“Ah, so here we all are! So happy to see that my nemeses could turn up to the party!” Erohin smiled with glee, muscles frozen on his face. His gaze flicked between those on the opposite end of his gun, finger stroking the trigger over and over.

  “Do we… know you?” Titus sounded genuinely confused, a rare occurrence for the analyst. “Nemeses?”

  “Ohoho! Titus! How could you forget me – Erohin Solras, bartender to many, loved by all.” Xeena felt that was a lie. “I brightened all of your dim little fake lives up with every drink, remember? Not that empty shells, such as yours, deserve such little pleasures. Then again, only so many can be born into Utopia, I suppose.”

  “W-well, Titus knows a lot of people on this ship, but apparently you don’t ring a bell.” Stannock said, tone dripping heavy with condescension. “For man like him to forget about you? perhaps you are just not worth remembering, Mr Solras. Besides, a man who plans to blow himself up must be some sort of moron.” Stannock teased. When Xeena looked at him in abject confusion, the man nervously shrugged. Perhaps being a dickhead was his nervous habit? The ex-bartender’s showed no signs of humour from the words, the corners of his lips drooping.

  Big Stannock tried to add to the insult, “Yeah, that’s right, completely forgettable. What sort of moron wo-“

  “I AM NOT A MORON!” Erohin shouted, any hint of the previous false joy he expressed dead in an instant. “I will be remembered! We all will, those of true hearts and souls! You all – nemeses of the truth - share one heart, a heart made of stone. You will be the ones forgotten.” The fury only lasted a few moments, but in an instant, his wrath fled from his face as the plastic grin once again slipped into position. “But it doesn’t matter right now. All is well. All is right, as it should be. Tell me, Zeentach, can you hear me?”

  A moment passed before the Cambiar spoke up once more. “I can hear you, human. Erohin was it? I am afraid I must ask you to not harm the others, please.”

  “Oh, but I am afraid that is the only option I can make, whether I want to or not.”

  “Why are you doing this, Erohin?” Xeena said. “Help us understand.” Xeena was desperately looking for ways to distract the insane madman long enough for Titus to get close. Even an errant shot from his rifle would destroy the windows or ceiling, sending them all into the darkness of space.

  Erohin sighed heavily, like it was some great burden he had removed was shouldered onto his back once again.

  “Why do I bother? I have tried and tried, but none of you listen. But then again, how could you? It is in your nature, those of you not blessed by The Council. It is… a deformity than cannot be amended, you see.” Erohin tapped the side of his head and smirked. “Still, I must try, as is my role as a Praecursori of Paradise. You see, for you Xeena, it is just a part of your alien makeup. Only humanity is truly able to grasp at the light of sentience – what you think is an existence is just your body following genetic instructions. But please, do not be dismayed; most humans are the same. It is only with the blessing that I have been granted, by seeing the light, that I have narrowly avoided your pitiful states. If I could, I would try to save you.”

  “But… what do you want, Erohin? What would make the galaxy a better place, in your eyes?” Xeena was asking, not only to delay him, but to try to see his view of the world.

  “Well, seeing as we are in no rush, I shall tell you. I want a world where everyone is happy, free of pain and suffering. As you can see, my actions may look like they run opposite to this idea, but I can explain. Is it not true that both humanity and the Cambiar have seen their fair share of suffering? Both the Eternal War of mankind and the Great Awakening for you aliens prove that there is unavoidable suffering and dismay in this universe, as true as the genes that make up our nucleotidic blueprint. The only way to solve this pain, from both within ourselves and from others, is to be blessed like I have. Do you know what I feel every day, Xeena?”

  “No. I can’t imagine. What do you feel?” Xeena was quiet, but it was needed to be said.

  “Nothing but the purest joy.” Erohin sighed, a relaxed breath taking him. “Every day is as if Earth still lives, and I am on its surface. The sun shines on my face, and I bask in its embrace. In a world with Paradise, Earth lives on. And, one day, it will for everyone. I lack the hatred you all subconsciously feel towards others because… well, you see them as ‘others’. As something not of your own nature, regardless of whether they be your own species or not – it is the divide between each of your souls that makes this ‘otherness’. My brothers and sisters, the Beholders and Folgeres below, my fellow Praecursori around me and the Furists above – we are not ‘others’. We are one. One and the same. It is only through The Council that we become one.”

