"—t's one of ours, all right." Colonel Jardin confirmed, looking at the image which Tempo displayed on her datapad. The artificial lotai-machine that had been recovered from the Shell warship. Thought at the time to have been designed to be carried like a 'backpack' by loroi, but now obviously made by and for humans, instead. "But damn if I can think of how it came to be there. We didn't bring any with us."

Stillstorm glanced over at Tempo. {Mizol, did the interrogations of the captured Hierarchy troops specifically indicate the Ring as the source of that area-of-effect lotai-generator?}

{There was no mention of the Ring itself, no, but they were certain that the Device came from the same system as where we found the Ring. There were no further details on the Device itself, unfortunately; none of the enemy personnel who had worked closely with it survived the battle.}

Stillstorm snorted. {Or they committed suicide before capture.}

{That would have been wise of them. We were most fortunate that some of the other crew were more foolish.}

Tempo turned back to the human, the three of them pressed close in the tiny cabin. On a ship this size, even the Captain only merited enough room for a fold-out bed opposite his fold-out desk. The two loroi now sat on the bed while Colonel Jardin eyed them both from his position, seated on the table.

"You are certain, Colonel, that this device did not arrive on the Ring along with your vessel?" Tempo asked.

"Completely certain. Tempest hated the things, could feel their presence anywhere on the same planet even when they were deactivated. She'd have bundled it out the airlock, followed by whoever had brought the thing aboard. It would have been completely unneeded, anyways — those were made to shield soldiers in the field, fighting against Soia ground troops." He tapped one finger against the side of his head, behind the ear "My team's each got the full blocker built into their neural lace, so no need for the clunkier model."

"I see." said Tempo. She eyed Stillstorm again, thoughts blazing back and forth as to how this could have come to be. "Then it seems that a return to the Ring system will be necessary in order to continue the investigation."

"I'll say, if these aliens have found some UNSC wreck." The human added. "How soon can that be done? As in, how much time will it take for this follow-up fleet of yours to catch up?"

Stillstorm answered. "Strike Group 51 will have made their rendezvous with the Tinza fleet under Duskcrown already." That would require Mazeit Moonglow to have pushed her formation's engines to the limit. But after all the time that Stillstorm had spent grooming the younger torrai for command, she knew that Moonglow would have made exactly that decision. "Duskcrown's warships are slower than those of the Strikeforce, but they will sail into the Ring's system within four days of our reaching them."

"And will they be enough to push these 'Shells' out of the system? Or are we going to be searching around for whatever source they pulled that psi-blocker from while dodging patrols?"

A sector fleet, freshly reinforced from their heavy losses during the Enemy's last offensive, now out for revenge? And commanded by the 'Topar of Tinza Sector' herself?

Stillstorm laughed darkly. "The Shells should as—"

A sudden burst of sanzai concern radiated outward from the cockpit.

Stillstorm halted her vocal speech and immediately sent {Pilot. What is the situation?}

{Uncertain, Lashret. The slipspace thread that we have been traveling along 'terminates early' before it connects back to realspace. Ensign Jardin says that it's not something he's seen before. He says that he can attempt a forced transition back to realspace, but that this move is risky.}

A speaker overhead in the cabin crackled "Sir? You'll want to see this."

"On our way." replied the Colonel as he stood.

{Has your brief introduction to this 'slipspace' given you any grounds to guess how risky such a maneuver may be?} Stillstorm needed to know.

{Negative, Lashret. But if it is similar to our first jump to slipspace...} the pilot's sanzai trailed off as her attention focused elsewhere. Then {I have an idea. I will discuss it with Ensign Jardin.}

{Do so.} Stillstorm sent, as the three of them left the cabin. {Our time until we would have arrived in the system as previously planned?}

{Two-hundred solon, Lashret.} Answered the tenoin distractedly, her side-channels full of thoughts whose significance Stillstorm couldn't follow. She'd have the listel explain the mechanics of slipspace to her later — the alien FTL technology was clearly worth knowing more about, herself.

The three of them filed past the medical cots, Tempo exchanging a smile with the now-awake paset — admittedly a rather pained smile, on the latter's part — whose regenerating blaster-injuries Desire was looking over.

