• Abstract and Figures
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Out of the Barbeque Pits…

It all came down to the damned protein resequencer. The device itself, like many of the equipment and gear on the pirate station Omicron, was in poor repair. It was the lifeblood for the family of genetically uplifted gorillas, or Sundered; without it, they would have all starved years ago. It wasn’t that any of them liked it, the protein paste that the thing produced (while sparking and smoking and vibrating dangerously) was a black, gelatin-like substance that tasted like vulcanized rubber. Little Kiysa, the youngest, would swear up and down that she could taste an insect leg or a wing in her portion. None of the others liked it, but it was all they had. On very good days, Lorixis might be able to scrounge up a rat or those stale oranges and then there was that one time when she’d somehow procured a human leg that still had all the meat on it. No one asked her where she’d gotten it from; they’d just chopped it up and threw it in the resequencer. The paste was much more flavorful that night. But there weren’t many nights like that. But despite the miraculous nature of the device, the entire family hated the squat, cylindrical machine. It was clunky and loud and Ghovork, bless him, had to recondition and jury rig old and faulty parts to keep it functional. There were fourteen mouths to feed and thankfully the young male had the technical acumen to keep it running. There were times of course, when the big Sundered male would lose his temper at the temperamental device and throw it across the room. Of course, then he’d have to calm himself down and figure out a way to get the device running again and hopefully before dinner time. Vanjet was proud of his son, all of his sons, his daughters, even his wives, though he knew that they all got together, conspired to frustrate him into an early grave. They were his, though, and he would die to protect any one or all of them. But right now, he felt like such a failure. As Kiysa was spooning his portion of the meal onto a metal plate, he couldn’t help but wrinkle his gorilla nose in disgust. But then before she could see him, he smoothed out his face and forced a smile. He wanted to send her a funny picture over his implants, but the little one was too young; she didn’t have any cybernetic implants. The fact that he needed to just keep this thing running to keep his family alive; that all their futures were tied to this damned device… it was just too precarious, too… humbling. He was a father to nine offspring, mate to three females, and this was the best he could do. It wasn’t as though there were jobs here on the Omicron. Well, not many, to be sure and certainly none for a family of Sundered. This was a pirate port, a place of commerce and diplomacy, the various Deep Fleet soldiers liked to joke. Goods and slaves and currency were brought through here all the time and there was a small staff of cargo loaders in the cargo bays that dealt with that sort of thing. But they didn’t want Sundered either. Which meant that one did what was needed to survive. Vanjet gave a mental sigh as he ate the black glop off his plate. The problem was the Sundered community wasn’t exactly united. There were dozens of families with the same story, all of them doing everything they could to try and make ends meet, trying to feed their own families, to try and make a home for themselves. It wasn’t as though there were worlds out in the Spineward Sectors that were willing to take them in. And so there was no real support system. Oh, there were those like Primarch Glue, who was going to extraordinary lengths to try and provide for his people. He’d been out running raids alongside some of the Deep Fleeters, but in the end, how much of those goods he came back with would trickle down to Vanjet’s family? The Primarch couldn’t afford to be looking too hard at the individual families; he had to take the long view. He had to try and save the Sundered as a race and Vanjet supposed he understood this. Which meant that a small family like Vanjet’s… they were on their own. And there were no opportunities here in this place. And having to constantly watch one’s back never helped. The pirates in this place would hunt the Sundered. Few of them were stupid enough to try and attack the uplifted gorillas one on one, no they hunted in packs. The Sundered had learned quickly never to travel alone in areas of the station without a large population of their own people and never in groups smaller than three in areas where Humans (which meant pirates) held sway. Which was everywhere. It was only two days earlier that one of their neighbors had insulted a lieutenant to the Deep Fleet Space Army, because he tried to take the uplift’s parcel of food. It was more of a punch, really, than an insult. He was just standing up for himself and he’d pulled the strike. An uplift could crush a human with his much greater body mass and strength. The hit had knocked the man flat. The lieutenant had snarled, drew a blaster pistol and shot the big male uplift in the chest. Once he was down, his fellows trussed him up with plasticord ties and dragged him off to one of the dreaded cookers. They hurled the still-breathing gorilla into the pit and turned on the burners. Then they had recorded the whole thing, screams and all and uploaded it onto the station’s processor net. Apparently those Deep Fleeters had eaten well that night. The footage of the lieutenant feasting on a rack of blackened uplift-rib meat still chilled Vanjet to the core. Vanjet wanted to give up. Give in to despair, but he couldn’t. He had a family, thirteen other lives depending on him to somehow get them through this, make their lives better. He just wasn’t sure how he was supposed to do that.

“There’s something going on,” Nerys, Vanjet’s mate, his first, reported that morning. “What do you mean?” Vanjet asked, setting down the hand welder and picking up the new battle axe he’d just finished welding together. It was rough, made from Duralloy from a few discarded battlesuit scraps, but it was big, heavy and sharp, would hold that edge and could tear through a pirate battlesuit, should anybody try and attack his family again. “I’m getting all sorts of chatter on the station’s emergency frequencies,” Nerys replied, various lights on the cybernetics on the right side of her head blinking furiously. “There’s a ship inbound.” Vanjet ran a laser down the edge of the weapon, refining it. He tested it with his large thumb and nodded in satisfaction. “There are usually ships inbound, Nerys. Deep Fleet and some of the others. Primarch Glue has been out for a while, could be him coming back.” “Not unless he’s got himself a battleship,” the female said, glaring at her mate. Now she had his attention. “There’s a battleship inbound?” He frowned. “Maybe it’s a Blood Reaver ship?” She shook her head. “You think I didn’t look for that? Vineyard is hugging close to the station, and Armor Prince and Royal Rage are still docked. I’m telling you, there is another ship coming in.” “That could be good,” Vanjet said. “Another prize for the Pirate King? Things might be good for a while.” “You can’t be that naïve,” his mate told him flatly. “He isn’t,” Ford, his third and youngest mate retorted. She sidled up to him and ran a hand through his jet black back fur. He shivered. She always knew just how to do that to him. Nerys popped her lips in annoyance, then scratched her forearm. “You always take his side.” “When you start in on the name calling, Nerys, yes. It usually means that you’re just being aggressive again, not because you actually think that he’s wrong.” “All right, all right,” Vanjet said, trying to head off yet another spat between two of his mates. He thought that sometimes they would pick fights among each other just to get him riled up. He slid the welder back into his belt and hefted the axe. “I think that’s all right for now. But even still, even if you’re right, Nerys, and it’s a hostile ship coming in, one battleship can hardly stand up to the combined firepower of the Omicron and the Pirate King’s flagship. They’d get cut to pieces in short order.” A klaxon started blaring. They turned their eyes to Nerys, who grabbed the data cable and jacked it into her head. She closed her eyes for a moment as the illegal feed she was accessing poured data to her. “Well?” “The station is under attack,” she reported. She barked out a laugh. “It looks like a contingent of soldiers came in on a stealth vector.” Nerys actually sounded impressed. “How?” Vanjet asked, nodding, shaking Ford off, who made a small whimper of protest before taking a step away. “They have assault shuttles?” “No,” she said, laughing. “Battlesuits and grav boards!” Vanjet managed a chuckle. “Who would be insane enough to try that? They’ll be squished when they hit the station’s shields.” “It does seem like a crazy plan,” Ford agreed. Nerys opened her eyes and gave her a look. “There’s got to be more… ha!” she crowed. “They’ve got shield disruptors! Soldiers are landing on the hull of the station.” “Things have just gotten interesting.” Vanjet stretched, nearly thumping Ford in the face with the flat of his new weapon. “Hey!” she cried, ducking under the weapon. She then darted forward and bit him on the forearm. He yelped and she laughed, dancing away from a swipe with his empty hand.

“The Elder is calling a meeting,” Thyne informed him over the video link, some hours later. “Apparently Primarch Glue has returned and he has something he wants to say to all of us.” “And he’s calling a full conclave?” Vanjet narrowed his eyes. “I assume this has to do with the attack on the station?” Nerys had been keeping him apprised. The Vineyard was making a rather poor showing and the interloper had managed to get itself in close to the station, close enough to use the docked battleships for cover. Whoever was running this attack had clearly thought out his options and was pushing things to the very limit. But even a brilliant tactician couldn’t overcome the staggering difference in numbers. “You assume correctly, or so the rest of us believe,” Thyme said. “It’s the only thing that makes any kind of sense. And I suspect he’s going to ask us to fight.” “Against who? The invaders?” Vanjet asked. “We don’t even know who these people are.” He shuddered at a memory. “Could be Imperials.” “Imperials?” Thyne replied, trying to think. “No, it couldn’t be. The Imperials cleared out of the Spine months ago. And why would they care at all about a pirate station in the middle of nowhere?” “Who knows why Humans do anything?” Vanjet grumped. “They’re a bunch of violent animals. Who eat people!” Every Sundered knew about he barbeque pits down on the lower levels and the wild parties that happened every month. “I don’t know who he’s going to ask us to fight,” Thyne admitted. “But you’ve heard Glue speak before. He doesn’t mince words or speak half-truths. And you know he’s been out there fighting for our people ever since we came to the Omicron.” Vanjet growled. “I know he looks out for our people…” “Not this argument again,” Thyne said with a growl of his own. “He’s looking out for all of us. All the Sundered.” He nodded, tapping his fists against the bulkhead on either side of the monitor. “Yes. Yes, of course he is.” There were some among the Sundered, Thyne among them, who believed that Primarch Glue was going to be the savior of their people. Vanjet wasn’t convinced. Being trapped here on this station, surrounded by hostile humans, a place where there was no room to breathe or grow, in Vanjet’s opinion, was not a place that the Sundered would flourish. Maybe if there was a change in management, and if his people weren’t constantly harassed and antagonized, perhaps there might be a change. But there was no way of knowing who these attackers were for the moment. “But until we know who these soldiers are…” “You’re actually going to argue we stay out of the fighting?” Thyne demanded. “You would stay in poverty, in squalor? Looked down upon by the pirates here?” Vanjet clenched his fists, baring his fangs. “And how are we to know that these soldiers and their battleship coming in are any better? This could just be some rival Royal for the Pirate King.” “You are afraid, Vanjet. You’re acting like a child who’s afraid of losing his banana.” Vanjet roared and slapped the control, ending the call. He leaned against the bulkhead heavily with both hands. “How long were you listening?” he asked, his voice low. He didn’t turn around. “Long enough,” Nerys replied. Vanjet turned to face her and saw that she wasn’t alone. Three of his sons, Ghovork, Innes and Victrax, were standing just behind her. “Apparently, Thyne thinks you’re about to lose your banana.” He felt a growl growing in his throat. “Thyne is a reckless fool. He’s willing to throw away his life on a pipe dream. He’s willing to risk all our lives.” “Well, Father, he’s not the one who is going to decide these things,” Innes said. “It’s going to be a full vote of all the patriarchs, and you would be one of them.” “I will,” Vanjet replied, coming over to them, clapping Innes on the shoulder. “And all of you, I’m sure, will be there with me.”

The Moot of the families was a predictable affair. Primarch Glue was there, passionately entreating his people to join this cause, fighting against the pirates and their Blood Lord, Captain Jean-Luc Montagne. He was advocating that they could join in battle with another human, a female who called herself “Hold Mistress”. Vanjet had no idea what that meant, but it sounded as though she was offering the perfect lure to anyone foolish enough to die for her: a home. The Sundered had thought Omicron would be such a sanctuary, but it was just another lie. The Confederals and then later the Imperials had hounded and harassed the Sundered off of numerous worlds until the race of uplifts were afraid to set down any permanent roots. This place had been what they all thought would have to be their home. It wasn’t by choice; it was due to lack of choice. And now this “Hold Mistress” was holding out that same poisoned fruit again, promising fresh air and endless food, and a land to call their own. “All it would require is our deaths for a station we don’t really care about anyway,” he muttered to himself. “Shhh!” Lorixis hissed, glaring at him. He smiled at her and she blew a raspberry at him. The meeting went on. There was the usual chest-beating, the posturing, Glue and the Elder going round and round, argument and counter argument, and while Vanjet was no fan of the blowhard Elder, he found himself grudgingly impressed with Glue’s ability to speak. Clearly the Primarch was invested in this: he must truly believe in this. The Elder was pushing hard, trying to discredit the Primarch, throwing anything he could at the Primarch’s arguments. It was very clear that his own prejudices were rearing their heads here and it was costing him. Vanjet chuckled at the moment when one of the other males censured both the Elder and the Primarch for speaking about the Gorgon Alliance after having been told not to. Lorixis smacked him on the chest with the back of one hand, but he ignored her, his eyes fixed on the spectacle below. He wanted to yell but with the call for silence, he couldn’t. By the end of it all, however, it was clear which way the wind was blowing. Though his uplink to the Core, Vanjet could see that many of the males, as well as many of the females, were in favor of the Primarch’s call to arms. The Elder was holding on to a losing argument, especially when Glue dropped his last bombshell, the abundance of Trilium located in the area where the Hold Mistress was proposing they set up their homes. “By the very sacrifice of warriors and ship crews under my leadership,” Glue was saying, “We have the factories necessary to advantage ourselves of such riches.” He raised a finger to emphasize his next point, and Vanjet couldn’t help but feel himself drawn in by the Primarch’s words. “We did so without relying on the promises of others, or the foolish expectation that they will share their production capacity equally, between their population and ours.” That was an interesting point and it was one that Vanjet hadn’t considered. Of course, it hardly mattered. Vanjet was the male of a poor family with very few possessions, a small brood of dames and young ones, and no way of contributing to this grand future Glue was putting forth. If he had a ship, even a shuttle or a lander, he might be able to enrich his family and make a contribution to the great Sundered cause. And then Glue made his closing statement, one that made everyone notice. “There is something to what he says,” – referring to Puko’s words- “but I say that if we will not try this chance, we are no better than the Humans who destroyed our worlds and slaughtered our people, or the pirates that cannibalize us when they get the chance. If your choice is to do nothing… then I will not fight,” Glue said heavily. “You can fight for yourselves, and I am done with you.” And then, in a move that had to be a calculated dramatic flourish, he flopped down onto the metal deck plating, saying no more, waiting for the vote.

