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I.
Five opens her mouth and, without any hesitation at all, she says: “It’s a deal.”
And Truffault smiles like it’s Christmas.
II.
A man walks into a bar, and he’s followed by a slip of a girl – no – she’s a woman, if just. When he looks back at her, briefly, she gives him an instant smile; familiar. He limps, slightly, but with purpose towards the whisky. She lingers at the door, now smiling at the security guard, and past him at the security panel on the wall.
He’s a bruiser and the room tenses looking at him, but she’s prettier than sunshine with her childlike face and golden curls treated with pink streaks. They almost cancel each other out.
She sits at an empty table and orders a drink, and busies herself with her tablet; not a care in the world.
He orders the strongest shit they have and downs it fast, faster than he should. After his body shakes, just a little, he orders another and leans back to gauge the room, all nonchalance and ease. There’s an incredible calm about him; in the air he breathes and the stillness of his limbs.
In the right light, a person might call him handsome.
As for her, she’s drinking slowly through a straw, her fingers around a sweating glass while her other hand wildly runs over the tablet screen. When someone stands too close and asks, sweetly, for a name, she looks up and stares for a long moment before looking back at her tablet. “Not interested,” she says in a voice that is almost girlish, almost.
No one notices as the man at the bar glances at her, his gaze lingering.
When the alarms begin to blare out loud, Five meets Three’s gaze. And they both smile together.
Just outside, the two suns over the Orca Mining Colony shine bright.
III.
It’s minutes after the destruction of EOS-7, and the station shatters across space.
They feel rather than watch the devastation as their ship sails through unstable space, away from what’s left of the station. Five is shaking so hard that she can barely buckle herself into her seat. Truffault leans over and does it for her, and there’s a shiver in her hands as well.
“This is war,” Five says quietly, this close to the other woman’s ear. “We didn’t stop it.”
There’s something cruel in her eyes. “Nothing was ever going to stop it, sweetheart.”
“People will die.” Five’s panic rises.
Truffault smiles, and it’s horrible. “People. People not us.”
*
It’s three years after the destruction of EOS-7, and the base on the Sea of Tranquility is just waking up.
“This is my assistant, Cassandra,” Truffault says to the Terra Prime ambassador. “She can get you anything you need.”
Five stands up straight and looks the ambassador in the eye. “It’s an honor to meet you, ma’am.” And she means it. This is everything they’ve been working for.
“You’re brave to work for Mikkei especially during this—well,” the ambassador says. “One hears such things.”
Truffault laughs and they all laugh.
Then, in the quiet privacy of a boardroom, they start talking about the Orca Mining Colony.
*
It’s days after the destruction of EOS-7, and the MCS Murakami travels deep into Ferrous Corp space.
Truffault puts her immediately to work. They are, after all, in those critical first steps of an intergalactic corporate war, and the Mikkei Combine must make its response; a hard, unyielding one at that. And it’s not as if Five doesn’t yearn for a pound of Ferrous Corp flesh.
There are these facts: Three is still in surgery. Arrian is thousands of shards in space.
So what else is there to do but the task at hand? Finding a way to upload one of Truffault’s viruses into the Ferrous system isn’t very hard; the deadline, however, is. Sweat beads along her temples as she works steadily, all her thoughts focused on one deadly result.
It’s an intense effort; fingers pressing against keys and calculations spiraling through her head. She’s chosen a difficult firewall to attack as they’ll be watching the weaker ones. And damage, real damage, is her goal.
The ship rocks from side to side, an opening volley from a Ferrous ship, and Truffault urges Five’s progress with her usual steady voice. There’s a fire in her chest as she’s forgotten to breathe, but then she has it. Has the opening, and punches enter.
There’s no time for assurances that it works. She shoots a look at Truffault, who immediately calls for a jump to FTL. The ship creaks a little, but it moves.
Later, when she meets the full Mikkei team – more than competent – she realizes what Truffault was doing: that this, this near impossible first mission, was a kindness.
After all, Five couldn’t have done any more to save him.
*
It’s three months after the destruction of EOS-7, and it’s nighttime on the surface of Acamar.
He’s still a mess, a hot mess; in his own skin, he can barely walk and there’s still blood that comes up when he coughs. But, with Transfer Transit, he’s a new man.
