For the first time in years, Salvador Vigino’s heart was alive. Sprinting through the lobby, he looked around for any signs of the Torchers. Damn, it had already been some time since he left them for processing. They were already gone. However, the sound of distant gunfire echoing throughout the ship snapped him back to his immediate surroundings. The lights had returned to their emergency flashing as the blaring of alarms swirled around him.

  Cautiously, he retreated back into the labyrinthine corridors of Starheart. Staying as quiet as he could, he made his way to a man passageway, considering his options. Back to the dorm? No, he doubted the Torchers would all go back there, the space would be too small for all of them and their Cambiar partners. The engineering deck? Possibly. Elijah would be prepared for such a situation and would likely be in the assembly hall. That was, if Elijah was even on Starheart or Fifth Spoke. Last Sal had heard, he had gone to a different ship to try and teach the Cambiar there. Perhaps the connection dock between Starheart and Fifth Spoke? Most likely. Sal turned at a four-way junction and a right turn, only to find a group of Doctrine soldiers inspecting some twitching bodies. One was giving it a kick when they noticed Sal.

  Wheeling back, he turned and darted down the junction in the direction he had been heading. It wasn’t long before the sound of bullets pinging off the walls around him filled his ears. Ok, new plan – he decided to head towards O’Malley’s, as that was the closest spot his friends might have gone to. He hadn’t seen anymore messages on his comm-device but hoped that soon Titus might send another out. With this thought in mind, he stumbled down a staircase before he stopped in place when he came to another soldier, this one not focused on him, instead firing down a hallway at some unseen target.

  Before Sal even had the chance to duck to the side of the hall for cover, Titus Fornax appeared, dashing far quicker than any man had the right to and impaled the trooper with his arm up to his bicep. The gunfire ceased as Salvador stood, stunned. Titus turned, his glasses outlining the glowing red of his cybernetic scanners, contacts gone, and surveyed the engineer.

  “Mr Vigino, what brings…” Titus trailed off.

  The soldiers from earlier were stomping down the staircase, hot in Sal’s trail. The cries of Doctrine curses and taunts echoed from above. None of them made it to the bottom, however, as Titus zipped forward, the whine of mechanical augmentation clear to Sal’s ears. With three quick strikes, plus a single gunshot from a rifle redirected on its user, and they were dead. Breathing heavily, Sal could only stare as a gore-stained Titus approached him. The synthetic skin on one arm had been peeled back by the force of his repeated strikes, leaving a completely metallic limb extending from the shoulder below.

  “Now… Mr Vigino, how are you?”

  Salvador couldn’t immediately respond. A mixture of rush of emotions he had gone through not five minutes before, and the surprise appearance of an unexpected Titus left him gaping like a fish.

  “Mr Vigino?” Titus chocked his head.

  “S-sir. Yes?” Sal’s tongue didn’t seem to fit in his mouth.

  “Are you ok?” Titus crouched down before a slumped Salvador.

  Was he ok? Things were going to hell in a handbasket. Possibly every ship in the Out-Han’s fleet was being attacked, Salvador had turned his back on his friends, changed his mind at the last possible moment, and now the man he had once labelled a pencil pusher was looking more like some sort of terrifying murder ‘borg.

  “Were you at the docking port for Marshstrider?” Titus seemed to be hoping a question would bring Sal back to reality, and to his credit it did.

  A further question was left unsaid – ‘were you leaving with H&H?’ Sal wanted to deny it, to brush it off, but he could no longer.

  “Apologies, Titus, sir. I… I had a moment of failure, of weakness. I thought I could live for myself, and just myself. But I see now I was wrong. Horribly wrong. I’ve decided to come back, to fix my mistakes. It won’t happen again; I’ve made sure of that. My friends, sir. Please, I need to help them. Have you seen them?”

  Titus gave a sigh, finally seeing his subordinate looking a bit less like a braindead buffoon and readjusted his bloodied glasses. “Unfortunately not, Mr Vigino. I would, however, presume they are back on Fifth Spoke, like most of the crew. The crowd at Marshstrider’s dock quickly left for some better furnished pastures back on the alien vessel. As you can see, the traitors have made their move – H&H’s arrival must have been their signal. We seem to be clearing out Starheart easy enough, but I am unsure of the situation elsewhere. Come, walk with me.”

  Titus turned and headed back down the hallway from which he had appeared like a phantom.

  “I take it you have no intentions of waiting this mess out. You wish to help, despite the danger?”

  “Yes sir. I can’t stand by anymore. I’ve decided on my path. I can’t run away.”

  “Good man. In that case, I am more than happy to assist you. I am planning on heading for Fifth Spoke myself, but they’ve severed our umbilicals. I fear we may be experiencing some déjà vu, but I think our best plan in the immediate future is to use the escape pods. At least, those we’ve reloaded since our initial evacuation. If all goes as planned, those are our best bet. Our regular landing shuttles will be risky to land over there, as the sparse reports I have say that Fifth Spoke’s hanger is completely overrun with Doctrine forces. What do you think, Mr Vigino?”