  Xeena couldn’t help but feel immense pity for the man and not just because she felt his worldview itself was wrong. Being brain damaged at birth and forced to see the life the way Paradise wanted you to see it was far from what Xeena considered a good life. No, the real sadness came from how his whole perception had been malformed from that point onwards. Every moment of joy with H&H’s crew and the aliens must have felt as fake as his own smile. To the bartender, all those moments would have provided the same feeling of falseness as that deadened grin. That made her heart ache.

  “But… soon. It can be fixed. Your counterfeit souls, even if only a fraction of them are usable, will pass from this life and whisked into the next, someday. Eventually you will be reformed by The Council, and you will know the warmth I feel.”

  “The Council?” Titus asked. The intense expression he bore, likely from running calculations on how best to attack, was relaxed for a couple seconds as he attempted satiate his curiosity for knowledge. “You keep referring to them. Who are they? Why do you trust them?”

  “Ahh, now we are getting to the heart of the problem, Titus. They are why you are lacking. The Council have seen the truth of our natures. They foretold the diminishing value of Earth, her poor resources drained dry by hunger and avarice. They saw the rise of Heaven’s Doctrine and their leader, who lives a life far too long and stretched, held on only by the taste of Evergreen. They saw Earth’s end, and what was needed to be done to remove it from the game board, as it were. By commencing the final scouring, it showed us that Earth and the blessed Utopia we long for is not a place, but a people. And now, we are in the next stage of The Council’s dream. They have led us so far, and with the arrival of the Cambiar, it has proven them correct.” Xeena felt confused. Did Paradise know of the Cambiar before H&H did? Then again, why else had they planted bombs on Ruby Eye and Starheart.

  For a moment, he looked uncertain. “I was… initially doubtful of my actions. But, I now know, I was right to destroy Ruby Eye. I would have removed Starheart too, but my orders went out too late. Again, on our return, my attempt to reactivate Starheart’s bombs proved unsuccessful. Thanks to you, Xeena and your friend, Sal.” Despite his mixed expression, there was noticeable acid in saying their names.

  “You… you gave the orders to destroy Ruby Eye? To kill all those people?” Titus could barely contain the wrath in his voice, fists clenched so hard that sparks fell to the floor from them.

  “Indeed. Did you think that was Heaven’s Doctrine? I don’t blame you. They act in such destructive ways but lack the reasoning behind it. If I knew what I knew now, I would have carried out my current plan – to initiate a journey for the whole system to not just remove the fake souls of mankind, but to also reduce your inhuman, alien souls along with them. But I was too late.”

  He seemed genuinely harrowed as he considered his inadequacy, face creasing into a mask of utter sorrow. Erohin bowed his head, looking to the floor. As Titus seemed to be preparing to move, the fanatic raised his face to meet them once more, any previous signs of turmoil vanished, like Earth’s early morning mist in the rays of Sun.

  “But I can fix this! I cannot save your souls as they are, but soon, we will be in glory. Sorry!”

  The smouldering spark of empathy he had surgically removed at birth left him a puppet, following orders more obediently than any genes could ever hope. Nevertheless, despite whatever indoctrination he had believed his whole life, the stress of the whole ordeal had clearly not helped the man’s mind. Eyelids twitching and sneer pulled painfully wide, Erohin giggled.

  “Still, sad as it is, I want you to understand that this is far from the end. My Folgeres are currently at work, and soon we shall all undergo a little S-Jump to a nearby system – both man and monster wiped clean. I hope some real lives can be born from the remnants of your husks. So, Zeentach, anything you want to say to them before your own end comes?”

  Just as Erohin seemed to be preparing his Masslock, a new voice came through the speakers, low, and weak.

  “Zeentach… Xeena… Titus. Listen.” It gasped out weakly, tinged with pain. Erohin tilted his head in confusion and held his finger off the Masslock in curiosity. “I am… Primary Executive Captain Yulia Preltor… leading commander to all Henry and Huell crew in the Seventh Expedition Fleet.”

  Titus’ optical sensors widened in shock. “Yulia…” His voice came out barely a whisper.

  “I am giving my authority, as Captain of Lighthouse… to order the immediate destruction of my vessel by the Out-Han.”