She tries and fails at looking away as he gets out of the pod. It's a private moment, something sacred she shouldn't watch but—
With his cloned feet, he takes two steps, steady as a ship at port. And he bends his knees without any issue at all. And he breathes in the recycled air, breathes in deeply like it’s the first time he’s been able to do this – and – and she has to interrupt.
“We’re on a time table. She’ll have our heads if we’re late.” And quieter this time: “I’m really sorry, Three.”
If he looks at her with slightly wet eyes, she does her best to show that she didn’t notice.
Clothes, they steal, because they’re spending all they have on the floor of Acamar’s secret casino. She found it in the files, her fingers once sliding across its description as discrete, and Truffault gave both the green light and the mission.
In hours, they’ve made a considerable sum with her counting cards and his dumb luck. No one’s noticed them, not like when she — when she did this before. With—
She tries and fails to not remember the sweetness of Two’s smile. “Do you miss her?” she says, low enough for him to hear.
Something flippant snorts out of Three’s mouth. “You work for one cranky woman, you work for them all.”
“That’s not—”
And they both as one see their mark ambling towards them, a little careless and carefree like he’s not chock full of intel Mikkei desperately wants and will pay top dollar for.
She thinks of what Two would do, and leans back in her chair. Glances briefly at her nails.
“She said you’d be a little girl with a big bad wolf,” the mark says and reaches out to touch her curls. Naturally brown again per her DNA. She lets him because there’s nothing she loves more than being underestimated. And it’ll get a rise out of Three—
Three’s hand grips the man’s wrist tight. “I’ll huff and I’ll puff.”
The man stares for a moment before moving at a more respectable distance. “I have a booth for us, finish your game.”
Three follows him, with only a brief glance behind him to make a gagging face at her. She smiles, smiles at the dealer, smiles later at the woman who wires their winnings to a shared account. Smiles much later at the man who agrees to send a private scattershot signal out into the black - an SOS. Breadcrumbs.
And later, later, she smiles something genuine when Three does a jumping jack before getting back into his pod for the return; to the Murakami, to report out and get the next assignment, and to his healing bones.
*
It’s two weeks after the destruction of EOS-7, and the Mikkei homeworld shines as sunlight hits a sea of silver buildings.
Three sleeps in his hospital bed, Five watches.
Regret isn’t the bitter taste in her mouth; she’s a survivor after all. It’s being helpless. A familiar feeling, an old, old friend since even before the Raza. She feels drenched in it. All that she’s known, all that she’s loved, lost, lost, lost.
As she breathes into the pain, her comm buzzes in her ear.
“Hello, Five.”
“Ma’am.”
“How is Boone?”
“Breathing.”
“Good. Tell me, you don’t have any issue killing a man, do you, sweetheart?”
Five doesn’t quite laugh. “What, do you have enemies?”
“I may have a need. Do you?”
Five opens her mouth, a retort ready, but then, something beautiful happens:
Three groans out, and it’s sad little sound. And it’s a sound full of life. She rushes to his side, grasps at his fingers as if they are something precious. And without thinking, she presses the palm of his hand to her cheek and holds it there.
He blinks at her, bleary and drugged, and something sweet lightens his gaze, broadens his smile. “Five,” he says with the smallest slur in his voice.
And she turns her head away, briefly. “I’m at your command, ma’am.”
*
It’s nine months after the destruction of EOS-7, and twilight touches the capital city of Zairon.
Five closes her eyes and leans against ancient stone and wishes herself light years away from this familiar blood soaked citadel. There is no safety net for this mission; nothing but a rendezvous in twelve hours and the vague shred of hope that the emperor would be merciful if they’re caught.
“Now,” Three says quietly, and she moves for the door.
It’s a complex mission, and there’s other operatives managing the guards and the security tapes. And the biggest thing she needs, Truffault gave her: the code to the door. And the biggest asset she has: the ability to crack the security behind the door.
“And I’m just here to look pretty?” Three had asked and both women had smirked.
Not that she has anything to negotiate with, but working with Three is at her request and Truffault honors it. It’s good, a good partnership, and an echo of what they both had before. And she’ll admit that he comes up with a good idea now and then.
But the Zairon mission is something different.
See, she knows exactly where one of her old crew lives and breathes.
She punches in the numbers and Three yanks open the door. They stand together, inches apart, and stare into the room. All she can see is stars; diamonds shine so bright.
“Two promised me a jewel heist,” he says quietly. “You know, after we saved the galaxy.”