The vote didn’t take long. There were families spread out all over the Omicron and Vanjet’s was one that had to attend the Moot virtually, but with their connection through their cybernetics and the Core processors, everyone was able to make their opinion and their vote known. It wasn’t unanimous, but there was an overwhelming majority that sided with Primarch Glue, wanting to fight. “So the Sundered will go to war,” he said bitterly. “Against the might of the pirate forces here? We’ll be slaughtered.” “You whine a great deal,” a female voice came from behind him, chiding. “You can be silent,” Vanjet grumbled. “I’ve worked too hard to keep this family alive to go diving headlong into a war with the scum and hordes of Humans who want us dead.” Chumi, Lorixis’s mother, tutted at him. “It sounds like a reasonable concern. But it sounds more that you’ve gotten comfortable in this life here and you’re just afraid to step out into the unknown.” He moved so fast that Chumi didn’t even see him coming. The next thing she knew, he had her pinned against the bulkhead, his huge hand around her throat. He wasn’t hurting her, though the slam against the metal was hard enough to make it ring. “You listen close, crone,” he said, his voice a low growl. “I care about this family. It is the only thing I care about. And I am not interested in some cause, or in what you think of me.” She was squirming in his grasp, her hands on his trying to pry him loose. His grip tightened just enough for her to start to labor in her breathing and he brought his face to within inches of hers, her eyes widening. “You’re right, I am afraid. I’m afraid of losing the only thing that matters at all to me. But you will speak to me with respect. If this happens again, I will face my mate’s wrath and teach you another more permanent lesson.” With a yank, he hurled her away from the bulkhead, letting out a shriek of rage. She scrambled away, unhurt, but one hand was to her throat. Her eyes were wide with fear and she moved out of the main room of their living spaces as fast as her legs and one free arm could manage. Vanjet pulled himself back under control, his breathing coming in deep gulps of air, wuffs of air going out. He would pay for that, he knew. Lorixis wouldn’t take that little display of dominance meekly, though he might get less grief from Chumi for a few days. “Father, I understand that the vote is to fight,” Gragg said, coming into the main room, wielding a curved sword, with a heavy mace slung over his back. Gragg was the most warlike of all of Vanjet’s children, with another of his sons, Cygnus, being a close second. Cygnus had fashioned himself a breastplate out of Duralloy and had armed himself with a heavy spear. The sword was much more fashionable these days among the warriors but after seeing one of the Elders, Puko from the Moot in fact, working with one, Cygnus had decided to buck fashion and return to the traditional. Vanjet sighed. “Yes, my sons, the vote is to fight.” Cygnus stamped his trashcan lid-sized feet, showing his fangs in a grin. Gragg thumped his own bare chest with his free hand. “Yes, Father! Vanel and Ford will happily join us as well! The females with their rifles and we three with our blades, we will cut a swath through the pirate scum!” “You’re not leaving me out,” Ghovork declared, entering the main room. He was hefting a tripod-sized ion cannon, which he’d somehow appropriated from the pirates. The weapon was large and heavy, intended to be serviced by a crew of three, but the uplift held it easily. “Where did you get that?” Cygnus asked his elder brother, impressed. He outmassed Ghovork by a considerable margin and Ghovork had always been much more technical and mechanically minded than his more brutish brother. In grappling or with melee weapons, Cygnus always came out on top, but it was clear that Ghovork had no intention of engaging thugs in power armor at hand to hand. With this cannon, he’d be able to join in the fighting and keep out of close range. Fighting with ranged weapons was occasionally seen as a more feminine way of battle, but no one in this family would say a thing. It was Ghovork’s technical expertise that had helped keep them all alive over the years. “I traded for it,” the eldest said, propping the butt of the weapon on his hip, the muzzle pointed at the overhead. “One of the Skull Rangers wanted rid of it. Only cost two reconditioned air scrubbers and a data module.” “And they gave you a fully-functional weapon?” Gragg asked, eyeing the weapon critically. He was clearly dubious of his brother’s negotiating skills. Ghovork spat. “Of course not. He thought he was ripping off the stupid monkey-boy by giving me a faulty weapon. I changed out the ammo feed, got the rattle out of the receiver, changed the gas rings, and replaced the firing barrel and the focusing lens. Only took about six hours. The moron could have done it himself if he had any skill at all with a wrench.” He spat again. “But I spent the last month charging up power cells.” The Sundered gestured to the bandolier of reloads strapped over his chest. He turned to Vanjet. “I’m ready, Father.” Vanjet looked upon his three sons, those three here, and he thought his chest would burst with pride. They were sons that any father anywhere would want. “I must tell you all that I am not in agreement with the rest of the gathered Sundered families. I don’t support fighting the Blood Lord’s soldiers for this… female.” “But Father, it’s a chance,” Cygnus said, rolling his shoulders. “A chance to give some payback to those Humans. For keeping us here! For hounding us day and night!” Vanjet crossed the room and put a large hand on his son’s massive shoulder. “I don’t want you to die, son.” He kept his hand where it was as his son puffed out his chest. He looked to the others. “I don’t want any of you to die for another lie.” He dropped his hand and his head, looking at the deck plating. “I’m not…” He mumbled something. “You’re not what, Father?” Cygnus asked, concerned. The others crowded in, their bodies pressing in, giving physical comfort to their obviously troubled father. “What’s going on?” another voice said. They all looked up to see the rest of the family coming in from one of the back rooms. It was Nerys who had spoken. “You’re not what, love?” she asked. Vanjet slumped again as all eyes turned to him. He wanted to run away, get out from their laser-focused sight which had him pinned to the deckplates. “I’m not strong enough. I can’t lose any of you.” “Even me?” Chumi asked, her voice tart. “Don’t push me,” he growled and they all laughed. They all moved forward, each of them reaching out to touch the big gorilla. Kiysa came straight up to her sire and leaned against him, her tiny form barely coming up to his hip. With a watery bark, he reached down and picked her up, holding the small one close. “So what then?” Ford asked, after a moment. They all stepped back, giving Vanjet room to breathe. “We hole up here,” he said. “The fighting seems to be in the Black sector, near where the battleships are docked. But there will be retribution, especially when Primarch Glue and Elder Puko push forward. Not every one of the pirates is going to be able to get there and the Pirate Lord will undoubtedly want to keep some of the soldiers on the station in reserve in case of other surprises.” A glance over his family showed him some slightly disappointed faces and not just from the males. Ford and Vanel in particular looked upset. Both of them were crack shots with their blaster rifles and neither got the chance to use them as often as they would like. Ignus and Innes, two of his other children could fight if needed, but they didn’t revel in it like the others. Tayyan and Victrax always had their other projects on their minds and Kiysa was far too young. But even Chumi had an old plasma grenade launcher she kept lovingly in a trunk in the living quarters, though she only had three charges left. “All right. We work our way out,” he said finally. “But I’m determined that we are not going to lose anyone in this fight. I’m not dying nor sacrificing my family for Glue’s revolution. And I think we might do what we can to try and come out on top in this fight.” Nerys sidled up to her mate, Lorixis and Ford doing the same, all of them with similar amorous expressions on their faces and in their demeanors. “What do you have in mind, love?” Nerys asked. “I’m thinking there might be some material gain to be had,” he said, a slow grin spreading over his lips. That grin was infectious, as in seconds it was spreading to the rest of his family. “I’m thinking there might be some pirate holdouts that are not watched as closely or defended very heavily that a determined family could assault.” Ghovork gave a shriek of excitement, which caused the rest of them to follow his lead. In seconds they were all stamping and screaming and carrying on like wild animals. Even tiny Kiysa had a fist in the air, the other arm wrapped around her daddy’s neck.

The fighting had been going on for hours. The pickings had been disappointing, to say the least. Vanjet had led his fighters on three raids against targets provided by Nerys. She accessed the Core processors and found five different locations that were being lightly defended, but were more than simply collection points for troops. The first had been a small multipurpose room that was guarded by four restless pirates in power armor. They were all boasting to each other about how they’d be ripping apart the invaders and bathing in their blood. They brandished and postured with their weapons, telling tales. They were so engrossed in their stories and their fantasies about battles not being fought that they somehow managed to ignore the proximity warnings on their suit HUDs. By the time they realized there was a problem, it was too late. Energy blasts from Vanel’s long rifle took one in the faceplate, dropping him with two well-placed shots. Then the males closed to melee distance and tore the others to bloody fragments of Duralloy battle armor. Axes and swords rent their armor and finished them in mere seconds. They didn’t even have time to raise their weapons or call for help. They were encouraged by the easy win and Victrax gathered up the discarded weapons and ammunition. Four pirate blaster carbines and a handful of magazines wasn’t a great haul, but it was a start. The pirates were defending a small supply cabinet, with two crates of medical supplies, which Victrax happily snapped up. But after two other disappointing raids (a room full of expired ration bars? An empty armory?!) Vanjet was getting frustrated. The fighting had gotten heavy in a far section of the station, and as they were planning their route to the fourth spot Nerys had found, the station bucked from a heavy, concentrated blast of some sort. Vanjet’s heart tried to leap out of his chest. “Has the station been breached?” Nerys, her back hair prickling, quickly accessed the Core. After a long moment, she shook her head. “No. There was some sort of detonation aboard the station.” She smirked, letting out a little yip of amusement. “There was a bomb on one of the battleships. Someone moved it off the ship and onto the station.” “From the invader’s ship?” Vanjet asked, still concerned. If they were bringing ordnance over from their ship to attack the station… She laughed. “No, love. The bomb came over from the Armor Prince. It seems the ‘Hold Mistress’ and her troops seized the ship and got rid of an anti-mutiny device.” “That was what went off?” Nerys nodded. “Yes. And I’d say that it took out a good chunk of the pirate soldiers on the station. There was a large contingent that was moving to try and retake the battleship.” Another laugh. “So much for that plan!” Vanjet nodded. He shuddered. He’d seen the specs on one of those devices, not from Capria, but a Promethean design from over a century ago. If this one was anything like that device, it would have vaporized all of the organics on board the Armor Prince. Which meant that the Pirate King had intended to use it on his own troops if they decided to try and rise against him. “All right. We need to move now. I hope that this latest possibility is a better haul than the last one.” She dipped her head meekly. “I’m sorry, love. I didn’t think the pirates would be guarding an empty room!” He grunted. “I know. I didn’t either. But I think this one, whatever it is, will be the last for a while. We need to find a defensible position and hole up there until the fighting ends. After that little mess in the lower section, I think that the Pirate King might need to rethink his position here.” Getting into the guarded room was more difficult this time. The pirates were on full alert, weapons ready after hearing about the horde of Confederation Lancers and Caprian Marines cutting a swath through the station’s defenses. On top of that, once the anti-mutiny device went off and thousands more of the denizens of the pirate station were wiped out, their paranoia escalated to near divine levels. Twelve power-armored pirates, behind Duralloy shields, armed with blaster rifles and nasty-looking boarding axes, were waiting for someone, anyone, to come down the corridor to try and breach their position. But Vanjet and his family were better. Chumi pumped out plasma grenade down the corridor, which arced over the heads of the surprised pirates and exploded behind their metal barricades, broiling one of them in a cloud of fire and scattering the others in confusion. Which gave the Sundered their opening. Vanel and Ford laid down suppressive fire, hitting one of them in the shoulder joint and another in the forehead, but just above his faceplate. Ghovork stepped into the open and unleashed a barrage of ion bolts. One of the pirates took two hits straight into the chest and went down like a frozen marionette, clattering to the deck. Another took several hits in the head and shoulders and his upper armor locked up completely, giving him the appearance of a child pretending to be a zombie holding his arms outstretched. The blaster rifle in his hands shorted out and clunked to the deck. Four shots to the throat and he went crashing down. And then the other males were among them. Vanjet swung his massive axe with two hands, burying the weapon in the pirate’s shoulder, which then cleaved all the way across his chest and down nearly to his hip. However, the homemade weapon couldn’t stand up to the strain of the blow and the haft of the axe snapped off in Vanjet’s hands. Not slowing, Vanjet pivoted and stabbed the broken Duralloy haft under the arm of another, jamming it into the slightly thinner part of the power armor. Blood fountained from the wound, spraying all over him. The pirate’s scream, though muffled, was clearly audible as he collapsed to the deck. Gragg cleanly lopped the head off of another of the pirate soldiers with his curved sword, while Cygnus stabbed one through the groin. He yanked the spear loose and reversed it, smashing the butt of the weapon into the faceplate which shattered. Both of Vanjet’s sons had huge, feral grins on their faces. They were in their element. Vanjet didn’t have much time to spare for them. He scooped up one of the pirate’s boarding axes (which compared with his large frame felt like a toy instead of a deadly weapon) and leaped on another one, chopping furiously. There was a cry of pain behind him; Vanjet could hear Gragg’s voice. A rapid glance showed him that his son had been shot in the left arm and the left shoulder. Then he gave a howl and slashed his warblade into the pirate’s armor, cutting huge bloody rents in the Duralloy. The scum fired another blaster bolt into Gragg’s stomach as he died, and the big male staggered, clutching the wound. They made short work of the rest of the guards, as the two females picked apart two while Vanjet and his sons took care of the rest. Ghovork covered them and blasted one as he was about to shoot his brother Cygnus in the back. Cygnus glanced over and grunted. Ghovork smiled, flashing fangs. “Chumi!” Vanjet bellowed. “Get over here! See to Gragg!” The older female rushed over, the grenade launcher slung behind her back, pulling out a handheld medkit. “Vanel, stay with him. Cygnus, Ghovork, with me.” They went inside the next compartment, a decent sized room filled with plastic crates. “More ration bars?” Cygnus complained as Ghovork pushed past him. Ghovork popped the lid on one of the boxes and his eyes lit up. “Oh, this is lovely. Father!” “What?” Vanjet came over, curious. He looked inside of the crate. Then he looked at his eldest. “It’s a box of electronics. Oh, valuable, I’m sure, Ghovork, but not really something we can use.” “No, father, these are things we can use!” his son crowed, hopping from foot to foot, the ion cannon thumping unnoticed against his back. “Communications gear, motherboards.” He checked in another crate, then nodded. “All the things you’d need to build spy satellites or a hell of a communications command bunker.” Vanjet considered this. It wasn’t the most useful of items, certainly not here on a pirate port station, but on a ship… Then he growled again. He didn’t have a ship or a station of his own. Maybe if he did, he might be able to join in with this… Hold Mistress… Then he shook his head. “She still has to win,” he said softly. Ghovork was beside himself with joy. “Look at this, computer parts, cooling systems. Father, I have no idea the condition of all these parts are, I mean I’ll have to go over them all and probably repair and fix ‘em up but Father!” He turned to Vanjet, his eyes aglow. “Father, you could run a fleet with the gear that’s in this room. Once it all works, of course.” Another damned tease. Something that would be worth its weight in Trillium to the right person and yet useless to Vanjet right now. But looking at his son’s face, he couldn’t just turn him down flat. Ghovork looked as though he was going to start dancing a jig he was so excited. “All right,” he said, picking up his new axe. I hate this thing. Feels like a gardening trowel. “How do we get all this out of here?” The big uplift looked around the compartment. “I don’t see any grav carts around here.” “There are some in the next compartment, Father,” Vanel called from out in the corridor. He looked over and saw that his daughter was stripping the dead pirates of anything valuable: weapons, ammunition, even dragging the corpses into a single pile for salvage later. She saw him looking. “Waste not, Father.” He chuckled. “How is Gragg?” “He’ll live,” Chumi called. “I shot him up with some combat heal and gave him some antibiotics and a painkiller cocktail and patched up his wounds. It’s the belly wound that has me the most concerned. I’ll keep an eye on it.” She was muttering to herself as she affixed a flexible gauze pad to his wound. Then she poked him hard with two fingers in the chest, the uninjured part. “And this fool needs to get himself some chest armor. Might prevent things like this in the future.” Gragg only looked sheepish, while the others started driving grav carts into the room. He grimaced; the painkiller didn’t quite mask the pain of the wound. “Don’t like heavy metal armor,” he gasped. “Can’t move well in it.” “Might want to rethink that, fool,” Chumi told him, poking him again. “Enough,” Vanjet said, bringing out one of the crates and placing it on an available grav cart. “Help me get him on this cart here.” At his son’s growl of protest, he gave a bark of command. “You’ve been shot! We need to get you back home, Gragg. A shot in the belly is no joking matter, son. Just this one ride back.” Gragg grumbled to himself, but allowed his father and Chumi to help him onto the cart.

The fighting went on for many more hours, but Vanjet kept the family holed up in their compartments. The pirates, thankfully, were busy with the Confederation and Caprian troops, apparently their Colonel and their Hold Mistress were powerful and very good. “Oh, that is just beautiful!” Nerys crowed, a data cable plugged into her head and into the nearby station data feed. “The Hold Mistress and her forces on board the Armor Prince have just taken down the League ships. Most have surrendered, a good number have been destroyed!” She looked over at the others and grinned. “They’re broken! Only the Pirate King has any of his ships left.” “Battleships,” Lorixis groused. “Vineyard and it looks like he took the invader’s battleship too.” Nerys blinked in surprise. “The captured invader’s battleship just ejected a fusion core!” Her gaze swept the room. “And they’re… they’re running!” Vanjet blinked. “They’re running? They’re actually leaving the system?” “They’re turning away from the Omicron,” Nerys replied. “Vineyard is following.” “They drove him off.” Vanjet shook his head. “The Human female actually did it.” “Now, if their troops and the Primarch can secure the station…” Ghovork said, working on a component from their raid on the storage compartment. His thick fingers easily handled the precision tools he needed to get the device operational. Vanjet shrugged. “They’re doing a good job so far, surprisingly. A force that small should not have been able to bull through the defenders the way they have.” Pirates have no real discipline. They’re not warriors, they’re thugs. A mob of thugs. “Impressive.”