It was still amazing to Stillstorm — the crash on the Ring, two close-quarters fights against the Enemy, their hasty evacuation — fighting remnants of the Soia Empire itself! — and still no fatalities since the destruction of Tempest.

Truly, dalid was a tapestry woven by a blind and senile seamstress. No rhyme or reason to it all.

On the other hand, as Stillstorm stepped into the crowded cockpit and felt the waves of worry pouring off the two tenoin, there was that old saying about not counting one's fish before they were caught…

"What is it." Colonel Jardin's statement was more of an order than a question.

"The slipspace filament, it just… ends short of the system's gravity well." his nephew pointed to the screen in front of him. "We'd have to make a crash translation once 'over' the well, and hope the drive core could stand the shear when we slam straight into the transition barrier head-on."

"Any reason not to push ourselves down now?" the older human asked.

"At this angle? We'd bounce off the transition barrier." The Ensign waved one hand, mimicking a thrown stone bouncing across the surface of a pond. "'Doink.'"

"And if we do nothing? We'd whiff past the system?"

"No, sir. The filament ends right here; if we run out to the end of it, we're going to get shunted hard onto the nearest continuing thread. Unless it just happens to be almost exactly colinear, the shear would tear the core right out through the hull."

Stillstorm looked to where the group's listel bent low over the lead tenoin, ideas flashing back and forth between them rapidly as they examined the sensor readings. {This makes sense to you?}

The listel's subconscious sent back its affirmation. She flipped the display to another setting, overlapping two images.

{Yes!} Crowed the tenoin arrir, one hand pointing to the display even as her left hand tapped out calculations on the controls. "Alex! Dive onto the gravity well at this angle!" She ordered aloud.

Stillstorm noted that the young human began adding his own inputs to the controls even before responding. The tenoin had made more progress than Stillstorm had expected. "On it. Spot something familiar in the readings again?"

It was the listel who answered him. "Yes. Arrir Talon has plotted the entry vector that would lead to this system, if we had jumped from the nearest star. That approach angle is known to be usable for system arrivals."

"[Damn shame it doesn't show up on the sensors, then.]" muttered the human pilot in his own language.

"[You think she's wrong?]" said the Colonel, apparently a question by its tone.

"[Doubt it. She seems to know what she's doing. And the slipspace filaments around here are all fucked up, now; maybe our sensors just aren't dealing with it well.]" In Trade, Ensign Jardin continued "Diving on the transition now. Thirty solon until we hit the boundary."

{Listel, you are certain about this entry vector?} Stillstorm asked.

{Affirmative, Lashret.} the white-haired loroi answered immediately and truthfully. {When we passed uneventfully through this system aboard Tempest earlier, Listel Tozet Antimony and I took the opportunity to update the Fleet's jump maps of the area with what data could be gathered during system transit.}

Stillstorm nodded at that. That was not standard practice in the Fleet at large, but it did show the sort of initiative that she trained into the officers of her Strikeforce. And to ensure that they kept doing so… {Well done.}

A timely compliment could be among a leader's greatest tools. The trick was ensuring that one only ever delivered them when one's subordinates truly deserved such praise.

"Twenty solon!" announced the Ensign.

{It will be a deep jump, Lashret.} sent the listel. {There is a gas giant in the system that will be near our arrival zone, but we should be able to skirt its gravitational effects. However, we may emerge very close to the combined fleet's position.}

The Emperor's Chain answered before Stillstorm could. {Then it is perhaps better that I send a radio message first.} She turned to the Lashret, her sanzai radiating amusement. In a private sending, Tempo added {If Tazites Duskcrown hears your voice first, we might find ourselves on the receiving end of a 'mistaken weapons discharge'!}

In sanzai tightly aimed to the mizol and only the mizol, Stillstorm sent {You are not quite so amusing as you think you are, Parat.}

Not that the mizol was entirely wrong about Duskcrown. The one — and only — redeeming feature of the Tinza Sector Governor was that her boundless hatred for the Shells and their accomplices matched even Stillstorm's.

Well, almost.

Other than that, the Tazites was a conniving, two-faced, verbalizing example of just what sort of 'officers' had been promoted in the wake of Greywind's ill-advised usurpation of the throne.