“She never would have let us pull this off though. Not under Four’s nose. She’d find it rude.”
“Mmm,” he says in a dreamy sort of way. “When this is over, I kinda wanna wear the tiara.”
A gunfight, a daring escape, an angry tirade, some impressive diplomacy, and a week later: Truffault bows low in the Zairon fashion, and says: “May I present the crown jewels of Zairon to your honor, and the heads of those who stole them. A gift of the Mikkei Combine.”
Emperor Ishida Ryo’s eyes are fixed on her, her, the innocuous assistant at Truffault’s side. Not at the box of goods (still radiant) or the box of bloody heads (poor random mercenaries) at his feet. “Welcome back, little warrior,” he says quietly, and she stands a little straighter. And quieter still: “You are forgiven.”
Without blinking, he turns to the commander: “Zairon appreciates your respect and the return of our treasure,” he says in his imperial voice. “We look forward to strengthening our relationship with Mikkei, our new friend, in the coming days and working together to end this terrible war.” Empty words echo, and Five wonders how far the dance will go; will her commander get near enough to even smell the Blink Drive.
There are these facts: Ferrous may take the credit but Five knows it was Zairon who blew up EOS-7. And Zairon has the Blink Drive.
They have theories how Ryo must have stolen it from the Raza before it all went to hell; most theories include a good reason why no one has answered Five’s private signal, found her little breadcrumbs.
She stares at Ryo long and hard. She remembers, months ago, shooting him, shooting his clone right between the eyes.
*
It’s two months after the destruction of EOS-7, and it’s high noon in the Mikkei homeworld.
“Kid, you’re miles away,” he says, and she looks up at him. He’s writing the alphabet in the air with his right foot as a physical therapy exercise. “Earth to Five.”
She fakes a smile, and it’s good enough that the tension in his shoulders seems to relax a little.
“I was thinking of your memories.” She hates the words as soon as she says them; he doesn’t share these memories, he doesn’t know. “You loved elderberry pie, the way your ma made it was so good. Better than I’ve ever had in my life.”
Three’s face is a blank but she continues:
“And you loved skating on the pond, feeling the wind in your face and the lightness in your feet as you moved. It was like dancing on air. Even better when your dad was with you. You loved him so much.” She breathes in. “It’s nice. When I was there, when I was in them—god, I wanted to stay there so badly. Felt it so bad, I could taste it. So now, when I need to, I remember.”
His foot stops after he makes a final “z.”
She runs her hand through her turquoise curls. “My own memories, what I have of them, aren’t much solace.”
He’s got hold of her other hand before she really realizes it. “Sometimes I forget that you’re—” he starts. “I could go for some elderberry pie right now.”
She looks down at their hands, entwined. “You’re going soft on me.”
“Am not,” he retorts, and she swallows down an “Are too!” because it’s nice to just sit here and breathe.
After all, she has to be strong, so strong.
*
It’s hours before the destruction of EOS-7, and the Raza sails through space with the MCS Murakami.
Two straightens Five’s suit jacket and fluffs her blonde wig a little. “You’re Mikkei now.”
Five makes a face. “For a few hours, yes.”
“No, act like you’ve been Mikkei for years. Ruthless. Smart.”
“That’s how they describe you.”
“Then act like you’re me.”
Two’s smile is so wide, it’s almost like sunshine, and something twists in Five’s chest.
*
It’s a year and a half after the destruction of EOS-7, and a little cabin in the MCS Murakami is a little cramped.
Lascelles is Truffault’s chief aide of ten years and brilliant at what she does; keeping things in line, keeping her commander in line. Being a valued asset means Five has things to share as well, little tastes of information that Lascelles eats up as if starved. Competence is incredibly attractive, as is information and influence.
So it’s truly not a hardship as Five lies comfortably on her back, finding out that Lascelles is also an incredibly attentive lover. Lascelles is not a young woman, a little older than Two, and when she asked for Five’s age, Five lied.
It’s not, she thinks, it’s not as if I’m a child anymore.
It’s nice, she thinks, thrilled for the outlet and the opportunity. There’s something delicious in the act, in the masquerade. Three, of course, disagrees with the method – not that he has any right to comment – but he appreciates the results. An escape, a real escape, will take every inch of intel and every friend on the inside they can muster.