It took four more days for things to calm down. In that time, the family had to fend off a platoon of Skull Rangers who decided that the monkeys had just too much security and too many breaks. And they needed to pay for what had happened. Bitter over the Alliance between the Hold Mistress of Messene’s Lancers and the Sundered, they’d just started killing anyone who wasn’t a member of the League, be they uplift, Human, droid, whatever. The family had stayed inside, but when the Rangers had come knocking, with explosives, no less, they had responded in kind. Ghovork’s ion cannon combined with Vanel and Ford’s blaster rifles convinced them to find easier prey. The compartment had been shot up, the corridor torn up and the door was completely shredded, but thankfully none of the family had been more than singed. Two of the pirates were killed in the fighting and the rest fell back. They’d made their point. “They blew apart the door!” Lorixis wailed. “And the front compartment!” She walked forward and lifted a corner of a charred chunk of metal then dropped it back down to the deckplates. “We can fix something up, Mother,” Innes replied, moving over to the remains of the door. He pulled out a hand scanner and then the lights on his cranial implant began blinking furiously. “Well the computer locking mechanism is a total loss, but I think I can whip up something mechanical.” He turned back and pointed one black-furred arm at one of the bulkheads. “Use metal from the walls to construct a makeshift door.” He shrugged. “Won’t take a few hours.” “Get started,” Vanjet said, gesturing. “Enlist your brothers and sisters to help, but leave Vanel to cover you. I’m not taking any chances.” He took a step forward and then grimaced. The small cameras Ghovork had installed in the corridor had been either destroyed in the blast or shot out by the Skull Rangers when they’d approached.

“Now that’s interesting.” Vanjet looked up from the captured blaster rifle he was cleaning. He wasn’t as good a technician as his son, but he could turn a wrench. With all of the weapons they’d appropriated from the pirates, they had a respectable armory now. There wasn’t a huge stockpile of ammunition, but there was enough in their possession to make a respectable showing should anyone decide to attack them. But with twelve rifles in varying condition, there were almost enough to go around. He let out a sigh. When Nerys made comments like that, he knew that trouble might lay ahead. In fact, the last time she’d said those very words was when the Lucky Clover had arrived and thrown everything into turmoil here. Though, Vanjet had to admit to himself (since he wouldn’t admit it to anyone else), perhaps the arrival of Admiral Montagne’s ship and soldiers had been a good thing. “What?” He went back to his work when he saw his mate was still plugged into the station’s datanet. “Over half the League corvettes and cutters are leaving the station, as is the Armor Prince,” Nerys said, not opening her eyes. “And look at this! The Vineyard and the captured battleship are leaving as well.” “Montagne is leaving?” Vanjet replied, looking up again from his work. “They actually drove him off?” “Yes, and it seems as though Primarch Glue has managed to get our people in control of nearly all of the League ships.” She nodded, her eyes still closed. “Yes. Sundered work crews are taking control of 90 percent of the corvettes and cutters.” She opened her eyes and the lights blinking furiously on her cybernetics began to blink slower. “Are you sorry we didn’t join in the fighting now?” He popped his lips at her. “No. We could have captured one of their ships, I’m sure, but I wasn’t willing to risk all our lives for that. And Gragg was already seriously hurt in our raids, who knows what would have happened if we’d actively joined in the fighting?” Nerys stared at him for a long moment, as though trying to decide what to say. Vanjet sighed, knowing that she was going to call him out for being a coward. But then she shook her head. “No, you’re probably right. Having someone die just to gain a ship in the end…” She shrugged, a gesture that used her whole arms. “I’m not sure it’s worth it, though the young males might think differently.” He grunted, swabbing out the carbon-scored firing barrel with a brush. “If I didn’t have this family as a whole to worry about, if I was just a single male, like the Primarch, I might think differently.” Then he chuckled. “No, I would be thinking differently. I’d be first in line and I would have taken one of those corvettes.” She smiled at him. “Not one of the cutters?” He shrugged. “Cutters are small and fast, but you can do more with a corvette. More versatile.” Nerys blew a raspberry at him and he grunted again. She closed her eyes and went back to swimming in the digital currents in one of the Core processors. “When are the young ones getting back?” Vanjet asked, a few moments later. “No long, Father,” Kiysa replied, bounding into the room. He looked at her and couldn’t help a smile crossing his lips. She was still the light of his life, Daddy’s little girl. He was proud of his sons, doted on his daughters, but Kiysa was special. “Ghovork wanted to try and trade some of the comm-un-i-cay- shuns gear for some of the fresh produce from the hy-dro- ponics!” she enunciated carefully. Vanjet nodded seriously to her. “Yes, little one, I remember. I just hope they get back quick.” She came over to him and Vanjet could see a smile on Nerys’s face. She wasn’t Kiysa’s biological parent, but she and Ford loved that little child just as much as her mother Lorixis did. All of the family held the little female in a special place in their hearts, even gruff Gragg and Cygnus, who were far older. “Isn’t it good that they can go out, Father?” Kiysa asked seriously. “They can bring back lots of goodies!” She bounced up and down in excitement. Vanjet nodded, smiling, but then leaned a bit closer to her, getting grease from the weapon on his chest, but he ignored it. He whispered conspiratorially. “That’s why I want them to get back quick!” They laughed. “I heard,” he said, his voice a more normal tone, “That Resh and Floome have a crop of blueberries that are just about ripe.” Kiysa looked at him, wide-eyed. She’d never had any of those before, there had never been any opportunity to trade anything of value to the hydroponics workers for much fresh produce and never such a luxury as blueberries. “What are those, Father?” she asked, her voice hushed. She was looking between him and the gun on a cloth on his lap. She never touched it; Kiysa knew better. “They, little one, are among the best treats you can have,” he told her seriously, going back to his work with the brush. This weapon wasn’t all that bad, it was just poorly maintained. It was so stupid! Why would pirates, violent people by nature and profession, take such poor care of the things that they used for pleasure and for their livelihood? One would think that keeping their weapons in good working order would be paramount, second only perhaps to a functioning life-support system. “Ooohhh,” Kiysa said, amazed. “Ooohhh,” Vanjet repeated, then he reached out and chucked her chin. She giggled at the blob of dirt that was transferred from his dirty hand and scampered off. “Now I want blueberries,” Nerys said, her voice mischievous. She opened her eyes a slit, giving a look to her mate. “I remember the first time you gave some of them to me.” Vanjet smiled at the memory. “I remember you not eating many of them. I just remember you popping one in your mouth, getting a look of-…” “Ecstasy,” she supplied. “Ecstasy on your face. And then you flung yourself at me. I don’t think any of the others got eaten. Waste of a perfectly good treat.” She gave him a wicked grin. “I don’t recall you complaining at the time.” “I’m not really complaining now.” Then he chuckled. “That was an excellent treat, now that I think about it.” She harrumphed. “Glad you see things properly.”

The hydroponics compartment, J25667839, otherwise known as the Green Box, was a mess. When Ghovork, Ignus and Victrax arrived there, they felt confident. Ghovork had found another of the Sundered who was willing to trade station credits for some of the comm gear that they had lifted from the pirates. Why anyone would really need that on a space station, the young uplift wasn’t sure, but he felt he’d gotten a good price for it. Now they could put those credits to good use, getting some fresh food for the larder and some other odds and ends that they needed, proper medical treatment for Gragg being paramount. They’d already brought their brother to the small medical facility nearby, leaving Vanel there to keep an eye on him while he was taking a dip in one of the tanks. The Green Box looked as though it had seen better days. Apparently, during the fighting on the station, someone had gotten in here and decided to just start destroying things. “What happened here?” Ghovork demanded, looking at the assortment of burned and blasted fruit trees, and gardens that looked as though they’d been knocked over and trampled. A silverback uplift hobbled over to the three younger ones. He had a bandage around two his forearm and his bicep on the same arm, and his right leg looked to have been injured as well. He also had angry looking red scratches on his face. “What happened, young one? What happened was that the pirates came looking for some retribution.” He grunted as he walked, clearly limping and also just as clearly in pain. “There are groups here who really don’t like the new management, these Tracto-ans and their Marine allies.” He wuffed out a sigh. “Can’t say as I really know them yet. But their Hold Mistress has started to live up to some promises.” “But that didn’t help you here,” Ignus pointed out, gazing around at the carnage of what used to be a healthy and productive hydroponics bay. The silverback shrugged, then winced in pain. “No, but they only have so many troops.” “Who did this?” Ghovork demanded. Another shrug. “Humans. Pirates. They all look the same to me.” But then he brightened. “So what can I do for you younglings. You didn’t come down here to listen to some old curmudgeon grump about his troubles.” The three uplifts looked at him for a long moment until it stretched out into the uncomfortable. “Um, well, we have some credits,” Victrax said. The old uplift beamed. “Well, then. Let’s see what this old one can get for you.” They spent the next ten minutes haggling. Ghovork managed to talk him down from twenty of their precious credits to thirteen for a container of greens and for a small bushel of fruit by volunteering to help him clean up some of the mess and to get the water filtration system back up and running. That took him little more than an hour, and with a few small cuts on his hands, a lot of swearing and getting sprayed by a water pipe with a faulty valve, it was finally completed. Ignus, of course, in typical little sister fashion, teased him mercilessly. But, in the end, they managed a decent haul of food and made the old gorilla more amenable to doing business with them again. “I think we might be able to go back there again and get more,” Victrax noted, hefting the container of fruit as they walked down the corridor back to the medical center. Ignus chuckled. “As long as we bring credits and a wrench, I think that old one will be happy to oblige. But I don’t think your winning personality will do it.” She smiled broadly. “But maybe he’d be willing to give Big Brother a shower again, if he asked nicely.” Ghovork snorted, glaring at his younger sister. She just continued smiling and pushing the grav cart with the larger container of greens. There wasn’t quite enough room for both containers on the cart, and Victrax didn’t seem to mind carrying the smaller one. Rounding a corner, they saw a small group of people, Humans and Sundered clustered around the entrance to the med center. The medical center was actually just three compartments stuffed with whatever gear the pirates had managed to steal or salvage over the years. It was one of perhaps a dozen on the station, operated by an overworked trio of Sundered who did their best to see to the medical needs of two sectors of the station. None of them had any formal medical training, but away from the Core Worlds, out here on a pirate station, anything they could do for the health of their patients was heaven-sent. Not that it was appreciated by those same patients. Ghovork stepped ahead of his siblings and approached the crowd. “What’s going on?” he asked to a female uplift who had been yelling something. “Those bastards!” she shrieked, shaking her fist. “They just rushed into the compartment and started trashing things!” His blood ran cold. “Gragg!” he shouted, fighting his way through the crowd. There were perhaps twenty people here, though thankfully it seemed as though most of them had left their weapons at home. He burst through and rushed inside the med center. He found three humans inside beating on someone with truncheons and pipes lying on the floor. Without even thinking about it, Ghovork raced inside, and rushed the closest one. He slammed into the man at full tilt, sending the man flying. A vicious swipe of his arm knocked the second one sprawling and he got a good look at the victim lying on the deckplates. It was Gragg. He was bleeding profusely from a dozen wounds and his limbs looked mangled from the heavy blows. Ghovork gave an ear-splitting roar and dove at the third man, his hands clenched into fists. By the time Ignus got inside, Ghovork had beaten the man nearly to death. She’d left Victrax out with the cart, figuring he’d be safe, but after hearing her older brother screaming she chased after him. Bursting in on the scene, she dragged Ghovork off the human. The man was very, very dead, and her brother was splattered with his blood. He tried to fight her off, but the strength was flagging from his limbs, the rage was burning out. Then she saw Gragg and her own back went up. She shrieked in pain and anger and the other two men scrambled to their feet, running for the exit. Ignus chased after them for a few steps, but they quickly were out the door and melded into the crowd. With another shriek of rage, Ignus turned back to her brothers. Ghovork wasn’t entirely in control of his senses yet, so it fell to her. She dropped to her knees beside her fallen sibling and gently placed her head on his chest, listening intently. She could hear him laboring to breathe, the scrape of broken ribs, but no bubbling. Miraculously, Gragg hadn’t punctured a lung in the assault. “I need help!” Ignus screamed. “Somebody help me!”

When the news came in, the rest of the family was on their feet. All of them grabbed up weapons and armor, Chumi grabbed her medikit and they were out the hastily repaired door. How could this have happened? Ghovork and the others had just gone out to take Gragg to the med center and to trade some of the useless comm gear for food. How the hell did doing that turn into Gragg being nearly beaten to death, Vanel with a concussion and the new authorities locking the place down? Vanjet led the way, but the others were so close behind that they were all nearly tripping over each other. When they reached the med center, a phalanx of armored Humans in full battle gear and loaded weapons were waiting there, keeping everyone back, but there were very few people actually here for gawking. The Omicron was not a place loaded with civilians with nothing better to do. The closest Human wearing the heavy power armor painted with the insignia for Caprian Marines leveled his blaster rifle with one hand and raised his other to stop them. “Hold up there! This is a restricted area.” “My son and daughter are here!” Vanjet told him, trying to push past. Three more Marines moved up to assist, their weapons also leveled and ready to fire. “And who are you?” “Vanjet! My son Gragg and daughter Vanel are here, they were injured. Three of my other children are here as well. Let me through!” he bellowed. “I’m sorry,” the Marine replied, genuine remorse in his voice. “But I can’t let anyone through. Please don’t make this difficult.” Vanjet actually took a step back at that comment. Nerys, Ford and Lorixis hissed in anger. “Difficult? Difficult?! Those are my children in there! They’re hurt and I need to see them.” His eyes narrowed and his voice dropped. “And you are standing in my way. Let… me… through!” he bellowed, stepping forward again. The Marine looked as though he was going to argue and the closed faceplates of the other Marines were completely impassive. “Father!” a voice came from behind the armored men, the sound of feet slapping on the metal deckplates. They all turned, Victrax was rushing out of the med center at top speed, a look of relief on his features. “Stand down,” the Marine said and they all stepped back as the family of Sundered hustled forward. Victrax was in his father’s arms but the elder didn’t even slow down. He kept moving forward and with two steps, Victrax had reversed his direction and was side by side with him as all of them charged for the door of the med center. “Where are they?” Vanjet demanded, coming to a stop a few steps inside the door. The room was filled with the chatter of people, shouting and clattering of tools and metallic instruments. Vanjet could easily hear the sound of medical equipment beeping and then the sloshing of liquid. “Ghovork! Vanel!” “They’re in here, Father,” Victrax told him, a strong grip on his father’s upper arm, pulling him forward. “Where?” Nerys asked, barely holding together. “Where are they?” The others crowded in close. “In here, Father,” Victrax repeated, pulling him forward. “It’s bad,” he warned. They walked into the next compartment and a team of Humans, males and females working on someone on one of the tables. There were lights and diagnostic equipment. One of the males moved to the side and Vanjet saw a hand. A thick, calloused hand that could only belong to a Sundered. His heart stopped beating. Vanjet couldn’t hear anything, not the screams of his mates, not the pull of his own breathing, not the beeping of the medical equipment, not even Victrax’s voice. Nothing. One minute he was standing inside the doorway of the room, the next he was shoving medics and doctors out of the way. When he saw… his knees gave way. “Father,” a hushed female voice broke through the veil that had surrounded him. He turned to look and saw Vanel standing there, a bandage around her head and a weak smile on her face. Struggling, he forced himself to a standing position and turned to face her. None of the others moved to help him; they were all concerned with Gragg on the table there. All of them were arguing and pleading with the medical staff, who in turn were trying to get them out of the way so that they could get back to work on the young uplift. “Vanel,” he said, grabbing her and crushing her in an embrace. After a moment, he released her. “What happened to him?” “Back off!” one of the medics shouted, her patience at an end. “I need to get to him so I can treat him. You all need to take a few steps back! I am trying my best to save him.” “You’d better!” Nerys wept. “He’s my son!” The medic looked at her, sympathy in her eyes. “I understand, ma’am. I’m going to do everything I can, but you need to get everyone back.” Innes took hold of Nerys’s arm and gently led her away, but her eyes never left the body of her son. Vanjet looked back to his daughter. “Vanel, what happened to him? “We brought him here, Father,” she explained. “I stayed behind to watch him while the others went to get the foodstuffs.” Vanel took a steadying breath. “The medics were just about to put Gragg into one of the tanks when a group of humans burst in. They shot the medics; I got clipped in the head by one of them. I fell and I couldn’t do anything.” He nodded dully. “One of them kicked me in the stomach, but then Gragg tried to charge after them. He was still hurt and he couldn’t walk too well and they just laughed at him.” She looked down at the floor in shame. “I couldn’t do anything.” Again he nodded. “I wasn’t here. I should have been here.” “You can’t be everywhere, Father,” Vanel chided. Then she gave a weak smile. “Besides, that’s when Ghovork and Ignus arrived. They saved us. Ghovork killed one of them and Ignus drove the other two away.” Vanjet felt his strength slowly returning and his vision clearing. “I’m just glad they got there in time. How are you feeling?” She nodded slowly. “I’ll be all right, Father,” Vanel assured him. She gestured to the medics. “They gave me a hit of Combat Heal and a painkiller. I just shouldn’t sleep for a while.” He hugged her again. “We have to get off this station. Get away from this hellhole. It’s nearly killed Gragg twice, and now you. There have been too many close calls.” He sighed, but his fists clenched. “Where would we go, Father?” she asked as he released her. “We don’t have anything worth trading for, nothing that could get us off the Omicron.” “I know, Daughter, I know,” Vanjet replied. He looked over to where the medics were working and the rest of the family was commiserating. “Who are they?” “Caprian Marines,” Vanel said. “They showed up shortly after the attack, coming in at the run. Someone must have alerted them to the shots being fired and they came in to restore order. The doctors were dead, but they came in and patched me up and began working on Gragg almost immediately.” Vanjet stared at them for a long moment. “If they save my son… I will have found a reason to trust a Human.” Vanel looked at her father, knowing how serious that statement was. “Me too, Father.” She gestured to the medics. “The Marines and the Confederation Lancers have actually been doing good. Especially if they’ve decided to keep the med center open.” He didn’t answer. He closed his eyes and just stood there. His daughter stayed with him, stayed close.