  “As much as I hate rough landings, if it gets us there quickly then that works for me. I have to say, sir, I only had basic training back in the Recon Fleet. I’m… not exactly like you, sir.” Sal saw the where the formal suit had torn, revealing mechanical motors and servos extending from the shredded synthetic skin below. No wonder he wrapped himself up in formal attire from neck below – he was likely more steel than man.

  “Fear not, Mr Vigino.” Titus, using his foot, flicked up a gun from a Doctrine corpse as they passed, a simple handgun. Sal recognized it as a Nova .338, a mid-sized pistol used by CCH and Doctrine soldiers for in-ship combat. The common ammunition it chambered would crumple and mitigate impact force upon contacting metal bulkheads or utilities but would punch straight through most body armours or organic material.

  “You know how to shoot?” Titus asked.

  “Kinda. I’ve repaired recon ships during war, you know.”

  “That’s good enough for me. Honestly, I’ve always needed to eliminate my targets fast, and I find bullets a little too slow, sometimes.” Sal wasn’t sure if he was making a joke, and the idea that Titus might not be felt freakishly impressive.

  They went by a darkened O’Malley’s and saw numerous huddled figures inside. Surprised by the unexpected figures within, Sal aimed his new gun in a flash before Titus placed a hand on the barrel, lowering it.

  “Civilians, on our side. They’ll be fine for now,” Titus said as they passed without stopping. “There’s a lot of loyalty still left in H&H’s crew, surprisingly. Not to the company, that ship has sailed, but to each other and to our new alien friends. It appears the upper echelons of the crew were the most infiltrated, alongside the passenger class. I think I understand now why we evacuated so quickly from Starheart following Ruby Eye’s untimely destruction; the Doctrine thought the Cambiar ships were their allies, waiting here. That, or they simply wanted us defenceless for some third party. I have a sinking suspicion that there might also be non-Doctrine forces at play, based on the few communications I’ve received.”

  “Wait, non-Doctrine?” Sal struggled to keep up with the fast pace of Titus, apparently showing no sign of exertion.

  “Indeed. Could be another corporation, non-affiliated bandits, rare as they are, or even Paradisians. Not completely certain. Don’t think it’s the Cambiar turning on us, thank god.”

  Their conversation was interrupted they turned to an access passage to the escape shuttles, only to see a group of clan fighters, all brandishing clubs and blades, approaching. Upon seeing them, they did not draw any guns, instead chanting. Sal had learnt a little of the clan tongue from Xin, as she had learnt it as part of her pilot training and could make out the repeated invocation.

  “Honour! Duel! Honour! Duel!”

  Instead of charging, Titus stopped and gestured for Sal to wait behind him. Rolling his sleeves up, he approached them calmly.

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  “I accept.” He said in their foreign tongue. He moved like lightning, punching and kicking with inhuman speed. Every blow sent the men flying against the walls, landing with a crunch. In less than ten seconds, he had cleared the group of a dozen warriors, the last one twitching on the floor, battered and broken. Titus attempted to draw information from the dying trooper but was unsuccessful.

  “It seems we have a problem. A very big problem.” Titus didn’t sound worried, his usual neutral tone still steady.

  “And that is, sir?” Sal tried to work out the issue as he stared down at the dead men and women.

  “We have a mix of clans on our hands, at least three of four groups by my eyes so far. That means, this isn’t some small operation. Many different factions within the Doctrine are at play here, even the ones that despise each other. Which means that either they teamed up for this one operation out of some collective glory or funds, unlikely if they were lying in wait for the colony, or this came as an order from the Jade Emperor himself.”

  “Oh. That sounds… bad.”

  “It is. It means that he had a specific interest in our cargo perhaps? Or maybe…” For the first time since he’d come to meet this strange man, he saw shock overtake him. Titus’ glasses tumbled to the floor and his forwent the attempt to catch them.

  “My god, Salvador. He knew about the Cambiar. The Jade Emperor knew about them before we did. He’s known all along.”

  Xin was going to die. Random people were standing around her, shouting orders at one another and firing indiscriminately over the makeshift barricade she huddled behind. It had been hastily constructed between a tired looking casino and a swimming pool. Despite the immediate chaos around her, the one thought that rang through Xin’s mind was that she had never learnt to swim. She had never really wanted to, nor had she ever needed to, but it was a familiar dream. It was the same one she had considered when her craft was shredded by a Doctrine fighter years before. Reality had no time to wait for her. The bark of gunfire was unrelenting, her ears ringing with each shot. It was only when a gruff man took a few attempts to grab at her hand that she remembered what she was doing. In her state of shock, someone had loaded her up with magazines and spare guns and told her to sit still and hold them up. Like an automaton, she had followed, the fear that if she moved her leg would once again be torn apart and erupt in flames, her metal coffin of a vessel crushing in around her. Head tucked between her arms as the sting from her tears burned, Xin Rouse really wished she had learnt to swim.

