The fusion cutter spat a silver flame, shaped as a teardrop and regular-edged, until Jackson cranked up the power output, depleting half the battery in four seconds of use. He held it near his midsection, over the center of gravity, to prevent spinning, and knew it had succeeded only after his suit smacked on the Minotaur's hull.

From there, he quickly grabbed a hold of a sensor dish and groaned as his arm twisted awkwardly, all his momentum transferred to the joints of his shoulder and elbow. Nothing cracked, the cutter stuttered and died and Henry retrieved his footing with a relieved sigh.

Kilburn soon joined him, his visor dark and emotionless. Both men stared at one another for a full minute when Kilburn's voice finally cut through the static of Jackson's helmet.

"No jokes this time, well done, kid." He patted the boy in the back and went back to work, "Commodore found a name for this bucket, I'll fix the door, you get the paint and scribble us something pretty on both flanks, questions?" With that, he typed something on his wrist terminal, activating Jackson's Zero-G propellers.

Two flaps the length of a school kid's ruler and four times as thick extended from the crewman's backpack while the heel of his boots split open to reveal sets of exhaust pipes. The Propellers were slaved to Henry's sense of balance and motor system, as Kilburn summarily explained, all Jackson had to do was focus on moving forward or backward and the suit would do the rest.

It might also be a good idea to keep an eye on fuel reserves, as they were not unlimited.

Jackson was about to go when something occurred to him, "What's the ship's name?

-Rubicon, named after…

-A famous river Cesar crossed when returning from exile, yeah, I know."

The teacher smiled under his helmet.

000

00

0

"He did that?" The Commodore had seen plenty of things in her life, more than enough so nothing surprised her anymore, but the news that Jackson had completed the hardest part of his formation already was… Unexpected. She usually did not like unexpected things.

"About four seconds after losing his grip." Kilburn confirmed, omitting to mention the hints he had given his student. Navarro-Jackson had already been quite knowledgeable before being sent to him; he had graduated from high-school with average grades and tried to complete degrees in many subjects before giving up. Had his parents been more present, or Henry more motivated, the kid would have been on track for a promising career in electronics, engineering or any such matter he chose. Laziness on both the boy and his family's part had killed that possibility.

Oh, Jackson's case was in no way unique, at least half the Marine Corps would have been prosperous citizens in other circumstances, only where most had turned to crime, he had turned directly to the Corps. Saved from the meat grinder for having hurled himself willingly at it.

"You recommend him for active duty?" The big question… With luck, Jackson would be strapped behind a desk or sent to engineering where his knowledge could be used and inexperience could not hurt, but if he ended up on the field… Well, the kid had already been on the field… What could go wrong?

Kilburn's enhanced mind calculated two hundred and forty six scenarios where Navarro-Jackson could cause over a hundred human deaths. "Absolutely. I forwarded mathematics, engineering and astrophysics instruction manuals to his quarter, if you give him reduced shifts and he's smart enough to use his free time on studies, he'll be on par with any actual sailor on this boat."

DuPont nodded and buried herself in paperwork without a second glance to the cyborg. She cursed, muttered inquiries only she understood and signed glorified handkerchiefs for almost ten minutes before he cleared his throat, "Am I dismissed, Commodore?

-Nope, you stay right where you are… I have… Aha!"

The file she handed him made no sense, not in context, but it reminded him of Navarro-Jackson's criticism of how Dominion Armed Forces used captured Valkyrie frigates.

"The DFS Fury… Prototype Voron-class light frigate, reverse engineered from Valkyrie-class…" He read aloud, "Stealth drives, latest defence matrix tech, increased troop carrying capacities at the cost of reduced firepower… Developed for discretely deploying mine fields and boarding parties…"

He'd heard of it, rumors and offhand remarks, mostly. A decent model, well suited for its purpose and certainly more manageable than a kilometer-long battlecruiser. "Why?"

"You're my best officer, Andrew, and I'm sending the Fury to track down Sarah Kerrigan. I need you on that ship.

-I'm no Captain, Hélène," He reminded her, "and you'd need a solid crew to sniff out Raynor…" His face twisted in a pained grimace as he looked for a way to express himself without being outright insubordinate, "I mean, you're recruiting marines to fill gaps in your own staff! And you're on top of the pecking order, what do you think they will stick me with?

-I know… Look, I know…" She banged the front of her skull against the trash-littered crate, heaving a long sigh before talking again, "This is a clusterfuck, Kilburn, I'm getting orders from three different sources and half the funding I'm supposed to, Mengsk is shooting whoever even looks at him funny. Anyone in his command staff with an ounce of common sense has had it blown out of their skulls one way or the other." Not pulling her forehead off the desk, she handed him three nearly identical copies of the same JAG article,"I've got the Ghost program, the Reaper Corps and Marine Recon trying to take over DNI."

He took the sheets. All three organizations demanded that DNI's resources be handed over to them…

"Why…" His eyes flew over the Ghost program's request and settle at the bottom, "Lord Admiral Nelligan was fired?" That man had been one of Mengsk's most loyal allies for years, even before the Dominion's foundation.

"Yeah, by a firing squad." The Commodore displayed no emotion, but Kilburn knew she'd been close friends with Nelligan. "I'm head of DNI now and I need to secure this shit before it gets out of hand." Finally leaving the crate, her wide green eyes dug deep in Andrew's only organic one, almost pleading, "I need your help on this."

Commodores, did not ask for help, much less ones as powerful as Hélène DuPont, and the cyborg could only mutter his agreement.

"Good," Breathed the Commodore, "I'll give you a month to put a crew together; full access to my ship's staff and resources, just get it done.

-Aye aye."