"Ten solon! And— [Shit!]" the Ensign dipped into his native language, hammering at the controls. "Planetary well! Gas giant, and a big one!"

{It appears that we are not clear of its effects.} Observed Stillstorm, letting a trace of disapproval leak through her sanzai. She expected better of her bridge officers.

{But that makes no sense!} sent the listel, peering closely at the screen. {Our vector remains well clear of it! More than three light-solon even at the closest approach!}

{Still,} added the lead tenoin, {we're sliding into its gravitational well. Either the range readings are wrong, or human vessels are more vulnerable to gravitational distortion than our own faster-than-light drives are.}

"This'll be close!" said the human pilot, as the ship shuddered briefly underfoot.

A heartbeat later, and the black nothingness of slipspace was replaced by glaring stars.

And one very large gas giant looming rapidly up below them, occluding almost the entire view.

"Dumping full power to engines!" said Ensign Jardin, the ship rumbling around them. "We're pulling clear, but the gas is fusing in our wake — we're lit up like a beacon here!"

A whooping alarm sounded, and the Colonel reached up to one of the overhead control panels to switch it off. "Radar warning. Search patterns — we're being painted. Well within the burn-through range."

He gestured to the sensor station off to one side, the one manned by a one-eyed tenoin. The sensor readings were still coming in, but even with the human craft unable to make anything of the received IFF codes Stillstorm could recognize the ship signatures of the Tinza fleet.

Right on top of them, two light-solon distant.

The Colonel turned to Stillstorm and Tempo. "Your people, I assume. Ready to speak to them?"

Tempo nodded, and glanced at Stillstorm out of the corner of her eye. The Lashret stepped aside and let the mizol enter fully into the cockpit. After all, perhaps it was nice not to have to speak to Duskcrown herself, at least not initially. Although as mission commander, Stillstorm knew she was the one who would make the overall report on their… strange experiences and findings.

Even if she had been reporting to a torrai more conventional than Duskcrown, that conversation would be very 'interesting.'

Colonel Jardin reached overhead and held his finger against one switch. "Hot mic, Parat." He flipped the toggle.

"Tinza Sector Fleet, this is Mizol Parat Tempo. This vessel has been recovered from the Soia Ring structure located by Strike Group 51 and is currently under Loroi control." A lie, unsurprisingly, but at least a useful one. "We carry the surviving crew of Group Command Ship Tempest and will need to make our reports to Torrai Tazites Duskcrown and Mizol Torimor Shadow at the earliest opportunity."

She paused, awaiting a response. Colonel Jardin toggled the mic off and glanced aside at the sensor station. "We're still being tracked, but they haven't switched to a targeting band just yet."

"They won't." Stillstorm declared. For all her flaws, Tazites Duskcrown wasn't stupid. And any crew aboard her sector fleet who had allowed the monotony of back-line garrison duty to dull their minds — while the Raider fleets did the real fighting — would have been weeded out during the bloody running battles against the earlier Shell offensive.

A voice answered over the radio, and Stillstorm's brow rose. Apparently, Mizol Torimor Shadow herself had been on the bridge, or very close to it. Fortunate. "Your message is received, Parat. Is your vessel capable of safely transferring able-bodied personnel, or do you require assistance in docking guidance?"

Stillstorm frowned at the strange wording, before her eyes shot to Tempo. As Colonel Jardin acknowledged her brief nod by toggling the switch again, she said "Affirmative, Torimor Shadow, we are. This vessel does not possess a docking system matching Union standards. However, no docking guidance will be required."

More irregular word usage. Stillstorm's eyes narrowed as she caught on. {Mizol code-phrases.} she confirmed in a private sending to the political officer. One corner of her lip curled into a sneer.

{Simply informing the Tinza fleet that we are not under duress, and that we do not require a teidar boarding team.} came the reply.

Meanwhile, the tenoin pilot had been tapping her fingers against the back of her other hand, clearly deep in thought. She turned to look back over her shoulder. "I believe this vessel could maybe dock inside the main hangar bay of a Typhoon-class Assault Carrier. One is present in the formation ahead. Possible to fit maybe if the fighters and shuttles leave the hangar empty."

That was an interesting idea.