In the meantime, Five’s mind is elsewhere, focusing hard on the sensation building between her legs and the rapid fire press of Lascelles’ tongue. When pleasure ricochets through her, filling her up with such meaningful relief, she sighs out and runs her fingers through Lascelles’ hair.
The woman looks up at her, lips and chin wet, and says: “God, that was good, I got you good.” And Five smiles, fond. But then Lascelles says her name, a sort of whisper or a prayer, and the name is “Cass.” She calls her Cass, Cassie. Cassandra if Truffault is present.
And sometimes, sometimes Five really does forget.
*
It’s a month after the destruction of EOS-7, and she’s breached a Volkov-Rusi facility.
She’s padded her time table with some flexibility; time enough for a furtive use of the communications systems for one brief message into the black.
There’s a feeling she can’t shake. She imagines them safe; the lost ones. Imagines Six razing the galaxy to find her, imagines Two sparring with Nyx as they prepare a rescue mission, imagines the Android quietly practicing how to make the perfect cup of hot chocolate to welcome Five home.
There’s a feeling she can’t shake. She knows Ryo has the Blink Drive. She knows the Raza is missing, not answering any hails on normal Mikkei channels. Not even Calchek, sniveling as ever, could tell Truffault any news. Ferrous, or the GA for that matter, would be screaming it at the top of their lungs if they vanquished the dreaded Raza and her crew. And Rook would be silent as the grave if ‘Rebecca’ had somehow come home.
There’s a feeling that she and Three are truly alone.
*
It’s two years after the destruction of EOS-7, and the war room of the MCS Murakami is almost empty.
Five enters the room as some man on the screen says, “You know this is a job for the Raza, Delaney.”
“Not an option, Charles. My operatives have this covered. Truffault out.”
Truffault flicks a switch and the screen goes to black. “Glad we both missed how he responded to that.”
“You told me I’d have to kill a man for you someday. Is it now?” Five says.
“Soon,” the woman responds, and her teeth shine as she grins.
Working for Truffault has a learning curve, but Five would rather swim than sink. There’s steel growing in her spine just as something is leeching out her kindness. But when she thinks of Three, walking tall and giving her sass, she just leans in.
“There’s a job for us?”
“Three will like it, it’s a smash and grab.”
“You’re right, he will like it. Who’s the target?”
“It’s at a Dwarf Star Technologies facility.”
Ice slides down her back. “But they’re neutral—”she starts and presses her fingernails tight into the palm of her hand.
“They have something we want and you’re the best at getting me the things I want, so—”
“We’ve gone up against Rook before. We’ve stolen things from Rook before.” A half-truth. “And what he did to Three was—”
“Forewarned is forearmed, you’ll be fine.”
Later: Rook’s private computer is like a box of cats, nonsense stacked on top of nonsense, things Five will never understand but she searches and searches and finds no recent mention of “Rebecca” anywhere. A dead end. It's only then that she downloads the files she came for.
Three pulls her out before it all goes to hell. Three doesn’t move when she cries fitfully against his shoulder. Three reports back to Truffault that she can go fuck herself but the job’s done.
*
It’s hours after the destruction of EOS-7, and the clean lines of the MCS Murakami’s medical unit shine in the bright lights.
“He’s dying,” Five says and wishes there weren’t so many tears in her eyes. She knows how this looks, knows she should negotiate right now. She should be like Two, strong like Two. And yet –
“Yes, yes, Boone is dying. I can see that.” Truffault stands with her hands behind her back. “One of my agents collected him before it was too late.”
“If you ‘collected him’, why aren’t you saving him?”
Truffault shoots her a knowing look and it’s gutting. “Here’s the thing, sweetheart. I know the part you played in our little game with Traugott’s prototype, I know what you did to my good friend Reynaud, and I have a reasonably good idea what you’ve done for Portia Lin. There’s a place for you in my organization.”
“I thought I wasn’t the corporate type.”
“Let’s just say that you’ve impressed me.”
Three coughs and there is blood on his lips.
Five gasps out again, “He’s dying.” There’s something insidious sliding along her skin, the knowledge of what comes next. And the knowledge that as long as he breathes, she doesn’t care.
“And I’m interested in him too. Sweetens the pot to have a man of his talents on staff as well as you.” Truffault smiles. “I’ll make you a deal. I save Boone, you’ll work for me.”
The concept marinates in a horrible moment; a rumination of what is critical and what Five can live with.