They stayed there for over two hours. Kiysa came out of the operating area within minutes, bored and more than a little intimidated by what was going on around her. She came over to Vanjet and Vanel, bringing Ghovork and Innes with her. Ghovork gave his own report to his father in a rushed, angry tone. He apologized for losing his temper, but at the thought that his brother might be dead and that these Humans might have killed him, he’d completely lost control. Vanjet jet put a hand on his eldest’s shoulder and said nothing. When he finally overcame his emotions, he only said, “You’re alive and you saved your brother. That’s all I care about. That you’re all still alive.” Ghovork only nodded, then walked away, pulling a multitool from a belt pouch, and stepping up to one of the disabled scanning devices, he set to work. Vanjet let him go, knowing that his son needed something to occupy his mind while the medics worked on Gragg. He envied him that; that Ghovork could just walk away and lose himself in a project like that. Vanjet sighed. He didn’t have that luxury, not anymore. He had to keep an eye on the rest of the family and make sure that all of them stayed grounded and safe. But finally, one of the medics came out of the compartment, wiping her hands on a sterilizing cloth. All of the family members got to their feet, the females huddling around Vanjet, the males standing as tall and showing as much strength as their anxious bodies could display. “Who’s in charge here?” the Human woman asked. She didn’t seem the slightest bit nervous or anxious to be addressing a room of frightened and worried Sundered. Creatures that could just as easily rip her apart with their bare hands and there were enough of them that even the Marines outside would be helpless to stop them if they came at her in a mad rush. “I am,” Vanjet replied, his voice steady. He was proud of that, of how steady his voice was. He was ready to hear the news that would thrust them into despair. If Gragg had died in battle, that perhaps could be understood. But to be attacked and beaten to death while in a medical center, awaiting treatment. That was no good death. Not that there ever really is. “Well, the young Sundered, I understand his name is Gragg.” “Yes, he’s my son.” It was so difficult to get those words out. “Well, your son, he’s in rough shape,” she said, looking his square in the eye. Vanjet was amazed that she showed no fear in the presence of so many Sundered. “He had a number of broken bones, a severely bruised right kidney, three skull fractures, which is impressive, considering the amount of bone and metal he had in his head. Oh, and a hell of a lot of internal and, well, external bleeding. We did a lot of quick and dirty surgery to fix the internals, put some staples and quick knit for the bones and we’ve just gotten him into one of the tanks. He’s going to be in there for a good long while, I’m afraid. We have to pull him every eight hours because we have to flush the fluids out of the tank and process and filter them.” She sighed, checking and then turning the cloth so that a clean patch wiped her forehead. She waved a hand to indicate the med center. “This isn’t a proper and fully equipped medical facility. It’s what the pirates had available and it didn’t look like they were all that concerned with the health and well-being of their fellows. If you got hurt or shot, if a vial of Combat Heal couldn’t fix it, well, they were done with you.” “But what is his prognosis, Doctor?” Vanjet asked, unable to stand the female’s prattling about unimportant things. “What? Oh!” she said, shaking her head vigorously, blinking her eyes numerous times. “Sorry, I’m beyond tired right now. I can see you all are, too.” She looked into their anxious faces and nodded. “So long as he gets the treatments in the regen tank and it’s going to take about eight of them, he’ll make it. In fact, he should make a full recovery.” Vanjet’s legs turned to rubber and he nearly fell. If not for the rest of his family leaning into him for support and their ability to catch him in time, he would have. The woman hustled forward, heedless of her own safety and put a hand on the big Sundered’s shoulder. Pulling out a hand scanner, she waved it around, watching the small display. “Damn, you’re dehydrated and your vitals are looking…” She looked him straight in the face. “How long has it since you’ve eaten, sir?” Vanjet got his feet under him again and nodded, shrugging off the help from his family. “It has been some time, Doctor.” “Wait right here,” she said, heading into the other compartment, while all of the Sundered just stood and looked to one another and to the hatchway where the Human female had gone. Less than half a minute later, she returned, bringing a small sack filled with what looked like ration bars. She held it out to them, taking one out and presenting a foil-wrapped bar. “Here, each of you, take one. Eat. You’re all needing to raise your blood sugar levels and you’re all lacking in a lot of vital nutrients. The substandard conditions on this damned station…” she said, trailing off. When none of them moved, she sighed. “Please, they’ll help you. I’ve spoken with your Primarch at one of the briefings. I promise you that these will help. They’re meant for cases of malnutrition and I can’t see a more perfect time to use these.” They all looked from her to the ration bar in her hand, suspicion plain on all of their faces, even on little Kiysa. She’d learned well that Humans often said one thing and then did another. And it was rare when a Human would actually tell the truth. But this Human seemed nice. She was giving them food, something that she’d been without for a long time. So before anyone could stop her, she grabbed it from the female’s hand, ripped open the foil packaging and took a bite. She looked back to the others, a smile on her face. “It doesn’t really taste like anything,” Kiysa complained. “A little like the sweet treats but without as much sweet.” Everyone chuckled at her innocent comment, then with far more trepidation than the youngling had showed, each reached forth and helped themselves to one of the ration bars. As they were munching away, the Human female nodded and gave them an encouraging smile. “I promise you, you’ll all start feeling better fairly soon. I know life on this station has been hard and sometimes awful, but the Caprian Marines are here now. And the Confederation Lancers,” she added as an afterthought. Swallowing the rest of the bar, Vanjet looked to this woman, this confusing female. “What is your name, Doctor.” She chuckled. “I’m not a doctor. My name is Corporal Reina Windlass, I’m a corpsman with the Caprian Marines under Colonel Wainwright. Lieutenant Bloede out there heard the call over the comms that there was trouble in this area, and thankfully we happened to be nearby. He brought out platoon out to try and restore order and do what we can to help.” “But why?” Vanjet asked. “You’re Human. We are not.” She shrugged, but then her gaze turned to flint. “Our people are allied with yours, sir. We took this station from the pirates, but to good people like you and your family, well, we only want to help. And I know there are plenty of scum left on this station who try to take advantage of good people like you.” She beamed, tapping her chest. “That’s when you call in the Marines!” The others looked from the Human female to Vanjet. He tapped his own chest. “I am Vanjet. I am the head of this family. And…” He hesitated, feeling all their eyes on him as he spoke. “And I thank you for what you’ve done for my son, for all my children you helped. Will you be able to save Gragg?” Reina nodded. “So long as his treatment doesn’t get interrupted, yes. And as I said, I believe that he will make a full recovery.” “If you can do that, Corporal Windlass of the Caprian Marines, then if you have need, you call on me.” Vanjet stood proudly, meaning every single word. “And I will do whatever I can to help.” Reina gazed at him solemnly. She wordlessly extended her hand and after a moment, he extended his own and shook it. “Please don’t worry about Gragg. We’ll take good care of him and I promise to keep him safe. I recommend that you go back to your home. If you have a comm code, I will call you the minute there is any change or when he’s ready to go home.” “Thank you,” Nerys said, drawing Reina’s attention. “Thank you for everything.” “Of course,” the Marine corporal replied. “It was my duty.”

“There’s a ship that just jumped into nearby space,” Nerys was saying a week later. “A corvette.” “One of the ships for the Sundered or the Multi-Sector Patrol Fleet?” Vanjet asked. He was running the protein resequencer, feeding in some of the last of the fruit which was about to spoil and a few of the expired ration bars that they had acquired on one of the raids. They really couldn’t eat any of that, but throw it in the resequencer and blam: instant breakfast. Nerys shook her head. “I don’t know. It isn’t flying the flag of either.” She smiled. “It’s not broadcasting any beacon ID, truth be told.” “That’s strange,” Vanjet said, looking over at her for a moment. “You’d think they’d want to make themselves known.” But then he nodded, just as he saw Nerys nod back. “Unless for some reason they don’t want to be recognized.” “But then why come here?” Nerys asked. Then she frowned. “They’ve got to know something’s up! Two of the regular battleships are gone, as are over half of the smaller ships.” Vanjet shrugged. “It is strange. Could be another pirate vessel. They might think that the bulk of the Pirate King’s fleet is out on a big raid or something.” His mate agreed. “They’re sending a whisker laser over to the station.” She concentrated hard and the lights on her cybernetic implants began blinking furiously in sequence. “I think they’re requesting permission to dock. I’m not getting a clear feed from the control deck. And their transmission is really garbled.” “Hmmm,” her mate said, putting the last of the day’s portion into the hopper. “I wonder who they are.” “I don’t suppose it much matters, so long as they stay away from here,” Vanjet decided. “And if they cause too much trouble, the Marines and Lancers will deal with them.” “You’re really taken with our new Hold Mistress’s forces aren’t you?” his mate asked, smiling a bit. Vanjet paused, thinking about that. “They’ve kept their promises so far. Corporal Windlass kept hers when she saved Gragg. Hell, he’s back up to fighting form.” Gragg stepped into the room, rolling his shoulders a bit. The Combat Heal the medics gave him took care of the minor scars, but he had some serious scarring on his belly from the blaster wound and patches on his forearms and right shoulder from where his broken bones had pierced through the skin. His dark hair hadn’t grown back to hide the scars, but Gragg wouldn’t do that anyway. He was stiff and sore with when he moved, still getting used to walking and moving around again, but he was proud of his battle wounds. And he was grateful to Corporal Windlass and her team of medics for saving his life. “I am, Father,” he said, smiling. “Those Confederation doctors know what they’re doing.” “Even using the pirate junk they have here for medical equipment,” Vanjet quipped. He stood and walked over to Gragg. “I’m glad to see you on your feet, son.” “Thank you, Father.” The big uplift thought for a moment. “I’ve been considering what Mother Chumi suggested, about the armor, I mean.” “I think it was more of a taunt and an insult, son,” Vanjet said with a smirk. But Gragg shook his head. “I know she might have meant it that way, Father, and perhaps it was directed a bit toward you. But that’s not how I heard it. She was right. I need to learn.” “So will you do something like Cygnus, make a breastplate out of some of the battlesuits we salvaged from the pirates?” Gragg considered that. “No. I mean, yes, I will, but not in a single breastplate like he uses. I was thinking more of a flexible armor, something like a leaf-mail that I’ve seen pictures of.” He rubbed hand absently over the scar on his belly. “I want to be able to still have decent movement and Cygnus is a bit restricted in how he can maneuver with that plate on.” “Get Ghovork, Innes and Victrax in on this,” Vanjet told him. “And I think it might be good to include Vanel in the designs as well, she might have some thought about that.” He nodded. “We will be using some of the battlesuits or at least their parts for the designs, Father. Will that be all right?” He smiled at him. “If it keeps you safe, somehow I think we can manage without some battlesuits we really don’t have any use for anyway.” “Thank you, Father. I will speak with them now and see if there is something we can put together.” With a tap on his own chest, Gragg turned and lumbered off, excitement clear on his face. “Ah, youth,” Nerys said fondly, as their son left the compartment. “Do you really think they can make something for him to wear that will actually work?” Vanjet shrugged. “I’m sure that between the four of them, they’ll be able to come up with something that will fit him and will give him the protection and movement he wants. I have some very smart children, you know.” Nerys nodded seriously. “You do. It comes from having smart mates.” He popped his lips at her and she laughed, but went back to her searching through the data Core processors for information about the new ship arrival.

“And there it is,” Nerys said, bringing up an image on the Core processor for all of them to see. Ghovork smiled. “It’s a little rough, but it’s actually kind of beautiful.” “I like it too, son,” Vanjet replied. “It looks as though either they’ve been through a lot of fighting recently. Look, there on the port side and there on the dorsal end right near the engines. They’ve got some hasty repairs there.” “Knowing pirates, they’ve probably skimped as much as possible on maintenance,” Innes put in. “When the Hold Mistress’s forces get a hold of her, there’s going to be a lot of work to do.” “We don’t know it’s a pirate corvette,” Nerys chided. They all looked at her; Vanjet had an amused look on his face. “All right,” she conceded, “It probably is a pirate ship, but they haven’t done anything wrong. They’re not declaring their intentions or even broadcasting a beacon ID.” “Maybe their communications are out,” Ghovork suggested. “Their comms array does look like there’s been some repairs there not too long ago. Look at the scoring on the hull right around the antennas and equipment here.” “It could be, son,” Vanjet said. “But in any case, it doesn’t much matter who they are or what they want. If they get too out of hand, then the forces here on the station will swoop down on that ship and catch it and the Lancers and Marines will deal with the crew.” He simply looked at the sensor footage Nerys had been able to capture from the station’s sensor net. “Nerys, keep an eye on that ship. They’re moving to dock in this section of the station, which makes me concerned. I don’t want them doing anything we’re not aware of.” “Of course, love.” Cygnus looked at his father. “Do you really think they’re going to do anything that could hurt us, Father? A ship that size could only carry, what, fifty?” “About that,” he agreed. “And even if every one of them was armed to the teeth and a stone killer, they’d have to have a reason to come after us. No, I’m not concerned about a direct threat. What I’m worried about is that they don’t know that this station is now under the Hold Mistress’s control. They might get too belligerent and start shooting things and people without warning. If you see any of them, be on your guard.” “Yes, Father,” the children chorused. His mates and Chumi nodded their agreement.