The tenoin continued, "Would not be required then for all passengers here to disembark in vacuum suits and float to ship. It seems embarrassing for returning victorious warriors to be fished for by Tinza fleet."

The young warrior did have a point.

And of course it would also let the experienced gallen aboard the carrier get a close look at the human vessel while it remained docked.

The two humans had likely reached the same conclusion. "[It's not like they haven't seen almost every inch of this ship from the inside already.]" Ensign Jardin said.

"[I'm still not leaving the keys with the valet.]" replied his uncle. "[We'll keep the ramp closed when we can, and sentries out when we can't.]" He switched to Trade. "Think you can pull off a maneuver like that?"

"Their carrier's going to be doing the heavy lifting of a maneuver like that. We just float still in space and let them swallow us up. If they can get the hangar cleared, we can set her down on the landing gear safely enough."

The Colonel turned to Stillstorm and Tempo. "Your call."

Stillstorm and Tempo eyed each other, their sub-verbal sanzai flashing back and forth. For once, they were in agreement. Stillstorm spoke via the radio "Alert, Tinza fleet. This vessel contains valuable Soia artifacts which should not be risked on a spacewalk. My pilot notes that the primary docking bay of Assault Carrier Storm Surge should be capable of containing this vessel, if the hangar is cleared of fighters and support machinery first."

She nodded to the Colonel, and he ended the transmission. With a raised eyebrow, he pointed with his thumb at Alex and asked "'Valuable Soia artifacts'?"

Stillstorm answered "Think of it as a final insult to your foe. First you destroy their Empire, and now you usurp their name."

He snorted, one corner of his mouth quirking upwards. "I can work with that. The Soia were always particularly attached to their Names."

The only downside was that the plan meant boarding a carrier rather than the fleet flagship, so Stillstorm wouldn't get to feel Duskcrown's reaction to Stillstorm being the one to return with the most significant archaeological — and diplomatic — find of the millennium.

Possibly of the entire spacefaring history of the Union.

The radio crackled. "Understood, recovered vessel. Tazites Duskcrown has approved your suggestion; carrier Storm Surge will be prepared to receive you within eight-hundred solon. Take station ahead of her, separation distance two-thousand mannal."

Excellent.

The voice wasn't done. "Tazites Duskcrown is departing on a shuttle and will meet you aboard Storm Surge upon your disembarkation."

Even better. "Acknowledged, Tinza fleet."

{Ready to lower the ramp.} Reported the soroin standing next to the controls at the back of the cargo compartment. Suppressed excitement glowed in her mind-signature.

{Do so.} Sent Stillstorm. The craft had settled onto its landing legs some time earlier, and Storm Surge's hangar officer had relayed that the hangar had been sealed and pumped up to breathable pressure.

There came a brief hiss as the rear-facing ramp began to descend, air flowing out of the craft into the cavernous hangar beyond.

Stillstorm and Tempo were the first out of the ship, wheeling to one side as they stepped off of the dark-gray metal that the UNSC seemed to prefer and onto the familiar gray-white flooring of a loroi warship. Much better lighting out here, as well — did humans have better low-light vision than loroi, or was the prowler dimly-lit by their standards as well?

They were met by Torrai Tazites Duskcrown and Mizol Torimor Shadow, each now taking off the oxygen mask that had let them safely enter the hangar while it was still under-pressurized. Stillstorm and Tempo each sent their acknowledgments to their respective seniors.

{Tazites Duskcrown.} Stillstorm drew herself upright, looking down on the shorter torrai. At her back, the rhythmic clanging of soroin boots rang against metal as the troops marched out of the crowded prowler. The girls were doing their best to keep their thoughts private — clearly looking forward to springing the surprise on the crew of Storm Surge just as Stillstorm anticipated shocking Duskcrown — but enough leaked through for the two senior officers in front of Stillstorm to eye her suspiciously.

{Lashret Stillstorm. Your surviving the destruction of Tempest is to be expected at this point, but your method of rejoining the fleet… This craft was found on the Soia Ring?} Duskcrown asked, eyes raking over the prowler.