But, the moment is brief because Five opens her mouth and, without any hesitation at all, she says: “It’s a deal.”
*
It’s four years after the destruction of EOS-7, and the sun shines bright over Florence, the most beautiful city on Earth.
Over the centuries, perhaps millions of thieves have cased the Uffizi Gallery, searching for weak links and potential openings to steal the most beautiful paintings in the system. Many have tried and few have succeeded. So Five joins a great company of men and women as she smiles at a security guard and settles into her position by staring at her target, at Truffault’s target.
It’s Artemisia Gentileschi’s “Judith and Holofernes,” an ancient relic of older times, and a favorite of the Ferrous Corp CEO.
And as Ferrous has occupied Terra Prime, she’s free to visit it anytime.
Five always sees Nieman when she deal with Ferrous, and she always thinks about the name garbled out of Three’s bloody mouth when he woke years ago. She can’t forget Arrian, beautiful as he was, making a terrible choice. The past few years brought other cuts and cruelties, but she can’t forgive the ones that happened in the infancy of war. Her eyes linger on the streams of blood flowing out of Holofernes, courtesy of Judith’s sharpened sword. She finds herself thinking about what happens when you slice open the carotid artery, such an efficient kill stroke. One she witnessed on a grand scale.
In her mind’s eye, she fantasizes Nieman accidentally walking into their operation, seeing her and recognizing her for what she is. His gaping mouth open as she ruins him some visceral way; she imagines the gun that shot One, Four’s sword, Two’s fists, Six’s GA gun, the crowbar that broke Three. She hears the gasping of his last breath, savoring it, before she returns to reality. Blinks up at the painting and how the lights have gone dim, and she feels Three’s hand on her shoulder.
She pulls out her gas mask because it’s time.
Later, Truffault hangs the painting in her office, a flagrant display, and she makes a girlish giggle when Ferrous Corp demands its return, calls her and her agents out by name.
“We’ve never seen such brazen crime since the Raza once terrorized the system. This should not happen!”
Champagne is poured, glasses clink together, and even Three looks incredibly pleased, and Truffault whispers in her ear: “You’ve done well. So I’ll give you both what you want.”
Five straightens up, and she wonders how cruel Truffault will be.
“Remember when I asked if you’d kill a man for me?”
With her body count at this point, the question is laughable. “Yes,” she replies.
“Well now’s the time. I’m giving you Orca.”
IV.
THE SET UP.
*
This is how Mikkei plans a heist: analysts across the system identify someone or something’s potential and push it forward to a superior. The superior pushes it up further, and eventually it gets to a Commander, who has the resources to act on such things.
This is how Five and Three plan a heist: strike through half of what the analyst wrote, make their own notes, and get the job done.
But everything about Orca is different.
*
“You’ll go in as lovers,” Truffault says and Three makes a face.
“She’s young enough to be my—”
“Second wife,” Truffault and Five say at the same time and Three throws up his hands.
This was Five’s idea, but she asked Truffault to take credit to save face. Lovers is safe, safer for her, and good cover if caught. There’s no questions asked if a man takes a pretty young thing to the ass end of the galaxy. They only have one reason to be there. And she doesn’t mind; a cover is a cover.
“I leave the selection of weaponry to you, as well as the – the particulars. You’re ready for this.”
Five accepts this praise as it is: a gift, the golden goose.
“We’ve been working for this for years,” Three says.
Truffault leans back in her chair. “And if you’re caught, I can’t save you. I’ll denounce you, forsake you.”
And Five looks at Three, meets his even gaze. “We know.”
*
The Orca Mining Colony is in the outer rim; far, far from the commerce and community of the inner planets. Each continent is rich with terrium; a full and fat planet begging to be sucked dry. If only, if only it wasn’t so goddamn far – no corporation finds the terrium so dear after expending so much of it to get there and back again. It’s no high priority for any of the majors; so the terrium miners sell their stores to whomever contracts a shipment first. Ferrous, Mikkei, Traugott, Volkov-Rusi; they’re all the same.
It’s a planet on the edge of nowhere.
And since learning of it, Five has wanted little else but to see it.
*
The war room is full to the brim as the operation’s scope is something grand, something insane. A whole Mikkei department is involved as well as three mercenary teams, local spies, and another commander who stands shoulder to shoulder with Truffault.