  Salvador and Abel dismounted the cargo hauler, having reached the end of the line. With a heave Sal slid off the forward mounted controls. Initially, having a seat and controls like a motorcycle from one of the racetracks of Titanlock was rather cool, but going down a tunnel at high speeds with mostly torn up clothing had made the experience rather cold. Abel had been able to sit in the chair next to him and was at least a little less stiff.

  Stretching his back and halting when his side roared with pain once more, Sal surveyed the surroundings. They had managed to avoid any contact with combatants as they had raced down the tunnel. Sal wasn’t sure if he preferred not seeing anyone at all, the eerie silence leaving every movement bouncing off the walls. The corridor attached to the cargo tunnel was far wider than any other so far, further adding to the desolation of the area. Sal wondered how the fusion engine had been stored within Fifth Spoke, considering the huge size of the device’s chamber. However, as they neared the colossal, circular blast door that marked the entrance to the engine’s room, he guessed that, like many of the other changes made, Fifth Spoke simply grew around the engine’s room once it had been severed from its original vessel’s wreckage.

  “So Sal, what do you reckon our chances of actually stopping this thing from going into meltdown are?” Abel had Curtin’s shotgun hefted onto a shoulder as he looked at Salvador, questioningly.

  “Well, I was able to maintain and learn about Juhgler fusion engines back on Tartarus Nine. That one was smaller, but the same mechanisms were in place there too.”

  Abel gave him a look, nodding. He had not only accepted the answer but seemingly to be approving of something else.

  “What?” Sal said.

  “I’m happy for you. You talk about it much easier now. Every time before, for years, it made you look sick whenever the topic got close to your past before the Recon Fleet. Now? You look like a man ready for action.”

  “Heh, well, it took me long enough. That, and Xeena helped a lot.”

  “That she did. Good job, sister,” Abel mused to the open air, as if the Cambiar could hear him.

  Xeena… Sal would need to prove it to her one day, prove that she had changed his life.

  “So… uh, did Tartarus actually have an overload you needed to fix?”

  “Nope, but I did have a lot of time for reading. Difference is now the control rods will be the size of a ship’s drive shaft, not the size of a ruler. Still, I’ll work it out.”

  Abel gave a rather fake sounding cough, as if awaiting something.

  “Yes, Abel?” Sal looked over.

  “Well… I’m just surprised you didn’t ask me.”

  “Ask you what?”

  “Y’know, we might die if things go badly in there and, well, I thought you would ask about it.”

  “Ask about what?” Sal repeated.

  “My necklace. Surely you want the real story behind it?”

  Sal considered the small, white thing around his friend’s neck. After speaking and interacting with Cambiar on a daily basis, their maws usually snapping about a few dozen times per conversation, the majesty of the, frankly, pathetic thing had worn off a little. Still, the truth was a tantalizing thought.

  “I mean, if we’re not going to get the chance to know if we croak, then sure.”

  Abel rubbed it thoughtfully. “Are you sure?”

  “Oh, for the love of god. Don’t back out after pestering me about it! Yes, tell me!”

  “Fine. Fine.” Abel sighed. “It’s fake. Didn’t come from a real fish. Just bought it from some junk dealer back home.”

  Sal stared at his friend for a moment, unblinking. Then, he shrugged.

  “Uh, this is the part where you are supposed to be surprised, brother. Where you say ‘How could you do this? What about the grand tales? What about the mafia boss’s pet shark?’”

  “Of course I’m not surprised. How could I be? No wonder it was fake, you’ve never even been near a fish in your life. You don’t even eat fish. Unless hyizka counts, but I doubt that.”

  “Wha- That doesn’t mean it couldn’t be real, could it?”

  “No, it doesn’t. But then again, does it matter? You’ve kept it all this time, so no matter what, it’s important to you, right?”

  “I… I guess so. I mostly thought the mystique of it was the best part. Having you guys all tossing and turning at night wondering how I got it. Which story was real? Which one was fake?”

  Love this novel? Read it on Royal Road to ensure the author gets credit.

  “Abel, they were all obviously fake. I don’t think even Dusty believed a single story. Hell, I’m pretty sure the Cambiar twigged that the first time you told them, and they had barely understood human culture at that point. But you know what? It doesn’t change a thing. It was never about the story behind the tooth, it was about what the story said of you, Abel. You’ve always been the same guy as always, making us laugh and groan with every tall tale. And I wouldn’t change it for the world.”

  Abel rubbed his neck, awkwardly.