“This is the Honorless Son, Capitan Reynaldo Rodrigo de Torrecastro commanding,” the captain of the ship said. “Requesting permission to dock at the Omicron.” “And there he is,” Nerys replied, bringing up the image. It showed a man with thin features, a mustache and goatee and eyes as hard and dark as agates. He was dressed in what looked like a standard spacer ship suit, but he was wearing a ridiculous jacket over it. It looked to be made of red wool, with gold trim and epaulets of all things. He had a brace of knives strapped across his chest and Vanjet thought he could see a holdout blaster or two peeking out from the cuffs of that jacket. “He certainly looks like a pirate,” Vanjet noted. “And with a ship name like Honorless Son, it continues the persona he seems to be adopting. Though I admit, he’s being cagey. He hasn’t announced an allegiance to any of the pirate factions and hasn’t demanded to know where the others are.” The communications person up in the station’s control area responded. “This is Omicron Control. Copy that, Honorless Son. You are cleared for docking at airlock 226-J.” “Confirmed, Omicron Control. Maneuvering for docking now.” “Hey, Capitan Rodrigo, why are you transmitting on a point to point laser comm? What’s wrong with your primary array?” Vanjet watched as the man grimaced. “We have some upgrades waiting for us here on the station. I also have a load of goods to sell. Should be able to take care of docking fees.” There was a confused silence from Control. “Control? Are you still there? Damn it, did we just lose the feed for this too? You told me that the P2P system was fine.” “Copy Honorless Son, sorry about that,” the male at the station’s comms replied, sounding a bit rushed. “Just confirming a few things with my officer. Understood about the cargoes you have. Continue on course, reduce your speed. We’ll be sending you further instructions.” “Understood, Control.” “So his comm system is on the fritz,” Ghovork said thoughtfully. His smile grew. “What a coincidence then that we just happen to have the equipment to get him back up and running.” “You’ve got everything working?” His son nodded. “Yes, Father. We’ve gone over everything for it. There’s actually more there than would be needed for a ship that size and we’ve already bartered a bit of it, but we should have more than enough gear to suit that ship’s needs.” Vanjet nodded. “Excellent. Then when he comes aboard station, we see if we can’t get involved in a bit of trading. I’m sure Capitan Reynaldo Rodrigo de Torrecastro has got something we want. A corvette doesn’t have huge cargo holds, but then he wouldn’t be carrying low value items anyway.” “Pirate treasure,” Gragg said, rubbing his large hands together. “We can hope.”

Upon the ship’s docking, Vajet had Nerys put the word out through the station’s Core Processors and through the Sundered that they had communications equipment to sell or trade. He wanted to make sure that the word got to Capitan Rodrigo, since it seemed that a pirate captain would be the most able to pay a good price. Most able, but he was a pirate. So it would be highly unlikely that a human raider would be willing to part with even a portion of his treasure to a monkey-boy and his monkey family. But, even still, if this Capitan Rodrigo wanted the gear, he would have to pay for it, monkey-boy or no. And it didn’t take long to hear back. In less than three hours, Nerys was motioning Vanjet to access the link, there was a call incoming. Vanjet linked with the Core processor, noting the Nerys had scrambled the locator matrix; whoever was on the other end wouldn’t be able to trace where Vanjet was transmitting from. “Yes?” “I understand you have a load of communications gear you’re looking to unload,” a voice stated. The video feed on the other end was scrambled, apparently whoever was looking for the gear was playing the same games with the comm system. “You understand correctly,” Vanjet replied. “We want it all,” the voice said. Vanjet strained to get a clearer read on who he was talking to. The voice was garbled a bit, clearly altered, with a great deal of artificial bass. It was impossible to tell at first listen whether the voice was male or female, but based on the fact that the person was calling within only a few hours of the new ship’s arrival, Vanjet was sure that he was talking to someone from that vessel. “Understood,” the uplift said. “I would be willing to negotiate. I would just need to know what you are offering.” “Of course,” the voice replied reasonably. “We need to meet. I don’t like discussing things over the comm lines like this.” Vanjet nodded, then realized the other person couldn’t see. “Yes, I believe that might be good. We can meet in the Black Sector, the multi-purpose room on level twenty-seven.” “That is acceptable,” the voice answered after a moment. “We will meet in two hours.” And the comm line went dead. Both uplifts disconnected from the Core and looked to one another. “Is this wise?” Nerys asked. “Going to meet with this person? You know it’s going to be someone on board that pirate ship that just docked.” “Of course,” he replied, shrugging. “I assume it is. But I’m not going alone. I’ll bring Victrax, Vanel, Innes and Cygnus with me.” “Victrax isn’t much of a fighter.” Nerys frowned. “I mean, I love the boy, but he’s too into his computers and his projects to ever work with you and the others with weapons. Even Ghovork has that cannon of his.” “Victrax isn’t going as backup,” Vanjet told her. “And I love him too, but you’re right. He isn’t really a fighter. He’s going to take care of the technical portion of the deal and make sure that what they’re actually going to pay us with is real.” “And the rest of you are there to back up him?” Nerys asked, impressed. “Are you sure he’s ready for that?” Vanjet tilted his head to the side and shrugged. “He’ll be supporting me. I’ll be leading the negotiations.” “You’d better be careful, Vanjet,” Nerys said, moving up and putting her arms around him. “I nearly lost one of our family to these damned plague rats. I do not want to lose anyone, especially you.” Then she chuckled. “Or the children.” “We’re going in fully armed,” he assured her. “And I want you tapped into the surveillance. I picked that area because the security feeds are still active and the cameras are still up and running.” “I like that you’re thinking,” she said, squeezing a bit tighter. “You better keep your eyes open.” “With you watching my back, the young ones and I should be safe enough.” She moved back, looking up at her mate. “I mean it, Vanjet. You be careful.” He watched her, looking vulnerable and felt a sudden well of emotion fill him. He had other mates, but she was the first. Vanjet loved them all, but Nerys had a way of getting to him that the others just didn’t have. He enfolded her in his arms again. “I will, Nerys.”

They arrived at the meeting place early, but there were a group of humans already there. This was a large station and it was heavily populated, so the likelihood that one particular compartment might be empty was low, but the fact that they were here and heavily armed didn’t bode well. No one went anywhere on the station without a weapon, but the fact that the dozen Humans in the room were all dressed in power armor and outfitted with blaster rifles meant their presence wasn’t accidental. “Capitan! They’re monkeys! We’re going to be trading with a bunch o’ damned banana eaters?” Vanjet could clearly hear the insult over the battlesuit’s speakers. “We are of the Sundered, yes,” Victrax stated coldly. The others spread out, all of them keeping their weapons handy. “And we have cargo to trade.” The uplift let his gaze sweep over the armored pirates. “I’m going to assume you’re the ones we spoke with over the comms.” The pirates shifted a bit, their armored feet clanking on the metal deck plates. Their armor was decorated, but instead of with skulls or bones, or graffiti like most of the other denizens of the Omicron, theirs was gunmetal gray with a sky blue stripe rimmed in a vibrant emerald green that went diagonally across the armors’ chest and (presumably) their back. The battlesuits all looked well-used, scuffed, but in good repair. Their weapons also had blue and green stripes on the barrel, which made them look a bit silly, but the weapons, too, looked to be well- maintained. One of the suits, however, was jet black, but bore the same blue and emerald stripes. The faceplate popped open, revealing the face of a Human male, with fur under his long, thin nose and on his chin. He had piercing ice-blue eyes and just the slightest smirk on his thin lips. “Yes, Master Ruiz, I believe you are correct.” He wrinkled his nose. “It disgusts me just as much as you.” The others shifted again, hefting their weapons, but not pointing them. Then he gave a long sigh. “But if these… monkeys… have what we need, we shall treat with them.” Victrax smiled, baring fangs. “I’m glad to hear it. And as far as ‘banana eaters’? I haven’t eaten or even seen a banana in over two years. The hydroponics garden in this sector of the station doesn’t grow them.” There were snickers from the speakers of the various battlesuits and the pirates turned to look at one another. In amusement, no doubt, but their faceplates were in place, veiling their faces from view. The young uplift leaned forward on his knuckles, looking to the man in the midnight power armor. “I have goods to trade. Am I speaking to the Human who wants them?” His gaze never faltered, never looked to any of the others. “For if not, we will leave and you can find somewhere else to find the gear you’re in need of.” “And how do you know what it is that we need, savage?” the man in the black power armor demanded. “Because a ship arrives here at the Omicron with a damaged communications array,” Victrax replied. “And up until now, no one seemed to care about the gear that we have. Within hours of your arrival, we are contacted about the communications equipment? It’s simple logic, good Capitan.” Vanjet did his best to maintain an aura of power, of confidence, but just below the mask, he was exceptionally proud of his youngest son. The young one was always more interested in his gadgets and in building things than he was in connecting with those of the outside world. Ford commented that his extensive cybernetic implants altered his brain chemistry enough and blocked access to particular parts of his brain that he should barely be able to speak. But his son, the indomitable creature that he was, decided that he didn’t like this feeling, being only able to communicate with his family through computers, text messages and links from implant to implant. So Victrax fought this disability and taught himself to speak again, something that should have taken a decade of work and even still, his speech should be broken. But here he was, not only leading the negotiations, but doing so eloquently. The man scowled. “You know an awful lot for one of your ilk.” Another of the men, the one the man in the black armor had addressed as Master Ruiz popped open his faceplate. Whereas the man in the black armor was thin and cultured looking, this was one was square-jawed, his face criss-crossed with an angry red scar from the corner of his left eye, down across his lips and over his chin. His left eye was a cybernetic replacement, very mechanical. His face was filled with malice. “I think we should just do away with this filth, Capitan,” he said, his voice a deep baritone, but his accent was much more low-born than his commander. “Silence, Master Ruiz,” the captain said calmly and the big man immediately went silent. “No, we are going to perform this transaction like… civilized people.” He looked from his man over to Victrax. “Very well, savage. Show us what you have.” Victrax grimaced, but turned and glanced back at his father, who nodded. The younger uplift took a hold of the grav cart and pushed it forward toward the Humans. On the cart was a rectangular component, a part of the communications array that they had “recovered” from the storage area. One of the Humans stepped forward, extending his metal clad arm which was loaded up with a variety of scanning equipment. He slowly waved his arm over the component and then a grunt came over his suit speaker. “It looks good, Capitan,” a male’s voice said. “In fact, it appears to be of better quality than we were led to believe.” “Did you do something to this?” the Capitan asked, pointing to the grav cart. Victrax’s face darkened. “We wanted to be sure that the components would work. We didn’t want third-rate crap that seems to be most of what comes through the Omicron these days.” “So where is the rest of it?” he demanded, his voice getting harsh. “Why didn’t you bring it all?” “So you could just kill us and take it?” Victrax shot back. He pointed to the component. “This is a taste, to prove we’re serious and that we have the goods. You show us the payment. Then we can arrange the trade.” “You don’t tell the Capitan what’s what, savage!” Ruiz snarled. Everyone tensed and weapons came up, though no one on either side was pointing them. “Silence, Ruiz!” the Capitan flared, rounding on his man. Ruiz growled, but backed down. “Do something useful. Show them the payment.” He looked to his master-at-arms, who gave him a baleful look, but then the man relented. Ruiz nodded, moved back behind the line of armored pirates and brought forth a small grav cart containing a pair of containers. One was a strongbox meant for payment vouchers or cash, a meter in length and half in width and depth. One could carry a lot of credit notes in a box of that size. The other box was a tall rectangle roughly about the size of a man’s head. [What’s in there, I wonder?] Nerys asked, her voice coming as a whisper in Vanjet’s ear, as she sent him the message through his cybernetics. [Gold? Jewels? Someone’s head?] “Now why would they try and use that for currency?” he asked, subvocally. “Who could possibly want that?” [Perhaps as a threat, love,] she replied. [I don’t like this.] The man brought the box forward and Victrax stepped up to take a look. It was indeed, stuffed with credit notes, more money from a dozen worlds than any member of the family had ever seen. Victrax glanced back at the others, a smile on his face. There was some sort of exchange amongst the pirates and Capitan Rodrigo gave his man an almost imperceptible nod. In a flash, the armored pirate had moved away from the grav cart and grabbed the rather gaunt gorilla, his servo-powered arms whipping him around so he could hold him around the throat. Victrax went wild, scrambling, trying to pry the arms loose, but the man held him tight. A spoken word and a half-meter long blade shot out of the forearm, sliding along less than a centimeter from the young uplift’s hairy throat. He froze in place, fear etched on his face. “You don’t control what’s happening here, apes!” the Capitan hissed. “You don’t get one single credit from us. That gear was earmarked for our ship. There is no way that the other Blackholds would have sold or traded it to a bunch of smelly apes. No one robs the crew of the Honorless Son!” A shot rang out and Ruiz staggered back a step, his grip loosening, but the blade bit into flesh. Blood trickled; the cut wasn’t deep but Victrax squawked in pain. Another shot fired, hitting Ruiz in the jaw, through his open faceplate. The man roared in pain and dragged the blade across the uplift’s throat. “No!” Vanjet screamed, as his son staggered, crimson liquid fountaining from the wound. Vanel fired a third time, the laser bolt from her long rifle hitting the man between the eyes. There was a puff of pink mist that erupted from the front of the open helmet and then an instant later the dead man collapsed, crashing to the deck. The compartment erupted in blaster fire as both sides started shooting. Vanjet had scoffed at wearing armor and they didn’t have any built for him (Ghovork and the others were busy tailoring something that would fit Gragg’s bulky form) but he had fashioned himself a shield out of bulkhead Duralloy metal. It was heavy, strapped to his left arm, but he’d welded a flat piece which would allow him to rest a blaster rifle barrel and aim, while giving him some semblance of cover. The shield was rectangular and nearly as tall as he was and it clanged every time one of the pirates’ laser fire hit it. The rest of the group either dove for cover; like Vanel, who ducked in the doorway, pulling back behind the metal after every shot, or stacked up behind Vanjet as he moved forward. “Slay them!” Capitan Rodrigo roared, firing at them with a pair of blaster pistols, long barreled affairs that looked more appropriate for dueling than for real combat. “Slay the apes! They killed Master-at-Arms Ruiz!” He ran to his right, snapping off shots with his pistols and his faceplate immediately dropped, shielding his exposed features. Vanel put three shots into his breastplate, one of them hit the side of his neck. It didn’t cause him injury but he stumbled. Another shot hit him right at the servo of the left knee, causing it to freeze up temporarily. Rodrigo completely lost his balance and hit the deck hard, his armor screeching as he slid across the metal. The female planted two more shots in his back, leaving him scrabbling to get away, getting behind some sort of cover. Finally, Vanjet got close enough to use his axe. He was still fighting with the boarding axe he took from the pirates, despite the fact that it felt like a toy rather than a weapon. It was of better construction than the one he’d made for himself or could conceivably fashion with the resources at hand. If there was a load of mono-locsium, he might be able to make some proper weapon, but there was precious little of that on the Omicron. So, for now, he was stuck with this… gardening trowel (as he called it). He made the most of it, putting all the strength in his arm and his shoulders into a swing, gouging a deep rent in the chestplate of one of the pirates. They grappled, the Human trying to use his blaster rifle like a club, blocking Vanjet’s arm holding the weapon. The uplift’s sheer strength won out over the power-assisted servos of the battlesuit and Vanjet managed to twist his arm free, hacking the blade into the hip of the pirate. The hip servo crunched under the blow, trapping the axe, but Vanjet didn’t even try to keep hold of the weapon. He grabbed the gun with both hands and with a mighty heave, smashed it crosswise into the face of the Human. The faceplate shattered and the man lost his footing, staggering backward as his face was slashed in a dozen places by the pieces of the armored glass of the faceplate. Grabbing the weapon, he leveled it properly and pulled the trigger, as fast as his thick finger would move. A spray of blaster bolts hit the torso, the neck and the face. The Human dropped like a sack of wet cement. Vanjet tore the axe out of the suit and turned to face the rest of the room. The Sundered males were chopping their way through the pirates, but they weren’t unscathed. Cygnus’s breastplate was punctured in two places and the fur on his right arm was matted with blood. Innes’s arms were festooned with cuts and he was favoring his right leg. One of the pirates from across the room turned to fire on the big uplift but as he raised his weapon, Vanjet’s axe came spinning end over end across the compartment. It was a good throw but as luck would have it, the weapon’s haft struck the Human instead of the blade, but it was enough of a distraction that his shot went wide. With a roar, Cygnus rushed the man, getting into range of his weapon just as Vanel shot him in the side of the head. The armored helmet protected him from the shot, but it was enough to cause him to duck away from the hits, which opened him up to attack by Cygnus. His heavy spear stabbed up under the man’s armpit, where the armor was weaker. Yanking the weapon free, he screamed a war cry and stabbed again. “They’re falling back!” Vanel’s voice sounded through the compartment. She was still firing at them but the pirates had rallied. Clumping together in a group, they laid down covering fire forcing Vanel to stay behind cover. Rodrigo moved with his men, he holstered one of his pistols and pulled a vibroblade from a sheath on his back. Vanjet saw what he was going to do but couldn’t move fast enough to stop him. Swinging the blade down, he severed Victrax’s head from his body. Reaching down, he grabbed the head by the scruff of the neck and held his trophy up high. He saw the elder uplift sprinting toward him and even through his fury Vanjet had enough piece of mind to bring up his shield. He wasn’t a moment too soon, as laser blasts pranged off the metal. His rush was arrested by the volley of fire and Vanjet was forced to brace. There were shouts of confusion from his children and the clumping of metallic feet on the deckplates. The fire slackened and he risked a peek over the top of his shield. Another shot hit the metal centimeters below his eyes and he ducked back down. After ten seconds, there were no more hits and he looked again. They were gone. So was the grav cart with the component, as was the strongboxes with the cash and the other item. The shield’s bottom clunked to the deck as Vanjet’s eyes fell on the mutilated corpse of his son. He dropped to his knees, a keening noise emitting from deep in his chest, as he grabbed hold of Victrax’s corpse, his second youngest child and cradled him to his chest. The others gave their father a private moment to grieve, watching the entrances, making sure that they weren’t disturbed. Innes moved around the room, checking over the bodies of the pirates, looking for anything of interest that they could keep. He helped himself to a large vibro blade, which on a Human would be a two handed weapon, but for a Sundered it could be wielded with one hand. It would be something for his father, a weapon to replace his lost axe. After a long moment, Vanjet fell silent, letting the body slide to the deck. He stood, a haunted look on his face. Innes pressed the sword into his hands and he nodded, barely noticing. The others moved forward, each touching Victrax’s body, each saying good bye to their baby brother. Cygnus was the first to break the silence. He was puffing, both with pain and emotion. “They… they took it…” Vanjet nodded. “They did. And they’re going to pay. I swear to you all, they will pay.” He looked to them all, his gaze meeting each of theirs in turn. “I want you all with me.” Cygnus didn’t speak, he just reached over and put one of his huge paws on his father’s shoulder. Vanel nodded. “Yes, Father.” Innes echoed her. They weren’t speaking to try and please him, or because it was what he wanted. The looks on their faces were raw, hurt. They wanted their own piece of vengeance, just as much as their father did. They stood there for a few minutes longer, until Vanel made a small bark to get their attention. They all looked over to her. “We should get going, yes, Father?” He sighed. “Yes, my dear. We should get back.” “What about this… deal?” Innes asked. His son was clearly having a hard time speaking. The lights on his cybernetics were blinking, active. Vanjet shrugged. “It’s over, clearly. We’ll have to find some other way.” “Do we need to be concerned?” Cygnus asked. “They did take the one component we brought. And one of them said that the gear was rightfully theirs.” “Do we believe that?” Innes was skeptical, he knelt, leaning back on his haunches, resting his hands lightly on the deckplates. “I mean, they are Humans. They’re pirates. Humans and pirates lie. They saw gear they needed that a bunch of monkeys had somehow managed to get their grubby paws on.” His voice was bitter, heavy with emotion. “When we showed up in force here, they tried to threaten us and frighten us.” Vanel nodded. “I don’t think they were expecting more than one or two of us. But that doesn’t mean that they didn’t know about the comms gear. Or that it wasn’t meant for them.” “What is that Human expression?” Vanjet asked. “’Boo- hoo?’ I have no sympathies for any of them or their losses after today.” His face was bleak, he made one glance back at the headless body of his son, then ushered the rest of children out of the compartment. His thoughts were for the living now. There would be time to mourn later.