Truffault stands at the back of the room with her eyes staring right at Five and her lips upturned in a smile. Usually it’s the commander leading the charge, but today, today Five takes center stage.
Five’s surprised at the tenor of the room, the quiet and calm. The faces turned up looking at her and not challenging a word she says. She does, after all, have a reputation.
And it reminds her of something that she can’t quite put a name to.
“I’m only going to say this once,” she begins.
*
Not many tourists visit Orca. There are not many beautiful sites to visit, and no one is willing to guide them to waterfalls, mountains, or the unique seaside. There are no grand hotels or interesting local fare. No casinos, and no black market of any interest.
Not many visit, unless they need a place to hide.
*
“I’ll miss you, Cass,” Lascelles says, uncharacteristically affectionate.
Five’s not invested, she really isn’t, but she makes the saddest smile she can, wraps her arms around the woman. “There’s an old saying,” she says, close to Lascelles’ ear. “In war, there are no winners, only widows.” Lascelles gives her a look and opens her mouth, but Five pushes in and gives her a kiss to remember her by.
*
There are no indigenous people on Orca. Everything and everyone was brought there on ships with the purpose to mine, and mine, and mine till the planet is dust. It was a Terra Prime colony first, they even had voting rights until it went independent.
There’s still a Terra Prime contingent that keeps sending messages home, however.
*
She dyes her hair blonde again, a lion’s mane of girlish curls. Pink streaks, she selects, will ignite the look, make it complete. Make it her.
“Did you lose a bet with your hairdresser?” Three asks as he preps his guns for war.
“I like color.”
He laughs, fond. “We’re crazy to do this, you know.”
She raises her chin. “That’s why it’s gonna work.”
*
See, here’s the thing.
There's a rumor they first heard on Acamar, later from their Zairon allies, suggested in the Dwarf Star stolen files, and all but confirmed on Terra Prime.
There’s a rumor that the Traugott Corporation was inspired by the rubble that was once Iriden-3, and home to 15,000 souls. Inspired by what white hole technology could do to a planet.
There’s a rumor of a ghost on the dark side of the planet of Orca; a space station perfectly hidden.
There’s a rumor of a superweapon that could light a fire under all the corporations and turn the intergalactic war sideways.
*
“I’ve seen this in a movie, you know. A real old one. And I can’t remember if they all die at the end.”
“You forget that, you and me, we’re survivors.”
*
THE HOOK.
*
On cue, the alarm blares from the mining plant, and panic reigns.
Five meets Three’s gaze across a crowded bar room and they both smile together.
*
Sirens continue to wail, but the alley outside the bar is semi quiet. There, he pushes her against a wall. Her head spins, concentrating hard, harder, and she pulls him in close, close like a lover does, and whispers: “Make it good” before pressing her lips to his.
He doesn’t hesitate, doesn’t falter. He kisses back like a man starved, and there’s hands gripping her waist. And he tastes of the whisky he just tossed back. She smiles in between kisses and moves his hands low and high. Three gasps out “God, I’m sorry, I’m so sorry,” and she hisses back, “I could start undoing your pants right now if that would get you to shut up.” So he grips her ass and slides his hand up her shirt like a man who knows how, like a man who wants to do it. Five bares her neck for him to kiss and looks to her left and sees their mark slip by them, his head down and brow furrowed.
For good measure, she moans out low and deep and Three shivers, truly shivers against her and her mark doesn’t even skip a beat as he moves some debris out of the way to get at—get at what must be a door.
“Now,” she whispers and Three snaps back his hands as quickly as he can to grab and aim his gun.
The mark looks up at them briefly before a bullet lands right between his eyes.
*
There’s a Traugott symbol on the door, which is ludicrous in her eyes, but she appreciates the confirmation that she was right. She figures out the security to the door in moments – it requires a push pin prick from the mark’s finger. Blood opens the door, which is fitting for the whole project, she thinks.
But behind the door, it truly is her turn.
*
They’re caught almost immediately.
*
Traugott has a facility in the ruins of an old mine; that’s what they breached and in the depths of it, that’s where they’re taken.
“We’ve caught nearly a dozen of your people, and killed more than that,” a man in uniform says as they enter a dimly lit room. “You’re going to tell us who sent you.”
“The Mikkei Combine,” she says easily with her hands behind her back.
He blinks. He was looking at Three when he asked.