This would have been much easier if Stillstorm could have kept to spoken words, but that would be pushing the limits of what respect must be shown to a senior officer. Especially one as 'prickly' as Duskcrown. {Affirmative, Tazites. The ancient vessel was recovered from a Soia-made storage facility...} at her side, Tempo looked back over her shoulder and then flashed a brief signal to Stillstorm, {… as was its crew.}

For a moment, Duskcrown and Shadow only deepened their frowns. But then they glanced past her, their eyes widening at the sight of the people who followed the last soroin down the ramp.

"[Bit small for a 'carrier,' sir, but at least there's room to stretch out.]" said one of the ODSTs.

"[Enjoy it while you can, we'll be turning around as soon as practical. Should be just us and maybe a few observers aboard the Plummet, though.]" Colonel Jardin said to his soldiers as he marched over, helmet tucked under one arm. With a nod to Duskcrown, he spoke in his accented Trade "Greetings. I am Colonel Pierre Jardin of the United Nations Space Command. My species is called 'Human,' but I understand that that means nothing to you for now."

Duskcrown eyed the alien from head to toe. Then she sent privately, with a spark in her eye {Lashret Stillstorm, I see now that I must have mocked you too harshly, earlier, for taking Tempest through too many battles without so much as scratched paint. To think that you then took Tempest's loss so strongly as to seek out an alien male…!}

Evidently, the Tazites had recovered from her shock faster than Stillstorm had expected, to return to her normal crude humor so quickly. Stillstorm eyed the light-orange braid which wrapped around the senior Torrai's right shoulder to hang to her hip.

{If you are so eager to have your hair shortened again, Tazites, my blade remains at ready.} Stillstorm let her left hand fall to rest just above the pommel at her side. It had tasted victory in a real fight earlier aboard the Soia dreadstar; a formal duel would be a step down after that.

Duskcrown smiled infuriatingly back at her. {That will have to wait for later. For now, there are even greater foes to fight, once the fleet reaches the system which the Shells chased you out of.}

Off to the side, the two mizol shared a quick glance and flurry of sanzai too focused to be overheard. Then Shadow sent {Your Torrai Mazeit Moonglow has provided us with the sensor logs of your successful scouting mission to this Ring's system. The information contained there will be invaluable for planning our attack.} She looked between Stillstorm and Colonel Jardin {But I suspect that there is quite a great deal more information to review, now.}

Aloud, the mizol said "It seems that there is much to discuss, Colonel. I am Mizol Torimor Shadow, and beside me stands Torrai Tazites Duskcrown, governor of the Tinza sector and commander of this fleet. Would you be amenable to moving our discussion to a briefing room?"

A good idea – the gallen and tenoin hangar-crew that filed into the open bay were piling up around the entrance, eyes wide as they goggled at the human vessel and the aliens standing in front of it. Stillstorm's own people showed much better discipline — as expected from those who merited posts in an elite formation such as Strike Group 51 — and maintained their ranked formation off to one side, awaiting review.

Shadow glanced aside at Stillstorm. {Torrai Mazeit Halfspear has arranged for berthing aboard her vessel for your crew until they can be shuttled back over to Strike Group 51. More immediately, she has offered the use of her ship's primary tenoin strike-briefing compartment for our discussion.}

"That is acceptable." Colonel Jardin said. "My people will remain here to guard the ship while I accompany you."

Apparently, by himself. Did the UNSC expect their commanders to handle command and negotiations both, or was it a case of trusting their officers enough not to need political minders?

Stillstorm squelched the unexpected flare of envy for someone who wasn't even loroi, and turned aside to her warriors. {The mission is formally at completion. Consider yourselves on rest-time until further notice. Dismissed!}

Fireblade did not follow the elated soroin completely out of the hangar, but rather stayed nearer the human ship and stepped to the side, taking up a sentry's position. There should be someone guarding the alien craft from curious loroi onlookers, and it was best for that someone to also be one who could answer the questions that she knew were coming rather than a soroin or teidar from Storm Surge's own crew.

And sure enough…

{Are they really aliens?} asked a hangar-technician gallen bastobar, eyes glued to the ODSTs standing closer to their own vessel.

{Are they Soia?} asked a soroin peering over the gallen's shoulder.