“Father!” Kiysa cried, running across the living compartment as they came back home. Vanjet swept up his weeping youngest daughter into his arm where she clung to him and sobbed. “Why, Father? Why is Victrax gone?” Vanjet held her tight. “Some bad men took him away, little one.” The rest of the family came out from the other compartment, or dropped what they were working on out here and rushed to the others. For a long moment, they just stood together, drawing strength from being together. Then Ghovork coughed and moved away from the group. “I have work to do,” he said gruffly and Gragg followed along a moment later. The two of them went into the back room. Vanel and Innes hugged their mother Lorixis and then went after their two brothers. “Where are they going?” Vanjet asked, as Ford pushed through the group and gripped her mate around the waist. He shifted Kiysa around to make room for Ford and held her as well. Kiysa buried her face in Vanjet’s shoulder and he gave her a little squeeze. “Ghovork and Gragg have been working on Gragg’s new armor,” Lorixis said, glancing over toward the other compartment. “I guess they’re almost finished.” “They haven’t been working on it for that long,” Vanjet replied, stroking Ford’s back. Nerys smirked, plopping down on one of the wide benches. “You know our son. When he puts his mind to something…” He gave a rough chuckle. “Yes, that boy and his projects. He and Victrax…” He broke off and Ford let out a sob. Nerys looked downcast. It was inevitable, a slip like that. She sighed. There would be more slips like that, especially over the next few weeks. It was like that for a while for her when her mother had died. And while Victrax wasn’t of her flesh, his loss was no less painful. A son had died; a member of the family, one of the youngest and one of the ones showing a great deal of promise. Finally, Ford stepped away from her mate and took Kiysa, who put her arms around her neck. The female drew in a deep, shuddering breath, nodded to Vanjet and Nerys and then carried the young one off to the sleeping compartment. Vanjet wandered over to the bench and sat down next to Nerys. “How are you holding up?” She looked to him. “Better than you, it seems, love. Lorixis and I have been taking care of the children, making sure that they have what they need, but with these new pirates showing up and the loss of the boy…” She trailed off, placing a hand on his leg. He covered her hand with his. “I’m concerned.” “I know and I’m concerned too,” Vanjet murmured. He sat there and just stared at their hands for a long few moments. Lorixis came over and sat on his other side, leaning up against him. “And I think that if those pirates really do want more than just that one component, they’re going to be back. And we’re going to have to be ready.” “How?” Nerys demanded, rounding on him, removing her hand from his. Lorixis flinched, glaring at the other female. Vanjet didn’t even feel the least bit of ire start to rise. It was a reasonable question. “We’re a male down. We don’t have much in the way of weapons and no allies.” “What about the other Sundered?” Lorixis replied, clinging to Vanjet’s arm. “There are dozens of families here, there are four in this sector block alone. Why can’t we get any of them to help us?” “It’s not their problem,” Vanjet said, grimacing. “I’m not going to drag another family into our troubles.” “Our troubles?” Nerys flared. “They came here and they brought trouble with them! The Hold Mistress’s forces were doing a good job of keeping things calm and… better. Then they showed up and… they killed one of our family.” “All the more reason that we need to be ready for them.” Vanjet was determined now, but he could feel a rising tide of helplessness within him. Nerys was right. How? “And then I say again, Vanjet,” Nerys replied. “How?” He looked at her, that feeling of helplessness only getting stronger. “We follow Victrax’s lead,” Ghovork said from the doorway. The three of them got up from the bench and walked over to him. “What are you talking about, Ghovork?” Nerys asked, before Vanjet could. “In here,” he said, ushering them in. The bedroom was strewn with bits of junk, half-finished devices and inventions, repurposed and filed away, sometimes not very carefully. “There,” he said, pointing one of his heavy arms over to the corner. Innes and Vanel were linked into one of the two very large devices Vanjet saw there. The devices were big, as tall as a Sundered male, and perhaps two-thirds as broad, their metallic bodies gleaming in the light. They looked to be of different designs, which wasn’t a surprised since the children had been building the devices out of scavenged and mismatched parts. “Victrax made these?” Vanjet asked, impressed. Using his own cybernetics, he accessed the computers on the two devices and then he smiled. “Of course he did. I can see his work; I recognize his programming style in the software.” He nodded. “My boy.” His heart swelled with pride. “When will they be ready?” Nerys asked, looking at the two creations. “Soon,” Ghovork replied. “Victrax had most of the work done, we’re just finishing up the software controls and attaching those.” He pointed to the salvaged gear from the pirates. Most of the outer casings had been stripped away, leaving only the bare components behind. He picked one of them up and moved it into position on the side of the device. Three quick shots with the autowrench and it was secured to the servo. “We should need, what?” he said, looking over to his siblings, who both shrugged. “By the morning, we should have these both ready to deploy.” “You’ve implanted them with AIs?” Lorixis asked, horrified. She had her hand up to her mouth. He looked at her and grimaced. “No. We equipped them with the same control circuitry that the Sundered use to control the gunboats from a mothership. You just need one of those,” he pointed to a small device attached to a data port on Vanel’s and Innes’s heads, “and you’ve got control. It might be best if the user isn’t involved in combat at the time. And the range is limited to only about twenty meters or so. So whoever’s doing it will have to be right near the thick of things. But, I think this will definitely be an edge for us.” “I’m definitely impressed, son,” Vanjet said, clapping a hand on his eldest’s shoulder. But then he turned to the other two. “By all of you. Well done.” Vanel smiled. “Be impressed if we can actually get the control software ironed out, Father. There are a lot of faults and driver issues.” He snorted, turning to one of his mates. “Nerys, my love, aren’t you the one telling me that you’re the best there is with this sort of thing?” Ghovork brightened. “Yes, Mother! You are! Please could you spare a few hours?” The others looked hopeful. Nerys nodded, glaring at her mate and then smiling ruefully for the young ones. “Yes, of course, Ghovork. Vanel, dear, please let me see what you’ve been working on.” She moved over to the young female and sat down next to her, linking into the device. “Oh, I see what you were doing. Yes, I can see the problem. It’s an easy fix.” The lights on her head started blinking furiously and Vanjet felt his lips peel back in a smile.

Hours later, Ghovork came back into the main room where Vanjet, Cygnus and Gragg were helping the young male into his new leaf armor. It was rough; they’d cut the leaves from the chest and leg pieces from a number of captured pirate battlesuits and then riveted each one to a heavy leather vest. It certainly wasn’t quiet, either. The little overlapping leaves of metal clattered against each other whenever he moved. They also looked exactly like what they were: bits of metal cut away from salvaged battlesuits. But, he was smiling as they pulled the vest over his shoulders and secured the clasps. “It’s surprisingly light,” the young warrior said, twisting his upper body, raising and lowering his arms. The armor jingled and he gave a small yip. “Though the rattling and jingling is going to drive me mad.” Cygnus slapped him on the back of the head. “Don’t whine. You didn’t want a solid breastplate like mine and you wanted this. If it saves your life, I think we all can live with it.” “Though you won’t be a part of any ambushes, son,” Vanjet replied, grimacing. “That is just an awful racket.” “What about you, Father?” Ghovork asked, coming over and looking at the armor critically. Vanjet looked to his oldest and then grabbed hold of Gragg’s shoulder and held him still so he could stop the noise. “Enough for now, Gragg. We’ll have to look into some sort of poxy for the edges of the leaves, maybe a small dot of rubber. It wouldn’t increase the weight any noticeable amount and it would do a great deal toward muffling that blasted noise.” Ghovork nodded in agreement. “I think I have something suitable in the other room. I’ll go and fetch some.” He started to lumber off, but then he turned back. “Father? You never answered my question.” Vanjet looked to him again. “What question was that, Ghovork?” “Why don’t you wear any armor?” Now all of them were staring at him. He shrugged. “I never had the time or the resources to fashion any. I’ve never been wealthy enough.” “It’s not about wealth, Father,” Gragg replied. “We could cut a plate out from the bulkhead over there, shape it and have it fitted in a matter of hours and you know that, Father.” He grunted. “You have better things to be working on then armor for the old one.” He actually looked slightly embarrassed at all the attention. “There are other projects, yes Father. But Vanel, Innes and Mother are finishing up the work in there,” Ghovork gestured over his shoulder. “And there are a few tasks I can do. Should be doing,” he amended. “And I’ve got some things holding for me. But we can’t afford to lose you, Father. You’re the leader of the family and yes, one of us could pick up the mantle and do our best.” “It would fall to one of you three,” Vanjet said, looking to his three eldest sons. “I would hope you’d figure out who without killing one another.” The boys looked at one another and grinned. “But it isn’t the same, Father,” Ghovork insisted, thumping a fist against his chest. “And you know it. I don’t think we could make it without you.” “Father?” a voice came from behind him. Vanjet turned and looked down. Little Kiysa loped over to him, one hand raised to her face, her index finger hooked into her mouth. He crouched a bit and scooped her up and popped his lips at her. She did the same back and they both chuckled. “What is it, little one?” “You should get a metal shirt like Cygnus,” she said earnestly. She pointed to her eldest brother. “Ghovork can make you one. He’s smart.” They all laughed, Vanjet loudest of all. Then he glared at Ghovork. “All right, son. I’ll help. Let’s go take a piece of bulkhead from out in the corridor. I kind of like the ones in here.”