“I should introduce myself. I’m Emily Kolburn and this is my associate, Marcus Boone; previously of the Raza and now Mikkei. You’ve heard of us, I’m sure.”
The man blinks one more time.
“We’re defecting to help you finish your project because we believe it will bring an end to this war.”
Then she lifts her fingers and wiggles them. “I’m sure you want my help. Take me to your superior officer. Now.”
*
Earlier: Truffault pulls her aside by the arm and gives her a long, lingering look. “I trust you to finish this for us. I trust you.”
Five thinks how much she has done to earn that trust. “Yes, ma’am.”
*
While they wait, Five leans her head against Three’s shoulder and she hums an old tune, before, before –
“I dream of her still, you know.”
“I dream of beautiful women too.”
“She’d be so angry at us.”
“God, she’d be threatening to cut off my dick right now if she knew, god, if she—you’re a menace.”
And when she laughs, he says, “And you enjoyed that too much.”
“You enjoyed that too much,” she shoots back and laughs again as he pouts. “It was nice, admit it.”
And he makes a grumpy little grunt.
A voice at the door interrupts them: “Ms. Kolburn, we’re interested in what you have to say.”
*
There are three scientists in charge, and none of them witnessed or took part in the previous white hole project.
“—So I’m invaluable,” Five continues. “Besides, our intel tells us that you’re years away from the prototype working. I can make that a week.”
The Traugott commander stares at her, an even steady gaze. She’s made of steel now, and so she stares back.
“And what does he do?” he asks.
Three crosses his arms. “I’m just here to look pretty.”
*
Five thinks: Zairon’s war ended, swift and sure, with the aid of the Blink Drive.
Five thinks: Zairon stands alone as a neutral power, strong and resilient in the face of the corporate war.
Five thinks: Zairon, and its billions of people, stands as the perfect target for a demonstration.
*
Traugott is, at heart, a research-focused corporation. Research brings results, after all. The masses buy their unique products, governments buy their unique weapons, and all that money funds more research; it’s a pretty little cycle. But Traugott just doesn’t have the strategic minds of Mikkei, or the brunt force of Ferrous, or the cunning of Volkov-Rusi. The only way they’ve kept up in the war to date is that their weaponry is truly advanced.
When Five sees the space station they’ve built, it takes her breath away.
*
The station is powered by terrium, vast quantities of it, and at the center, is the white hole prototype. The theory is that all the matter and light that can burst out of it could be channeled into one solitary energy stream. A stream that, once it hits a planet’s atmosphere, could create what the GA calls an “extinction level event.”
Five knows that this station, this technological terror, could truly bring the war to a close. Either by a demonstration that bends the system to Traugott’s will, or to inspire a copycat that renders the war cold.
With all the intel that has slithered its way to Mikkei’s ear, she suspects Traugott hoped for the latter. A race to a stalemate, a truce, ceasefire.
Instead, there will be blood.
*
Three stands to her right at all times, her sentinel amidst the hub bub of tech talk and performative science. She throws him a glance here and there, and he takes the opportunity to roll his eyes or yawn conspicuously and she loves him for it.
“Don’t worry,” she tells him at night, in their shared room. “I need your specific skills soon.”
And when he smiles, it's all teeth.
*
Results are ultimately what Traugott cares for and she provides them in spades. The week she promised ends with an algorithm that ensures accuracy in aim, and strength in the stream. “I take cash or credit, or a really long speech praising my brilliance,” she quips and the Traugott commander tuts in response.
*
And while everyone is celebrating, Five lets loose one of Truffault’s crippling viruses with a few of her own special tweaks.
*
THE STING
*
Years ago: Truffault enters the Raza like she owns the place, like she bought it and pays for it to be cleaned on a daily basis. She takes one look at Five and says: “You seem kind of young to be a mercenary.”
This is when Five’s hair is streaked with vibrant turquoise, and her clothes are an eclectic mix of sweaters and flannel. This is when Five’s been considering who she is, and what she will become. She’d like to, she thinks, she’d really like to be seen by this woman as something, someone to be reckoned with. Someone like Two.
Three opens his mouth and says: “She’s more of a mascot,” and Five’s sigh first starts in her toes before sliding up her body and out her mouth.
*
“I’ll follow your lead. I’ll follow you anywhere,” Three is saying, words in her ear that ricochet into her heart. The ground is somewhat unstable now, hearing it. She understands fealty and this is something to honor, and to continue, ever to continue to earn.