  “Shit, Sal, thanks. Just uh, maybe don’t tell the other guys. I think Dusty might actually believe some of my stories.”

  “Yeah, yeah, sure thing, bro.”

  Approaching the control mechanism, Sal punched in a few engineer codes, and it responded with a chirp. With a shared look, the two engineers gave each other a fist bump, ready for whatever would come next. Grinding metal signalled their success, the iris of the door expanding, ready to accept the two men. The smell of death and gunpowder punctuated their arrival. Cringing at the odour, they saw a bloody scene before them once the door fully opened.

  The room stretched far into the distance, a base plate marking each of the cardinal approaches to the core’s suspended control station. Beyond the platform the door opened into, a hanging catwalk led to a metal building, held aloft with cables over a gut-wrenchingly high drop. Even from this high up, a bright sapphire-blue light pulsed steadily from hundreds of meters below where the shielded core of the fusion engine sat. From within the room the gravity the fusion core itself produced pulled on the pair. It would be a simple matter of lowering the catwalk that led to the control system building, walking over, and adjusting the necessary safety measures to bring the engine back under control. Well, if only it were that easy.

  Across the wide entrance area that overlooked the core’s drop, almost in horrific contrast to the calming blue light emanating below, a massacre of red and orange had covered the area. Dozens of bodies, mostly human but interspliced with Cambiar of various castes were spread about. Paradisian robes blended in amongst Delkar plating, clan armours of emblematic crimson and H&H jumpsuits of mixed roles. Standing across the battlefield, back arched and breathing heavily, was a single figure – the sole survivor of the apparent slaughter.

  “Ah. Hello,” panted Rexia Protheus. “I’m… afraid I don’t know who you two are. Who are you?”

  The Cambiar was covered in wounds, each one slowly healing before Sal’s eyes. His skin adorned in red colours that had sprawled their way down from his shoulders, eating away at the once emerald shades of his torso, the black crown-like protrusions upon his head darkly reflected light with every pulse of the core from below. The part of the alien that drew Sal’s attention was the hastily carved Doctrine emblem on his chest, orange Cambiar blood still streaming from the seemingly self-inflicted wound.

  “Rexia Protheus?” Sal asked, recognising the alien from the archive notes and failing to fully comprehend the bloody arena before him. Abel looked sickened at the sight before him. “What… what happened?”

  “Ah, well. You can see we had a bit of a disagreement. Our first step onto the Ten-Tri’s true path, you see. There were some… mixed opinions, but in the end the belief of strength has prevailed. Wouldn’t you agree?”

  If the emblem hadn’t made it clear to Sal, his words surely proved his shared ideology with a certain faction of madmen.

  “I guess? Look, sir, we are here to fix the fusion engine. It’s going to overload.”

  “That’s right. It’s actually why me and my entourage came here. Some of them suggested waiting for some Doctrine backup, but our current strength was enough to prevail.” Not without causalities, it appeared.

  “Look, sir. I’m not sure what you know. I’m aware of some previous discussions with the Jade Emperor, but that’s fallen through. Mikhail-“

  “Ah, Mikhail. That’s right. I was warned of him. Have you seen him? Never mind. Yes, I am aware of what you speak. Two years ago, I personally was in contact with the Jade Emperor, and he helped provide me with the information needed to set up this meeting between humanity and the Cambiar. Some of the elites of the Ten Tools of Triumph have been awaiting our connection for so long, absorbing every last scrap of data we were sent. I almost discarded my fa?ade the day you all arrived, excited as I was to finally see you in the flesh. And now, the culmination of our purpose comes.” The Cambiar raised a clenched fist towards the dark, domed ceiling of the chamber. “You say that the deal has been retracted though?”

  “Uh, yeah.” Sal tried to hide the fear in his voice as the Rexia straightened, most of his wounds closed.

  Sal and Abel slowly walked towards the controls for the catwalk, sensing that all was far from well with the alien before them. His optical orbs stared at them in a predatory manner. He flexed his claws as the wounds on his arms fully sealed closed, the skin healing as if the injuries were never there. Were all Rexia capable of such feats of physical prowess, or was it just this strange, ideologically possessed creature?

  “Well, no matter. In some ways I hoped that old fool would betray us. Such weakness must be par for the course when it comes to humanity. In that case, I will take up the mantle this universe needs.” Oh, for the love of god, not this shit again. “I will prove that the Cambiar will reign supreme above all others… including humanity.”