{They are not Soia.} Sent Fireblade, her side-channels emphasizing just how bad of an idea it would be to ask such a question of the humans directly. Although, {Furthermore, only two of them appear to speak Trade; one is presently in a private conference with the Tazites and the other remains aboard their ship.}

Her sub-channels leaked her displeasure at the idea of the three pilots going unsupervised in the small cockpit. Tenoin tended to be… 'independent-minded' compared to most warriors, and two so young that they had likely only ever seen a single male each before now spending so much time in close proximity to the alien pilot…

{They look like that under their armor?} sent the soroin. Apparently a few images had slipped out via Fireblade's sanzai — she slammed her control down tightly onto her side-channels. Enough of that, then.

For one thing, her sub-verbal warning appeared to have had precisely the wrong effect. {That is correct.} she sent in a clipped message.

{I don't know,} sent the gallen towards the soroin, {They're kind-of tall for me, not sized like a male should be.}

Fireblade rolled her eyes. {They are, before all else, warriors. It was their actions and choices which allowed our group of survivors to fight our way free of the Shells and return here.} The one thing that was more laudable than killing Shells was keeping one's fellow warriors alive, and these humans had done both.

{Huh. If you say so.} The gallen shrugged. {Do these alien 'warriors' of yours plan on doing all the maintenance work on their ship themselves? Rumors here say that that ship was real hard to spot on sensors once it stopped doing its best 'comet' impression in the gas giant, and I'd love to get a closer look at how they did it.}

{Unknown.} Fireblade sent. She reached out to try and ask the tenoin pilot aboard the Did Ever Plummet Sound, but took a moment to find her faint signature. Asleep. {Pilot!} She sent.

No answer. Deeply asleep, then.

{Wait here.} She sent to the gallen. Fireblade walked back to the prowler, nodding as she passed the ODSTs who sat on some of the cargo crates now piled outside of it.

"[Looks like Red's headed back aboard. Mirez, you go with her and keep her out of trouble.]"

Boots clanged on the ramp behind her, Fireblade glancing back to see one of the female human warriors following her aboard. It was to be expected that they would have a guard follow her aboard their own vessel. The 'captured' Soia Engineers floated idly in the front of the main compartment, watched by another two humans. There was now much more room in the corridor with the medical cots stowed away, and Fireblade palmed open the cockpit door.

The first thing she saw was the junior tenoin narrat working at the sensor console off to one side, with the human pilot leaning low over her shoulder and pointing to something on the display. At Fireblade's entry, he glanced up at her and held one finger vertically against his lips, jerking his head towards the seats at the front. In the right-side seat, reclined all the way down to horizontal, the tenoin arrir snored lightly.

Interestingly, a light-gray fabric blanket had been draped over her. One arm hung out from underneath, in the black-and-orange bodysuit of her caste. Her armor lay neatly set on the floor at her side.

From behind Fireblade, her ODST escort murmured "[Aww, kid, you got the blanket out for her? Apple doesn't fall far from the tree in your family, does it?]"

The human pilot smirked. "[And getting Tempest on our side turned a one-sided war into a mutual annihilation. Playing nice with the elves has worked out for us before, why not try it again?]"

"[Helps that they're cute.]"

"[You're not wrong.]" The pilot's gaze lingered on the slumbering tenoin for a few solon. "[Better keep a short leash on Novik, then?]"

"[Hah, no. They're not his type.]" With a soft creaking of fibers and metal plates, the ODST flexed one arm. "[Only one woman around here with enough muscle definition for his tastes.]"

The two humans shared a quiet chuckle. Fireblade wished that Beryl were here — the listel would have enjoyed observing the aliens interacting with each other, especially later once she had learned their language. But it was the listel's duty to accompany Stillstorm and Tempo to the debriefing; after a mission like they'd had, having someone to fill in the details was especially valuable.

{Remaining aboard, narrat?} Asked Fireblade.

{Affirmative, pallan.} The teal-haired loroi gestured to the screen in front of her. {Pilot Alex has said that we are likely to return to the Ring system, and they will need a sensor officer then. So I am learning how to operate the sensor systems! It is amazing how much resolution these aliens have gotten out of such a compact array.}

{That is normally a job for a listel or soroin.} Fireblade observed.