Tayyan, Ford’s eldest and now only surviving son, was seated on the bench in the main living room, connected with the station’s Core processor, running through another piloting sim, his sixteenth in the last hour. Like his brother Victrax, he’d never been a fighter. But unlike many of his other siblings, he wasn’t a builder either. No, what he loved to do was fly. He was running a battleship simulation, sitting at the helm of a Caprian Dreadnaught class and performing some high speed (for a battleship) maneuvers on the edge of planetary ring system, preparing for a long run up for a slingshot maneuver around the planet. There were a group of corvettes closing in a stern chase and the object of the sim was to get as much of the battleship away from the faster and more maneuverable vessels. They couldn’t go toe to toe with the heavily armed, armored and shielded battleship, but they could make high speed strafing runs and shoot out her engines. It was a difficult sim. He’d already tried and failed three times, either losing his engines in the rings, miscalculating the slingshot maneuver and careening uncontrolled into the planet’s atmosphere. Tayyan was determined to make a better showing for himself in this sim. Granted, he was only flying, the sim controlled the battleship’s weapons. Perhaps if an organic was controlling those things might go differently. But something pulled him out of the sim, something he heard outside in the corridor. The makeshift door wasn’t sealed as properly as the old one had been sound managed to carry in from the corridor. Tayyan opened his eyes and with a thought killed the sim. He stood, pulling the blaster rifle that was leaning on the wall next to where he’d sat. He could shoot, nowhere near as well as Vanel or Ghovork, but he was far better with the rifle than he was fighting with a spear or sword. He sent a pulse through the family’s network, hoping to catch one or more of them awake. The noises outside were more than just the movement of people from one compartment to another, or moving down the corridor to another area of the section. The Sundered, as a rule, didn’t wear shoes or really any footwear. Tayyan could hear the distinctive sound of metallic feet clumping down the metal deckplates. There was no sound of talking, but Tayyan didn’t wait to try and find out more. Holding the rifle, he pointed the business end toward the door and backed quickly toward the sleeping compartments. Things had been tense since the fight in that compartment, since Victrax’s death. More than the grief of the family, Nerys and Lorixis had been monitoring various security feeds from the Core Processors, as well as hacking into the airlock cameras where the Honorless Son was docked. There was a lot of activity from the pirate crew, battlesuited pirates were moving back and forth from the ship at all hours, some returning alone, others coming back with unsuited Humans. Both females had been concerned and had worked up a report collating the various appearances, trying to determine, as best they could, the movements of the pirate corvette’s crew: who was leaving the ship, how many, where were they going on the Omicron, what were they doing when they got there and when they did, who with? It was frustrating because in many cases they would leave the ship in full battle armor and weaponry and it was very difficult to tell them apart. Nerys hadn’t been able to crack their IFF encryption on their suits; the only information that she could get was the tag “soldier, Honorless Son,” which wasn’t particularly helpful. The blue stripe on their armored chestplates announced that just as clearly. But it was clear, from what Nerys had been able to dig up, was that the pirates were looking for something or someone, or perhaps a family of someones. “Father! Father!” he called out, entering the room, never taking his eyes from the doorway. From the compartment Tayyan could hear the rustle of bedclothes and the grunting of three voices. Then there came the fourth voice, female, his Mother. Vanjet and his three females had been in bed, asleep, but came instantly awake at the desperation in Tayyan’s voice. “What is it?” Vanjet demanded, his vibroblade in one hand, blaster rifle in the other. “Someone is outside the door,” Tayyan replied, keeping his weapon ready. “And I know what you’re going to say, that I’ve been playing my sims for too long, it’s late, I just heard someone walking by. But when was the last time you heard metal feet clanging around out there?” Vanjet’s fur rippled. “Get everyone up,” he told his mates. “Grab weapons and armor and make sure that Kiysa knows to stay behind us.” He put down his weapons and grabbed the new breastplate that his boys had fashioned for him. In minutes, he was ready, pistol holstered at his hip, and with Innes’s help he had his pauldrons and vambraces snapped into place on his arms. It felt strange, being wrapped in so much metal, but Ghovork and the others had done an excellent job with their forging. They were excellent protection and yet still afforded him easy movement. Hefting his heavy shield, he was soon joined by Gragg and Cygnus, and with a glance over his shoulder saw the females coming forward with their blaster rifles. The noise in the hallway was clearly audible now. This was not someone simply passing by their quarters in the middle of the station’s night. No, Vanjet could easily hear six, no seven pairs of metallic feet moving on the deckplating on the outside of the door. Then the sound of a poorly-maintained leg servo whined and it was confirmed. “Power armor,” Ghovork hissed, hefting his ion cannon. He too, was wearing a dully gleaming Duralloy breastplate along with a modified pirate helmet (modified to fit his head) and the armored glass still kept its sensor displays to assist him in targeting the big weapon. “What’s that noise?” Kiysa asked, her face screwed up in concentration. They all tensed. The little one had exceptional hearing and they’d all learned to pay attention when she said things like that. “Cover!” Vanjet said, ducking behind his shield. The others fanned out, getting behind furniture, crates, and even him. A second later there was a thunderous explosion as the door and part of the front bulkhead blasted inward. Kiysa shrieked in pain and fear. A second after that blaster bolts filled the air as someone started shooting from the corridor. Vanjet’s shield vibrated from the hits it was taking but he brought himself up, his eyes peeking over the top of the shield. There they were, powersuited Humans. Who in the name of the Darkness were these people? More pirates? The same pirates? He couldn’t see. He thumbed the activator and the vibroblade in his hand hummed to life. “To me!” he roared and Cygnus and Gragg immediately rushed to his flanks, with Innes moving to the far left of his brother Gragg. Like Cygnus, he too was armed with a spear, shield and chest armor, but no helmet. They all raised their shields and advanced, pushing forward under the heavy fire coming at them. “Die, you monkeys!” came a shout from the corridor. Giving off primal screams of fury, the four Sundered males charged, leaving Ghovork, Tayyan and the females to fire at the incoming enemy. The two male shooters were too large to do as the females did, shooting around and through their brawlers’ legs, but they were able to take shots from the flanks with their guns. The noise of clashing metal and laser fire was deafening in the small space. Slashing and chopping, the Sundered hacked their way through the attackers, two of the armored Humans falling under the vicious hand-to-hand assault. The other five tried to fall back, firing at their with their blaster rifles, but the Sundered shields and their armor protected them enough for Vanjet and his boys to get in close. Vibroblades and other hand weapons clashed. The pirates were good, there was no doubt. They clearly had a lot of practice at this sort of fighting, but the great size and strength of the uplifts began to tell. Vanjet parried a blow from a boarding axe with his vibroblade and bashed the pirate with his shield, knocking him back a step. A slash across the belly rent the Human’s armor and a follow up to the shoulder joint tore through the armor and cut into flesh beneath. The right arm froze up, the servo damaged, and suddenly the injured pirate was unable to strike back: his sword was in his right hand. A follow up stab between the faceplate and the chest, right at the throat finished the man off. Gragg and Cygnus were obviously enjoying themselves. Far from being cool and collected like their father, the two males slashed and hacked with almost reckless abandon. Cygnus’s spear pierced the thigh armor of his opponent and tearing it free, he followed up with a strike to the chest and then another to the gut. Gragg acted as though his huge sword was an axe and he was chopping down trees (though the young uplift had never seen a real tree outside of hydroponics). He buried the blade in the chest of one of the pirates and with a vicious kick, he freed it again. As the body hit the floor, one of his buddies stuck the barrel of his plasma rifle in Gragg’s chest and pulled the trigger. The plasma bolt hammered the young Sundered in the chest and exploded. Gragg screamed as he was engulfed in flames. His new armor absorbed some of the blast, which probably saved his life. He was slapping his arms and chest, shrieking in agony. He swiped out with his sword and felt it clang against armor, but he wasn’t paying attention to what happened. Gragg stumbled over a body and fell to the deck, his screams muffled a bit by the deckplates. He rolled around, trying to smother the flames as the exposed skin and hair on his arms crackled as it burned. One more of the pirates took a blistering hail of laser bolts and ion shots, as all of the gunners turned their attention to him. He staggered and then seemed to shake, the front of his armor charring black under their unceasing barrage. Vanel put two more shots into his faceplate, tearing it open and the man dropped, unmoving. The other three, seeing their peril, started to withdraw in a hurry, but the males were having none of that. With Vanjet leading another push forward, the four males tore into the retreating pirates, chopping them down. The third turned and ran, but the females peppered his back with blaster bolts. Stumbling, he managed to make it to a corner and duck out of sight. Sweeping his gaze over the ruined door and corridor, Vanjet saw no other threats. He turned back to his sons, who were panting with excitement. “Is everyone all right?” “Fine, Father!” Cygnus crowed. “That was fun!” The others were nodding their agreement, baring their teeth in pleasure. Vanjet gestured to Gragg who was moaning and rocking himself back and forth on the deckplating. His armor was scorched black and he had a large hole in the stomach area where the plasma bolt had hit. His skin was burned there, as well on his thighs and the parts of his arms that weren’t covered by armor. He was shaking. “See to Gragg.” He nodded to his son, who managed a grimace of a smile. Vanjet’s heart ached to see his son like that, but he had to leave him in the hands of his family and see to the bigger picture. He had to do something to protect all of them now. “We’ve got trouble,” Nerys replied, standing over at her favorite spot by the access port in the wall. Her eyes were closed and she was linked in the Core processors. “I’m tapped into the station’s sensors and I’m showing what looks like fifteen more coming this way.” “Who are these Humans?” Ghovork demanded, stamping his foot in anger. “They attack us with no reason!” Vanjet turned and looked to one of the corpses on the deck before him. Grabbing one of the Human’s arms, he flipped the battlesuit onto its back. And there it was; that same blue stripe they’d seen before at the meeting where Victrax had died. “More of those same pirates.” “They’re bringing some heavy weapons with them, Vanjet,” Nerys reported. “They just passed a camera. I’m seeing plasma grenades and two plasma rifles. They’ll be here in minutes.” “We’re moving,” Vanjet declared. “We can’t stay here and fight that many, not with those weapons.” “We’re running away?” Cygnus demanded, aghast. The others looked to be as disturbed by this notion as he did. “No, we’re changing the vector of our attack,” Vanjet replied before anyone else could complain. “I think I know what you have in mind, Father,” Tayyan said, smirking. “Ghovork, how long until those devices of yours are ready?” the elder male asked, ignoring his son’s comment. If Tayyan had figured it out, so much the better. “We just need to link in, Father,” his eldest son replied. “They’re ready to go.” “Good. Get them. And whatever of that comms gear we can get on a grav cart.” “It’s all loaded, Father,” Tayyan replied. “But it took two carts, not one.” Vanjet swore. “No help for it then. Tayyan, you and Nerys take the carts. Kiysa, little one, you get to ride, but you need to keep your head down.” His daughter nodded, looking a little scared. “Gragg, can you walk?” he demanded. He saw Ignus and Ford trying to raise the big male to his feet. They’d slathered his burns with Combat heal, his damaged skin was glistening with the stuff. “I’m fine, Father,” he croaked. “It’s just a little burn. I’ll be fine.” Ford glared at him and he sat down heavily on the grav cart next to Kiysa. Gragg reached over to the medkit and, fumbling with the vials there, grabbed one with a high-powered stimulant. He injected it into his neck and then leaned back against the crates. “Vanjet, where are we going?” Lorixis demanded, her blaster rifle held in tight, pointed at the overhead. He looked to Tayyan who grinned fiercely. “They killed Victrax and they took what was ours. I think Father wants to return the favors.”

Seven minutes later, when the mob of pirate soldiers arrived at the uplift’s home, they found it had been cleared out of all meaningful possessions, except for a broken and patched protein resequencer which had taken a shot to its lower section and completely destroyed its mechanism. Roaring in fury, the pirates stomped around, wrecking whatever they could find.

Vanjet’s plan was twofold. The family would split into two groups: he would lead one on a frontal assault through the front door and Ghovork would lead the other, making a more oblique attack from the outside. Getting to the outer edge of the station, they arrived at the airlocks where the Honorless Son was docked. A few well-placed shots by Vanel and Ghovork took down the guards there, and Cygnus’s spear made sure they were dead. They helped themselves to the crew-serviced plasma cannon, which had seen better days, but which Ghovork pronounced “adequately maintained.” Pressing a control, the airlock slid open. Surprised, Nerys linked in with the station’s Core processors in this area. “We’re clear. The airlock opens from both sides, possibly to allow these guards access to the ship at any time. Apparently,” she said, hesitating as more data came flooding to her. “A large group of them left the ship about two hours ago, heading toward our area.” “How large?” Vanjet asked. “Twenty or so,” Nerys replied. “I think those were the ones we dealt with and the ones we got away from.” Another check. “I don’t see them yet, but I can’t imagine that they won’t be back here.” “If those are all members of the ship’s company, that’s got to be about half the crew. A ship that size carries a crew of fifty-five or so. We need to be aboard the ship and secure before they get here.” He gestured to the cannon. “Lorixis, you, Chumi and Kiysa stay here and woman this cannon. Make sure that no one comes this way and make sure that the little one stays safe.” “Of course.” Lorixis took the little one from Nerys who handed her over reluctantly. “You’re staying with us, Kiysa. The others are going ahead into the ship.” Kiysa looked at her seriously, then nodded. “Father, wait,” Gragg said, putting out a hand. He was back on his feet, and though he looked the worse for wear, he didn’t seem to be suffering too much; at least so long as the painkiller and the stimulant stayed in effect. “Mother, shouldn’t you try and get into the ship’s computer system? Lock down doors or grav plates or something?” But Nerys shook her head. “I’ve been trying, but it’ll take me a while to get in. Probably a few hours from outside like this. But from one of the bridge or engineering consoles, I could get in to their system.” “It’ll have to wait until later,” Vanjet said, tapping his chest. “We can’t spare you for this position anyway, Nerys. I need them to make sure that the outside force can’t get in. I need you to access the computer systems once we get to Engineering.” The female nodded. “Ghovork, you take half of the group and try and get in through one of the other airlocks.” The eldest son nodded. “Yes, Father. We’ll try and get in through their dorsal airlock. We’ll need about twenty minutes.” But Vanjet shook his head. “No, son. The rest of us can’t wait. We need to get in there now. If we wait then this position will be under attack and they’ll have us pinned between their forces inside and that force. No, we need to push on ahead. My group will get to Engineering, you work toward the Bridge.” “Yes, Father. Good hunting.” He gestured to those for his group and took off running.

The pirates really didn’t know what hit them. Vanjet, accompanied by Innes and Cygnus, with Vanel and Nerys supporting them raced down the corridors of the ship, easily dispatching the unarmored pirates. No one had expected an armed assault on the Honorless Son, no they were expecting that their own assault team would make short work of the monkeys, collect the cargo and return. As such, no one aboard ship was armored up, and few were carrying any weapons larger than a blaster pistol or a vibroknife. As such, Vanjet and his sons and daughters and mates moved quickly through the corvette, smashing through any ramshackle defenses the crew managed to erect. Within ten minutes, the uplifts had reached the doors to Engineering. Taking a breath to steady himself, Vanjet squared his shoulders and hit the button to open the hatch leading inside. Engineering was nearly empty. Three Humans: two males and one female were standing watch, or rather they were standing around one of the consoles and playing cards. The uplifts had fought their way through the ship without the use of explosives and while the sounds of gunshots carried, apparently the insulated bulkheads of Engineering and the hum of the ship’s fusion reactors had muffled the sound. “Surrender!” Vanjet bellowed. He clashed his sword against his shield and they all flinched. “Step away from the console and put your hands on your heads.” The others brandished their own weapons, trying to look as menacing as possible. Nerys ducked away from the others and went to one of the consoles. Her fingers began flying over the keys and her eyes flicked from one monitor to the other. The Humans complied at seeing the heavily armed and very angry-looking gorilla uplifts. All three slowly raised their hands over their heads. Vanjet and Innes rushed forward and the Humans recoiled in terror. He roared in their faces and they collapsed to the floor, blubbering. “Secure them with something,” he told Innes. Vanjet stood over them while his son bound their wrists with a roll of electrical tape that was on one of the consoles. “Nerys, talk to me.” His mate looked up from the console. “I’m into the system,” she said. “I’m trying to get a picture of what’s going on here. I’ve got control of the strange particle generators and we’ve got hold of the reactors, obviously.” The two fusion generators were thrumming away not far from where they all were standing. “They’re on cold standby right now, just enough for environmental support and communications. We can’t lock down the gun deck or the bridge from here. Or Environmental. Their whole computer system is isolated from one another.” He nodded. “Right, I understand. Innes, you stay here with Nerys. Get control of things and do what you can to prep the ship for departure.” “Departure?” they all asked, as one. Vanjet smirked. “Departure,” he replied. “Tayyan said it back when we were home. They took what was important to us, I’m going to return the favor.” “Taking this ship won’t bring Victrax back,” Nerys stated boldly. He rounded on her. “No it won’t,” he rasped. He took a deep, shuddering breath. “But staying here, afraid to make a bold move won’t either. And if we have the ship, they won’t. And we’ll finally get the opportunity we’ve been talking about. Getting away from this forsaken place and charting our own course.” The others nodded, even Nerys, but she stared at him for a long moment. Then she, too, nodded and went back to her console. “I can have the reactors hot and the engines ready to go in thirty minutes.” “I’ll help,” Innes said, going over to one of the other consoles. “I can help you shave a few minutes off that.” “Shave quickly,” Vanjet said, turning away. He gestured to Cygnus and Vanel. “Let’s go. We’ve got the portside gun deck to clear.”