  Uh oh.

  “If you want to talk more about, uh, ‘might makes right’ and all that, Mikhail was on board with idea. Bit more shared multi-species sort of thing going on, but you could make it work. Want to go see him? He’s probably down by the hangers right now. And, uh, can we talk about this once we’re not at risk of dying from the engine discharging and frying us all? It’s right there.”

  Sal gestured towards the pit from which the ethereal glow of the core emanated from, but the Rexia had risen up fully straight, clacking his jaws together in anticipation. A number of limbs that had been hanging limply from his back now stood erect, each bearing claws or some form of brutal attachment.

  “Hmm. An interesting idea, but I’ve got a better one. If you survive, you get to turn off the engine, proving your strength, correct? If I win, I have to prove my knowledge and skills are capable of more than just killing, proving my strength of mind. That, and I can go and kill Mikhail afterwards. How does that sound?”

  Ah shit. Abel shouldered the shotgun as he aimed it at the mad creature.

  “Uh, no deal?” Abel said.

  “Too bad. Hope you are ready, because I have been for a long time! For the Ten-Triumphs!” The Rexia skittered towards them fast.

  “Sal! Go for the engine, I’ll hold him off!” Abel fired twice at his target in quick succession. The alien dodged both shots, dashing to the side.

  Abel felt his heart lurch. Could he trust Abel for this? He would be near defenceless whilst he put in the codes to unlock the hanging walkway, his back exposed. And yet…

  No, of course he could. Abel was his best friend, and he would never let him down again. Nodding, Sal sprinted to the console and started typing out access codes at lightning speed.

  “Stay alive!” Sal shouted over his shoulder. He could do this. No, they could do this, together.

  “I am… not in the state to activate the systems myself,” Captain Yulia wheezed. “Zafar… has barely kept me alive. My crew… are gone. All of them, to the last. He’s left me alive, to exist in suffering. But I listened, I learned. I was one last prize for him… but I shall be his downfall. I don’t have much time. Zeentach, Titus, whoever is there, please. I give my authority for the Outstretched Hands, or whoever you are, to destroy my ship… please. Let our sacrifice- no, our failure, not be in vain. Please. Please.” Her cries echoed out, sorrow overtaking the woman over the communications.

  Somewhere below in Fifth Spoke, rhythmic rumbles rang out. Xeena prayed that it was not too late for the Torchers to save the ship. For Sal to save it. Please. Erohin was still confused, glancing at the embedded ship in the distance, and back to the group in front of him. His tongue was pressed along the inside of his cheek as his mind seemed to be working out his exigencies.

  From the broadcasting speaker, Zeentach had fallen silent. Then, a heartbeat later, a reinvigorated voice commanded, “I, Rexia Zeentach will honour this. To all ships of the Cycle of Outstretched Hands – I hereby order you to intervene in this conflict, for the good of our renewed purpose. Outer Rim vessels, board all ships undergoing conflict, secure all non-Doctrine and non-Paradise forces for evacuation. Axles and Hubs, destroy Lighthouse. Aim for the stern and mind Fifth Spoke. Glory be to the Cycle.”

  “Huh.” Erohin had a tone of mild surprise, though his face gave the impression of disappointment.

  His reaction was interrupted by the distant view of Lighthouse instantly getting split into two, three, no, a dozen pieces as white projectiles, tusk-like in shape jetted through the void at speeds beyond those of railcannon shots. The Scar Field, radiant and glowing red, diverted the first volley away, but the sheer mass of the Cambiar ammunition quickly drained the shield’s power in seconds, leaving the ex-colony ship defenceless. They were only visible for a flash, but the projectiles must have been the size of lesser vessels, tens of meters in length. Xeena had not studied the weaponry of Cambiar, as there had never been a need for her to know as general worker. Now, she wished she had paid more attention to the discussions of the Onusians in the security department. Intense tremors rumbled out from the point of impact and across all of Fifth Spoke. The bridge shuddered, screens and organic furniture being thrown to the floor as Xeena fell to her knees from the overwhelming force. Erohin dropped to a knee, Masslock still dangerously pointed at them. Seconds later the energy dissipated, and beyond its fore tip Lighthouse had been rendered to nothing more than a few twisted hunks of ruin, floating in the dark.