The narrat radiated her dismissal of the idea via her sub-channels. {All of the soroin we have with us are infantry armswomen, and the soroin here aboard Storm Surge aren't even from Fifty-One.}

Fireblade nodded in agreement at the obvious unsuitability of any personnel who had been passed down to a garrison fleet. {And you do not believe that our own tozet should perform the task instead?} She let something of her thoughts on the matter leak into her sub-channels.

{Of course she could!} sent the narrat defensively. {But she has so many other important tasks that take her attention, like recording the Lashret and their Colonel, or seeing how human food is packaged, or examining every square mannal of the ship with a fine-toothed comb!}

That certainly did sound like Beryl. But it was good to hear that the narrat was thinking along the same lines.

{Besides, when she wants to, there's room for the four of us here in the cockpit!}

{And the fact that such crowding does push you closer to this 'Alexander' is, of course, merely a side-effect?}

{Well, it is according to instructions!} The narrat sent with a wink.

And using two tenoin like fishing-hooks to reel in the new-found aliens tighter into the influence of the Union still struck Fireblade as wrong. Even if the tenoin certainly seemed to enjoy it.

Perhaps especially if they seemed to enjoy it.

But back to her original meaning for re-boarding the prowler. {Narrat, the hangar technicians wonder if the human craft requires maintenance. Clarify that with your pilot friend.}

"Alex, is your ship needful of supplies or repairing?"

"Hmm? Oh, uh, no. We'll want to compare notes with your engineers at some point to see about refueling, but Plummet's got plenty left in the tank for now. As for supplies..." the human trailed off.

"Something more?"

"Well," the human spoke slowly, apparently thinking-while-speaking in that strange, alien way. "Plummet's pretty much toothless right now — we expended our anti-ship ordnance on the way in to the Ring. But the wing bays are open and available; it's not like we're going to use them for anything else." He eyed the narrat. "Go ahead and ask your people if they think we could put together some sort of, uh, 'interface' between any of their strike ordnance and one of our bay assemblies. The Engineers will be very glad to help with something like that. Not exactly in ONI's playbook, but I doubt Uncle'll object now."

Once Fireblade relayed the idea to the gallen waiting outside, the response was immediate.

{WHAT!?} The technician sent in flat disbelief. {Get two utterly incompatible weapons systems to work together, with the precision needed for anti-ship warfare? This isn't like some soroin finding an alien hand grenade and finding out which button causes the 'boom'; we're talking a near-impossibility! It's crazy, it will never work, it...} her sub-channels settled down. {... sounds like a fun project, actually. Can he show us his ship's weapons bays immediately, without his captain's presence?}

{Apparently so.} sent Fireblade. {From what the pilot has said, it appears that he considers much of the normal secrecy of his navy to be unnecessary given their current circumstances.} She wasn't sure what she thought of that. On the one hand, making such decisions was not the responsibility of junior officers such as the Ensign. On the other hand, the alien did have a point about there not being much reason for it anymore.

She eyed the tenoin narrat, who spoke aloud "The hangar people of this ship are wishing to look into your weapons bays, if you will lead them to."

"Now?" The human sounded surprised.

"Yes so!" The narrat said, before quieting her voice as the sleeping arrir stirred slightly. "I will see over sleeping Plunger, you go show gallen where to stick torpedoes!"

Ensign Jardin blinked at her, opening his mouth to say something. Then apparently thought better of it.

He stood and carefully leaned over the sleeping loroi, musing lowly to himself as he tapped a few commands into the console in front of her chair. Only with the vessel sitting idly on the hangar floor could Fireblade have felt the faint tremor underfoot. "[I think the maintenance guides should cover that, maybe run them through the...]"

The Ensign turned and nearly walked into Fireblade, prevented from physical contact only by a reflexive pulse of her powers.

"Oh, uh, excuse me." He said, taking a step backwards to catch himself from falling.

After a few heartbeats of staring down the alien, Fireblade stepped back into the corridor to make room for him to pass. {Gallen, it seems that their pilot will exit the ship shortly and explain to you how to pursue your project. He speaks Trade quite fluently. If you have further questions, it is likely that one of the tenoin in the cockpit may answer them.} As long as the two tenoin had decided to throw themselves at the alien, they may as well help shoulder some of the workload of his ship.

