universe might implode if she didn't get to go to this university.

"You do belong, Olivia! More than anyone. Captain Hunt has faith in you, and everyone else. You've earned your spot, I know it."

The smile stretched. "Are you ever not crazy optimistic?"

"Sometimes, but my father always said that we guardians of the tunnels were the guardians of hope. The Vedrans brought order and peace to the Universe. They brought hope to all. And we protected that hope by protecting their technology." These rough cavern walls with all of their dust and the distant sounds of running water. With long, dark tunnels that lead to rooms full of technological wonders. The place Orlund called home. And his father before him. And his father before him. On and on for almost three hundred years. Or so Orlund said. "It is hard not to be hopeful when so much is at stake."

"Sometimes it's hard to be positive. Really hard." She turned back to the console. Everyone was proud. The whole family had traveled with her to Commonwealth Headquarters and waited while she presented. But they didn't get it. Every applicant was a genius like her. The acceptance panel had consisted of two Perseids, a Than, and three humans. Even now, she felt their gazes heavy on her. Words sticking in her throat. The details of her process and conclusions tangling up inside. Nerves screaming that she needed to run and hide. Take the easy path.

But dreams didn't come easy. Never did. Never would.

"So I ask again, why are you so worried? It is something more, I can feel it."

She tilted her head, considered his words. Rolled them around and studied them from every angle. The answer wasn't so easy to put into words. It was bigger than her. It involved her brother and cousin. All of the slaves and former slaves out there.

"I've been doing a lot of reading since I left New Burke. A lot. We didn't have a lot of books there and we had no access to human history. They didn't want us to know anything," she explained. "Andromeda's crew is trying to free all of the slaves, but throughout history, especially among humans, slaves aren't always better off once they've been freed. They are poor and uneducated. Stuck sharing spaces with their former masters. But the worst part is how other people view them. How normal every day free people think they are better because they were born free." The rage at it formed a tight ball in her chest. "I just… I guess I just want them to see that the slaves are more than that and maybe I can show them. Like Harper has. If I get into their elite University, they have to notice us. They have to care."

"And they will. You and Harper will make them."

He sounded so sincere she thought maybe she could believe it. Believe that everything was going to go according to plan despite a long history of life destroying all her plans.

"Maybe. But that doesn't mean I get to stop looking. Let's see if I can shave some more time off the delay. Hand me the electro-spanner?" She slid off the chair and kneeled down in front of the console, pulling off the maintenance panel. "I think I know a way."

The spanner was in her hand a second later.