  Finally, the Out-Han had displayed their might against the humans, the ‘others’ they had searched after for so many years. And now, the tarnished corpse of Lighthouse was the result.

  “Well, it seems that the Cambiar are more than willing to do my job. Isn’t that nice?” Erohin smiled once more, this one with hints of genuine amusement, and flicked a switch on the side of the Masslock. “But I think we’re about done here. It has been great fun, and I hope one day we will meet again, under the great ha-“

  The upper half of Erohin’s body became red mist as a swarm of flechettes cut through the air, turning his rifle to scrap and leaving his legs to topple to the floor. The industrial sound of a weapon cycling its magazine leaked through the doorway where a giant, shadowed figure stood. The moment of stunned relief was quashed when the man, larger than even Abel by a handful of feet, crouched through the doorframe. A metal exosuit had replaced his entire body from the lower jaw down, a horned helmet adorned with bones topping the goliath’s form. Black metal twisted in shape and plated heavily covered the form of the mechanized beast. Stepping over the remnants of Erohin’s corpse he glared from across the room.

  Staring out from a polarized visor at the shattered remnants of his captured vessel with jowls thick and flustered, he growled, “Titus. You are going to regret doing that.”

  “Zafar Ironskin. I’m glad I finally have the chance to personally kill you myself.” Titus rolled his shoulders.

  “Oh? Remind me who was it lost their eyes during my last attack? My men sure did a number on you, corporate dog. Not that there was a lot of meat left to take.” Thankfully, the beast had more brawn than brains as he slung the large, shotgun-like firearm onto his back, and replaced it by drawing a large machete a mechanized waist sheath. Its outline vibrated in the air, as if moving slightly even when unmoving.

  “Yes, and now I’ll pay it back. Xeena, back me up. Stannocks, get clear.” The analyst straightened, cracked his cybernetic neck and discarded a shredded necktie from it. “Tonight, you die Zafar.”

  Titus surged forward, ready to meet the charging berserker’s blade, hands raised to strike.

  “Look, the instructions say to remove the P-Bolt number fifty-three, that’s all I’ve got here, ok?” Xin said, irritated, slapping the console’s screen for effect.

  “Well, I don’t see a P-Bolt at all. Sorry Xin, did you skip a step maybe? Are you sure you’re on the right page?” Even Dusty, the softest of the group, was growing annoyed by the difficult progress so far. Who knew that taking apart the shielding of a reality bending, soul tearing, teleportation device could be so difficult.

  Well, it would be difficult to Marcus if he hadn’t been doing surprisingly well on his side. Sal had thoroughly taught him everything he could, and then some.

  “Plaz-wrench, three inches please Cerella?” Marcus asked in an almost comedically calm voice by comparison.

  A few seconds of rattling in a toolbox and the desired tool was passed over. “Of course, Marcus.” Cerella said.

  “Thank you.”

  Cerella had truly been what he had needed. Initially, he had felt nothing but disgust for the aliens around him, especially the one he had been forced to partner with after Xin had continued to badger him. However, slowly but surely, she had worked her way into his heart. She had been the only person, other than Sal, he had told about his past. Sal had been receptive, but in a cold mentor-like manner. Cerella was the opposite – warm, soft and very familiar. It took him days of thinking on it, but he came to the embarrassing conclusion why she was had become his elixir for healing.

  She reminded him of his mother. Not the state she had been towards the end, barely a shell of a human. Unlike his father, who had remained sane until he had breathed his last, his mother had given up, disconnected from the world early into their torture. In a way, though he had said the words, Marcus never got the chance to say goodbye. At least, his mother didn’t react to the words. Cerella didn’t judge him when he first said the words, called her by his mother’s name. Instead, she sat and nodded, taking it all in. Some rough days of personal therapy together, and he had made the start on healing the wounds he thought could never close. Now, day by day, he had the opportunity to take the next step of his life, to move on. Part of him knew that treading closer to anger, to wrath, would sour the corrupt he made, but nevertheless, he still needed to find closure in some way.

  Still, Marcus felt rather crappy in a physical sense. The room was freezing, kept cool to help maintain the S-Drive’s components. Marcus now heavily regretting removing his undershirt as an afterthought during his fight with the Doctrine forces at the pool earlier, and the body armour he had claimed did little to trap his heat. The engine had been a lot smaller than he had expected, though the schematics didn’t lie about the measurements. It was one thing to see the description on a screen or in a booklet, and another to gaze up at the device directly. The machine was as big as an in-atmosphere flight craft and lined with hundreds of layers of unique materials that each needed specific instructions to remove correctly.