“You’re going soft on me,” she says instead of a myriad of kindnesses, of gratitude. “Come on, it’s almost time.”
*
It takes a several stores of terrium to reach at Orca at normal FTL – most take the half-life route to save fuel – and so it’s a surprise, a thorough surprise when four GA cruisers, the Ferrous Fleet, and a couple of Mikkei’s battleships arrive in orbit of the planet Orca. The combined fuel cost alone would make a corporation’s CFO shudder.
And the team up of two enemies and an obsolete police force would make anyone’s eyebrows raise.
The miners can see new stars in the heavens when they appear, and wonder at this strange arrival, and wonder at the strange broadcast on every channel requesting the cessation of all activity on pain of death.
And that’s when Five cuts through all security measures, aims the superweapon, and fires.
*
On EOS-7, Three found himself alone against multiple paid thugs with strong fists and a wretched crowbar.
On EOS-7, an android named Arrian had to discover in the worst possible manner that he was closer to humanity than he ever dreamed.
After EOS-7, a girl began to understand what it is to long for vengeance.
After EOS-7, a woman fires a superweapon at the flagship vessel of the Ferrous Corporation with Commander Nieman on board.
*
The Traugott commander screams in rage behind a locked door as she opens a channel to this strange partnership of enemies. “Greetings, all. This is Cassandra of the Mikkei Combine. No need to return fire, I have just successfully commandeered this space station and will dismantle it immediately.”
“But the—” a Ferrous voice says through the comm channel.
“I never said this would be very easy, and you were all very late,” she snaps and looks up at a breathless Three. His fists are red from blood and there are dozens of guards in various states of consciousness around them.
And three scientists are sitting against a red spattered wall, their mouths slightly open and a new hole between their eyes. The gun is still hot in her hand.
Three bends his head a little in her direction, he looks somewhere between impressed and scared and she likes it that way. There’s an urge, a very real urge, to push forward and press her lips against his in this moment; to seal what they’ve done together. Not a kiss of affection or passion. Instead, something more, something meaningful.
But not now, not when time is of the essence.
Having witnessed one of Truffault’s viruses close up, and having used them for years now, Five knows exactly the window she has to finish what she started.
*
“Welcome home, sweetheart,” Truffault says as Five steps foot on board the Murakami, with Three one step behind. “And congratulations.”
Five smiles. Leans in. “It’s a lost cause, Delaney.”
Truffault straightens. “You—”
“Your transmissions won’t pick up any signals.”
“But—”
“Nothing was sent.”
“People will die, Five.”
“People,” Five says with a smile. “People not us.”
Truffault’s face turns white.
“See, you have me instead. I know the schematics, the plans, the readings, all of it. Whoever has me has the weapon, give or take a year and trillions of loads of terrium.” Five tilts her head to the side. “I’m your ace, and being so valuable to you now, I’m safer if I’m in the wind.”
Truffault blinks.
“You know I’m right. And Three comes with me of course, he’s part of the deal.”
“I’ve been looking forward to the Mikkei retirement pension,” he says.
“You’ll tell them it’s completely destroyed, you’ll take the credit, then you’ll start the rumor you’ve got the plans to the superweapon and the means to recreate it. Ferrous will corroborate with fear. No one will ever find the plans because no one will ever find me. With the threat – only the threat, mind you – of genocide, you win the war.”
“And you’ll walk free. The destroyer of worlds pinned up in that brain of yours.”
Five shrugs. “My terms. Do we have a deal?”
*
V.
A man walks into a bar, and he’s followed by a slip of a girl – no – she’s a woman, if just. When he looks back at her, briefly, she gives him an instant smile; familiar. He limps, slightly, but with purpose towards the whisky. She follows him and clinks her glass against his when the drinks are poured.
He’s a bruiser and the room tenses looking at him, but she’s prettier than sunshine with her childlike face and turquoise curls. They almost cancel each other out.
It’s nice being on a neutral world, far from the core but still civilized enough to have decent room and board for two tourists.
It's nice being a couple of assholes with a little money and a lot of charm.
It’s nice being on an extended holiday, well deserved, and Five even finds the place to get good elderberry pie.
“It's not enough,” Five says, “but it's close.”
*
There are messages sent weekly to Lascelles, to prove they still live and breathe and remain.
And one day a message comes back.
“Cass, I found the Raza.”
#