[Everyone ready?] Ghovork sent to the others, as they perched on the outer hull of the station. They were all wearing head bags, taken from the pirates and modified to work with Sundered physiology. It wasn’t much more than expanding the material to cover the larger being’s head; both Humans and gorilla-uplift breathed the same air. The others each sent a click over the comms to signal their readiness. Gragg, Tayyan, Ignus and Ford. Five Sundered against what remained of the crew of a pirate ship. Ghovork snorted to himself. This was ridiculous. The thirteen of them against a crew of fifty-five? Even though they would be all Humans, it was insanity. But then he looked over to his family and the two devices that were hovering along just behind and he smiled. Father’s plan was bold, and with their help and with Victrax’s help from beyond, it might even work. They might even survive it. [Go!] he ordered and pushed off from the station. The others followed, the two devices following right behind. Breaking into the ship proved ridiculously easy. It wasn’t as though pirates spent a lot of time or effort on things like external security, so Ghovork had the dorsal airlock unsealed and opened within seconds. They all piled inside, bringing the two floating devices with them. There was a worrying moment when the outer hatch of the airlock wouldn’t seal. It took three times for it to seal properly to get a green seal, but finally it did and they all rushed inside the ship. “Well that was interesting,” Ford replied. She was doing her best to not be crushed by grief for her son and the action, the taking the fight to the men who had killed Victrax seemed to help. “Mother’s right,” Tayyan said giving her a glance and she grunted. “And I don’t think I like the idea of being stuck in a malfunctioning airlock.” Ghovork nodded. “I don’t either.” Then he tapped his chest in excitement. “But it’ll be something we can look at after we secure the ship. Let’s go.” They hustled forward. They were in the middle of the ship on the top deck and the bridge, their objective, was located at the forward section of deck three; two decks down. There was a good amount of real estate to cover and Ghovork didn’t have any idea how many crew there were still aboard ship. Some of them would be on the gun deck, some in engineering and some on the bridge. There would inevitably be some in the corridors and between the main compartments. They just needed to move and quickly. Unfortunately, they moved up one compartment and ran straight into five crew members armed and ready for them. Laser blasts opened up from their end of the compartment, and the uplifts returned fire. Sending out the proper command, Tayyan activated the two devices that had been passively floating along behind them. The devices were a pair of combat droids, which Victrax had found on a junk pile, their droid cores damaged beyond repair. The young uplift had replaced their droid cores with a standard set of processors, with the same comms equipment that the Sundered used for their gunboats. The two droids had been stripped of their weapons but the raids on the pirate strong points had given them a good number of weapons and a decent supply of ammunition. Eight blaster rifles opened up, spraying the far end of the compartment with laser fire. The pirates screamed, ducking down behind any cover they could find. Ghovork opened up with his own weapon, sending a trio of ion blasts at the pirates. Two of the shots hit one of the Humans as he tried to duck back behind cover, first in the leg and then in left side of the abdomen. The man shrieked and then fell silent. The two females concentrated their fire on one of them while combat droids lay down suppression fire. The room was just showered with energy bolts from all of them and after an instant more the droids started forward. As they moved up, Ghovork could see the barrels starting to glow red with waste heat. The fire switched targets now, turning from suppressing fire to a concentrated attack. One of the pirates, who had been hiding behind a metal crate suddenly found himself having all hellfire raining down on him and he screamed pitifully for all of a second before he died. They shifted fire but not before the remaining two tried to open up on the warbots. Four shots struck the left side combat droid, disabling one of the cannons. Another two shots actually scorched the front armor. Then the return fire from the warbots cut them down, dropping the two pirates to the deck. “Clear!” Tayyan said. The others chuckled. “Let’s move!” He checked the status feeds through his uplink with the combat droids. The power cells for their weapons were down to 60 percent, which caused the uplift to frown slightly. More was used here than was anticipated, but there was nothing for that now. Taking the bridge actually proved easy. There were only two watch standers there and they threw their arms up in surrender the second the uplifts stepped through the hatch and onto the bridge. “Surrender!” Ghovork demanded. They Humans looked to one another and visibly gulped. They had already surrendered, they were well away from the controls and none of them was talking to the others. The big uplift moved up and put the barrel of his ion cannon within centimeters of one of the prisoners. “Wise choice. Now, my brothers, sisters and mothers are going to be taking command of this ship. And you,” he said, twitching the weapon slightly, “are going to prep for departure.” None of them moved, none of them breathed with that weapon so close. “NOW!” Ghovork shrieked. The three Humans jumped. “I can d-do that,” one of them stammered. Ghovork’s expression hardened and his eyes widened in pure fury. “Move!” he bellowed, jerking the gun to the side in the direction of the control console. The three of them moved over to the consoles and the uplift slung his weapon behind him. He stepped up to the tactical console. “Tayyan, transfer control of the warbots to them,” Ghovork said, gesturing to the others. “I need you on the helm.” The grin that came from his younger brother could have lit up the room. He blinked and then Ford sighed. “I have control,” she said. He nodded to her. “Thank you, Mother.” He was still grinning and she sighed. Ford reached over and patted him on the forearm. “Go, get this ship moving.” She sounded as though she was indulging a child as he attacked a banana tree. Then Ford turned and looked to one of her other children. “Gragg? Are we going? I think we need to clear the gun decks.” “Father is already moving,” he rumbled, flexing his arms. Ford looked at him with pity. The poor boy had quite literally been through hell. But he was standing tall, putting forth a strong, brave face for his family members. Then he hefted his sword. “Father is moving along the portside gun deck. We will take the starboard. Come along then. Ghovork, can you and Tayyan keep things together here?” His brother nodded. “I’ll keep an eye on these three. Mother is already getting the ship’s fusion generators hot. We should be ready to go in ten minutes or so. Once we’ve secured the ship, we’re going to cast off.” “Cast off?” one of the pirates demanded, his surprise overcoming his fear of the uplifts. “Where in Hades do ya bleedin’ monkeys think you’re gonna go?” All of the uplifts turned to look at him, even his fellows cast furtive glances his way. But it was clear they were not supporting him or his outburst. A second later, Ignus turned her rifle on the loudmouth and shot him in the leg. He screeched and slumped against the console. She stepped up to him, putting the muzzle of the rifle right in his face. “What did you call us, slug?” He was clutching his thigh, his face as white as a sheet. He swallowed hard, his eyes crossing, watching the gun barrel a few centimeters in front of him. “What I was… asking,” he gasped, speaking very slowly and articulately, which was odd, considering the pirate brogue he was just adopting. “Was where could you possibly go that the Blackhold Armada, or the Blood Reavers or any of the rest of the League won’t find you? In a stolen ship?” Ghovork threw back his head and roared with laughter; Tayyan chuckled a bit. “Didn’t you hear, slug? The League ships now belong to the Hold Mistress of Messene and the Omicron is now part of her Holding. The Blood Pirate Montagne was chased away, taking the Vineyard with him. There is no one that is going to chase us, and what few pirates are left are not going to care about one…” he glanced around the slightly dilapidated-looking bridge and its jury-rigged panels, mismatched consoles, rusty bulkhead stanchions and the dripping water pipe in the overhead, “well-worn corvette and its weakling crew who managed to get it taken from them by a group of uplifts.” He sneered condescendingly. “No, slug. No one is going to care at all about what we do. And if you bring it up again…” He let his voice drop down, filling it with menace and a low growl. The man quivered in fear and his good leg buckled. He slid down the console to land hard on the deck. The acrid smell of urine filled the area. Ghovork snorted in disgust. “Get up!” he roared, reaching out and grabbing the man by the scruff of his neck. He hurled the man against the console. “Prepare to seal up the ship.” Ghovork leaned over and checked the engineering feeds. “Power levels are up to 58 percent and rising. That should be plenty for what we need. I’m warming up the shield generators in case someone decides to try shooting at us.” Then he turned to glare at the nearby Human. “These diagnostic feeds and engineering readings are all over the place. What kind of engineers do you have on this ship? What did you do to this ship?” The man cowered in fear from the enraged uplift. Ghovork turned back to his console in disgust, muttering to himself about irresponsible ship owners.

“Well done,” Vanjet said, as he jerked his sword free from the chest of the last of the pirate gunners. They were a tough bunch, these Humans, tougher than any of the crew his group had had to deal with so far. The gun deck wasn’t filled with techs and operators, there were only four men here, so the uplifts actually hadn’t had much trouble rolling over them. But they had been armed with sidearms and blaster pistols. “They made us work for it; I’ll say that for them.” His new armor was scorched and pitted from numerous well-aimed blaster hits, as was his shield. He’d taken some fire getting in close. Cygnus was favoring his right leg and Vanel was treating his right arm with a patch and another shot of Combat heal. “I think they did, Father,” Vanel agreed, tossing the spent vial aside. “But there aren’t as many on the ship as I expected.” Cygnus grunted. “That’s because they’re all off the ship, looking for us.” “Which means,” Vanjet interrupted, seeing that his two children were going to start squabbling here on the gun deck, “That we need to get away from here before they either figure out we’re here, or they give up and head home.” With a thought, he accessed his communicator. “Nerys, talk to me.” “Well, the systems on this tub are older and less cared for than back on the Omicron.” She grunted then sighed. “But the fusion reactors are powering up nicely from standby mode. We’ve already got enough power to cut loose from the station. Ghovork has taken the bridge, and it looks as though Gragg is just about done securing the starboard side gun deck.” Vanjet grinned letting off a shriek of joy. “Then except for the cleanup of any stragglers, the ship is ours!” “Yes, my love,” Nerys replied, her voice husky and filled with promise. “The ship is ours.” “I’ll be on the bridge in five minutes. I’m sending help your way.” He cut the link. “I’m going to the bridge.” He arrived there only a few minutes later and was shocked to see that Ghovork had kept three pirate prisoners. And not only had he kept them, but they were unshackled, conscious and actively working the consoles. He was standing nearby, but it was clear the young uplift’s attention was split between watching them and studying the console in front of him. They all turned to look when they heard the sounds of Vanjet’s heavy footfalls entering the bridge. “Father!” his eldest son crowed. “We have won! The ship is ours. “I’ve recalled Lorixis and the others from the airlock and they’ve sealed the ship. We’re just awaiting your order and we can detach from the station.” Vanjet stepped over to where Tayyan had seated himself at the helm. He looked very comfortable there. “Can you fly this ship, Tayyan? No false praise or modesty,” he said quickly as he saw his son’s rapturous face. “I want an honest answer.” Youthful enthusiasm and many hours in a simulator his son had. Practical experience, he did not. Tayyan looked to his father with all the joy a young one could muster. “Father, I am ready. I’ve already figured out the controls; just say the word and we are out of here!” Vanjet couldn’t help it; he was drawn in by his son’s fervor. “Very well. Disengage the docking clamps and umbilicals from the station. Tayyan, once that’s done, ease us away from the station using thrusters only. Don’t start getting overconfident.” “Yes, Father,” Tayyan replied, unable to hide the touch of irritation at the reminder and the rebuke. Vanjet slapped him lightly on the back of the head and he whimpered, shooting his father a hurt look. Vanjet smiled and clapped his son on the shoulder and nodded to him, showing the pride he still had in his progeny. Tayyan gripped the control handles and with his eyes locked determinedly on the sensor displays, he edged them over. He released the right handed control handle and pressed a control, then flipped a switch. There was a shiver through the deckplates and through the forward sensor port, those on the bridge could see that the ship, the Honorless Son was sliding ever so slowly away from the Omicron. Vanjet nodded slowly, watching the sensor feeds. Ten meters. Twenty. Forty. Eighty. One hundred meters from the station. “Bring us out to ten kilometers from the station, Tayyan. We’ll hold there and get critical systems checked over.” “Capita-…” one of the pirates, one of the uninjured ones started, but then cut himself off when he realized who it was he was reporting to. “Uh… I mean…” Vanjet stepped over to him, his sword in hand, though he didn’t actually need it. “I am the new Captain of this vessel, Human.” The man gulped and stared up at the large uplift. “What were you about to report?” The man just stood there, breathing heavily, scared to move for long moments. Finally, he cleared his throat and spoke. “Um… Captain…” “Spit it out!” Vanjet roared, flailing his arms, the vibroblade clutched in his fist coming very close to the man. He cringed but then he rallied. “We’re receiving an incoming transmission from the station.” “Put it through,” Vanjet replied, at once calm. The man was visibly shaken but he turned and pressed a control. The main screen activated, showing the face of the ship’s former Capitan. “You!” the man shouted, as he saw Vanjet’s face. “You are the one who stole my ship?! You are the one who again steals from me?” “I’m simply returning the favor, Capitan,” the uplift replied and then he smiled. “You tried to ambush my family at the meeting where we tried to sell you communications equipment. You killed one of my sons. You stole the component we brought to trade.” “I was recovering my property,” Rodrigo fumed. “And then,” Vanjet went on, as though he was reading a grocery list. “And then, you sent soldiers to come and murder my family in the middle of the night and shot up our home. You hurt another of my sons. So we took the comms gear and our possessions and I came and shot up your home. Goodbye, Human. The Hold Mistress doesn’t take kindly to pirates in her Holding.” He grinned. “Nor do the Marines.” “You will die in such agony!” Reynaldo Rodrigo de Torrecastro vowed. “I will flay your children and have them all thrown on the barbecue pits! And you will watch!” Vanjet laughed. A message came through from Ghovork and he sent an acknowledgement. “I think they might have something to say about that.” He gestured at the screen to something in the background. Rodrigo’s face turned red and started to say something but Vanjet cut the connection. Ghovork turned to him. “Was that wise, provoking him like that, Father?” “You’re the one who sent a message to Corporal Windlass, Ghovork. She sent along some of the Marines to chat with that piece of garbage. I hope they just toss him out the airlock.” The two other male uplifts on the bridge looked at each other, looked to their father and then nodded. “I hope so too, Father, after what they did to Victrax and Gragg and our home,” Tayyan stated. “Fine. But this is our home now, Tayyan. But where should we go now? What should we do? Now that we’ve got a ship, should we join with the Hold Mistress’s people here or leave to make our own way?” “I heard there’s a planet called Capital in the next sector that is supposed to be good for people looking for a fresh start,” Ghovork mused. “We could go there.” “What about Messene?” Tayyan asked, turning to look at them. “You want to go to the Hold Mistress’s planet?” Ghovork asked. “And it’s Tracto VI, actually. Messene is her Holding; the nation-state she rules.” “Something to consider. Now,” he said, turning to the three Humans. “What should I do with you?” They stared back at him with wide-eyed fear.

“Father!” Kiysa cried, running onto the bridge. “Kiysa, little one!” he said, throwing his arms wide. She raced up to him and threw her arms around his neck and he embraced her as well. He stood, picking her up. “What do you think?” Vanjet asked he, looking around. She wrinkled her nose. “It smells funny.” But then her face brightened. “But Innes found something in one of the rooms.” “What did he find?” Vanjet asked, interested. “Some new toy to play with, some new gadget!” She squirmed in his arms until he set her down. “Come see, Father!” she said, pulling him by the arm. “Come see!” “Take over here,” Vanjet said to Ghovork. “All right, little one. Show me.” She led him down the corridor, up a ladder and to the center of the ship. Pressing the button to open the hatch, the door slid to the side, and they entered what looked like a hydroponics compartment. “Here, Father!” she squealed, running further in. There were plenty of green, leafy plants in here, which contributed to oxygen production and CO2 scrubbing, but there, in the center of the room, surrounded by devices that seemed to be keeping them at proper temperature and humidity, was clearly why Kiysa had dragged him here. “Here you are, love,” Nerys said, stepping up to him. “Look what your son found.” “For all that the Humans would joke about us being monkeys and how many bananas we would eat, I haven’t had one in over a decade.” Vanjet just stood and stared at the sight before him, as Nerys snuggled herself up to his side, running a hand coyly up his arm. There on the edge of the bay was a banana tree.

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