  Thankfully, a full teardown of the whole machine was not needed. Only a particular area mid-way along its length needed to be worked through to the centre for a Keeper to disable the programming that fed the runaway reaction within. Kneeling down, he removed another section, delicately keeping the wires in place without damaging them. Internally, he repeated the mantra he’d overhead Sal say once or twice. ‘Slow is smooth, smooth is quick’. ‘Slow is smooth, smooth is quick’. Though his fists still ached to punch that asshole in the nose, the fact Sal had come back was enough to at least put that thought on hold. That, and the fact that he looked like he would die before he even got a chance to punch the idiot himself.

  Looking down, blood touching his boot, Marcus realized the blood puddle from near the entrance had spread all the way over to him. When the team had arrived, they were terrified about their proximity to Lighthouse, and the potential flood of troopers they might need to fight through. Instead, they had been greeted by armies of soldiers dead and dismembered – either from some straight blade or an extremely powerful firearm. Some bodies were just limbs – the rest turned to pulp. Sal had mentioned the way to the S-Drive was ‘getting cleared’ by a particular clanlord. Were the stories about ‘One-Shot’ Olegovich true? Marcus hoped he’d get the chance to find the man once they were done with the engine; he wanted to take down a Doctrine, or ex-Doctrine, whatever he was, high-priority target. His rage at the Lengti forced him to put that anger towards any clan warrior he saw, and no rumours would stop that.

  “Ace! Come on, just hold it steady! It’s only a syraline panel, it can’t be that heavy!” Xin had taken off her prized sunglasses and was rubbing her nose, as bad a sign as any. Marcus needed to finish his side and help out those dumbasses before someone got murdered. Well, Dusty was doing fine, but Xin had quickly grown too annoyed to focus properly. Sal, however, had always praised Marcus’ skill, even early on when he was far from the friendliest man to be around. Marcus had initially been blind to Salvador’s perspective as the Torcher’s leader walked away, apparently deciding on a worse life in every sense. In hindsight he could see the man had been like Marcus after getting out of the Lengti slave camps - a man injured but had never truly healed. He had opened up to Sal before, Sal would one day open up to him, Marcus was sure of it.

  The shallow stab wound in his shoulder throbbed. Had Marcus ever truly healed himself? His earlier barrage of uncontrolled rage proved otherwise. The long-term pain was weakened, thanks to Cerella’s medical skills and a dose of painkillers, but the sharp, controlling fury whenever he thought on the Doctrine still hungered. But right now, he didn’t have time to worry. One more plate was removed, this one similar to a weak strength baryplate, and the inner network of the Altysn-regulator side was revealed.

  “Thomas! This side is open. Can you do your magic?”

  “Sure can,” Thomas said.

  Thomas’ natural tone was a little odd to hear after months of the man speaking like the machine he appeared to be. Making his way over to the exposed port, he plugged a number of wires and cables in. “

  “Thank you, Marcus. See if you can provide some… encouragement to the Torchers, please?”

  Thomas was correct, help was needed. Xin had thrown a spanner out of the room as Marcus looked over. As he approached the Chitysn-activator side, a thought caught him. Instead of immediately trying to stop Xin from killing Ace as Titan and Dusty attempted to separate them, he made his way over to the console.

  With a series of keystroke, he found what he was looking for. Firstly, there was a gathering of what appeared to be Doctrine ID tags near the hanger, their last holdout spot, maybe? Secondly, it seemed that not only Ruby Eye’s cargo had been suspicious. There were some uniquely marked containers that had been moved up from the lower decks but not utilized by any of the forces. The tags that referred to goreskins had all been labelled as ‘neutralized’, a calming thought, and the number of enemy combatants in general was dropping quick. A flood of green-labelled Cambiar tagged units were pouring in from every docking port along the ship. Reinforcements were on their way it would seem. Regarding the moved containers, it was something for Marcus to think about after the engine was safe. He had to tear himself away to deal with his teammates. Hearing the tattooed woman screeching about needing an energy drink made Marcus think: was this how Sal felt at all times? No wonder the man had tried to run away. Shaking his head, he went over to fix his friend’s shortcomings.

  Such was life as part of the Torchers.