As she left the vessel, Fireblade could hear behind her as her ODST escort chatted with the pilot. "[You know, most people would be a bit more freaked out at a Guard brain-pushing them like that.]"

"[No harm, no foul. Besides, even assuming that her strength is only a fraction of Tempest's, that was closer to a polite nudge, if anything.]"

"[Well, you're the one who spends the most time with them...]"

In the brief time Fireblade had spent inside the human ship docked in the hangar, the crowd of Storm Surge crew milling around the outer regions of the hangar had grown. It was hard to imagine that that many warriors truly had no duties to attend to right now, but she did suppose that the carrier's hangar crew had little to do with all their fighters launched.

Behind the shifting wall of green, yellow and orange uniforms, a flash of golden-beige stood out. {Caste-sister, if your vessel's crew truly have nothing better to do, please allow only a minimal number of them in to the hangar at one time.} Fireblade sent.

The ODSTs outside of the prowler didn't seem 'alarmed' by the surrounding loroi; they leaned against cargo crates and chatted amongst themselves, hands not straying anywhere near the rifles slung behind them.

But Fireblade did notice that they were positioned in such a way that at least one of the aliens could see in any given direction.

{Why?} the other Teidar asked. {They're just—} her sanzai cut off, side-channels reflecting her view of Fireblade glaring down at her from the prowler's ramp. {I mean yes, of course Pallan!}

At the front of the crowd, a gallen forced her way forward, squeezing so closely between two soroin that she almost touched them. She sent {Here, I'll get this.} The gallen, the same bastobar from earlier, took a few steps forward and pivoted on one heel to face the crowd.

In sanzai so forceful that the nearest loroi flinched back from her, the gallen sent {RIGHT! There's an alien ship in my hangar, and you lot are getting in the way of my people looking after it! Anyone still here in my hangar in sixty solon without a valid maintenance task will answer to the Semago of Seren herself!}

She indicated Fireblade, who after a half-beat of hesitation pulled her shoulders back and flared her powers slightly, puffing her hair out to each side and glaring down at the crowd with faintly-glowing eyes.

That routine was normally saved for when some scuffle between recalcitrant newly-posted junior officers aboard Tempest got kicked upstairs to become her problem, but it had never yet failed to make the right impression.

And it didn't fail now.

The crowd stilled, loroi flinching to duty-attention stance as several dozen pairs of eyes locked onto the intimidating teidar pallan. Slowly at first, and then quickly, they filed out of the hangar doors.

{Thank you.} sent the gallen to Fireblade. {I hope you don't mind being used as the big stick to kick these girls out of their shock. They're good crew, just thirsty for anything new. It's been a… dull few years on garrison duty, endlessly orbiting Nezel.}

{Understandable.} Fireblade sent. {Boredom is among the most insidious foes faced by any warrior.} Admittedly not one that she had ever had much experience with. Life for any warrior of Strike Group 51 was many things, but 'boring' was rarely one of them.

The gallen sent her agreement, turning towards the next group of loroi to enter the hangar, this time from one of the side-doors. This team of gallen were pushing a munitions-cart, piled with the measurement and diagnostic tools of their caste. That must be the crew that the bastobar would work with to see if they could convince Union munitions to work with UNSC weapons bays.

Fireblade stepped aside, eyes sweeping the now nearly-empty hangar. Much better.

She did notice that all of the ODSTs now had their helmets pointed towards her.

"[Private, tell me you caught that on video.]"

"[I absolutely did, sir. You ever see a display like that before?]"

"[I once knew a senior NCO that could clear a room that easy, but he was just that intimidating. Scuttlebutt says he ran with the, uh, 'Section Three Giants' back in his day, and I believe it.]"

One of the alien soldiers nodded to Fireblade. In very accented Trade, she said "Thank you."

Fireblade inclined her head in response, before stepping away to take up a post watching the main hangar entrance. The rest of the warriors off of Tempest may be off enjoying some downtime, but for Fireblade, this was where she'd rather be. Someone had to ensure that the younger loroi from Storm Surge didn't embarrass the Union, after all.

Besides, from here she could watch and listen to the strange, intriguing aliens work.