  Many nights she had dreams like this, albeit with less gunfire and more alarms from her ship depressurizing around her. Recently, Xin had pushed past those dreams, and not just because Ace had kept her up all night. No, talking to Xeena and promising to fix her leg had recentered her way of remembering the event. Her leg had seared, muscle cramping as it was licked clean from her bones, but that was then; this was now. Dumping the ammo in a pile, her senses regained, she muttered some apologies and went looking for her team. Crawling on all fours as gunfire was exchanged to and from the barricade, Xin retraced her steps to find her team.

  Abel, Stannock, Cerella and Xeena had gone into the casino to look for some access to the maintenance tunnels to see if they could make a pathway for a possible flank on the assaulting forces. The distant roars from Titan signalled that she was in the middle of the fighting. In that case, where were Dusty and Marcus? Far enough from the front line to stand, she got her bearings. A motley crew of various ranks of humans and Cambiar castes moved around and swapped out with those on the barricade. The hasty arrival of a few security officers bringing some desperately needed longer-range Watchman 72 rifles helped turn the tide long enough for more serious defences to be assembled. As Xin stumbled through the hall, about to approach the entrance to the casino, a spindly figure dropped in front of her.

  Xin flailed for a second, reaching for a pilot’s holster that had long since been handed in at the end of her service. Xin relaxed upon recognising the face.

  “Xin, are you ok?” Xeena chirped, tilting her head.

  “Well, I’ve been better, but yeah. Good for now.” Xin did her best to avoid glancing at her leg, stripped muscle leaving it withered and knotted. No matter what, she would get that leg as good as new somehow.

  “Ok, you’re doing great. I’m looking for Dusty and Marcus, have you seen them?” Xeena leaned over and gently gripped the engineer’s shoulders. It had been harder to tell earlier, but Xin could see up close the effects of Cambiar adaption in real time. Her once almost skeletally thin arms had begun bulking up as the hardened lining of plates slowly emerged from her skin. Even her height was slowly growing taller with every heartbeat. Though she paled to Titan, roaring as she tore through Doctrine forces, it was clear that Xeena was already on the way to developing some similar characteristics.

  “Sorry Xeena. No idea,” Xin mumbled.

  “Alright, I’ll look for them at the other end of the baricade. See if you can look in the pool maybe?”

  With that, Xeena scuttled off, the clacking of her claws echoing into the dark distance as the orange warning lights pulsed. With a heavy sigh, Xin passed the casino where she heard Abel and Stannock arguing over removing a security plate without the necessary tools. Leaving them to it, she limped onwards to the swimming pool’s entrance, the dim atmosphere putting a downer on the once bright reception area. Xin considered what would happen once the attack was over. She had turned her back on H&H, obviously. Sal might have given up on the idea of a better life, but Xin sure as hell wasn’t going to surrender herself to a crappy life back on Titanlock. If the Out-Han took her on after this, she would make them damn proud. Besides, if she always needed citizenship, she could probably convince Ace to marry her after a couple rounds under the blankets. He always bitched about her forcefulness in public afterwards, but certainly didn’t seem to mind it in the moment.

  With a wild shout, her daydreams were shattered. Hobbling as fast as her leg would let her, she limped into the main pool area, glowing lights from under the water’s surface providing limited visibility. Stepping onto the tiles, she saw a glint in the corner of her eye and dodged an errant blade flying at her from the side. Looking around she saw that Marcus stood, topless and surrounded by at least five Heaven’s Doctrine troops, all in light gear and wielding weapons. Xin had never gotten too close a look at his body before, but she could see clearly the dozens of crisscrossed scars from blades, hooks and whips that coated every inch of his back’s torn tapestry. His eyes were those of a predatory animal, fierce and unblinking. Marcus’ bangs no longer provided cover for his unblinking gaze, and his unslouched posture gave way to his full, and impressive, height.

  Had she not looked closer, she would’ve cried out for his safety, to run from the maniacs around him. Instead, she noticed that at his feet lay the corpse of another soldier, head caved in by Marcus’ bare fists. From the cries and pleas filling the room, she realized the warriors surrounding him were not trying to assault him, no, far from it. As blades clanged to the floor and some attempted to take to the pool in retreat, it was clear they were trying to flee. Marcus grabbed the next soldier scrambling away and wrenched the screaming clansman over his shoulder with one hand, the man landing with a crack on the tiled floor. Before she could even consider intervening, a gasping, groaning noise took her attention.

  Huddled in the corner sat Ace and figure, his hairy back turned to Xin. The distracted clan fighter was strangling the smaller Cambiar, screaming violent obscenities as he did so. Reaching into her pocket for a steak knife, the same one she had been forced to give back to the restaurant when she had tried to faux stab Stannock at their dinner, she drew it with the blade pointed down. Xin had managed to get the blade back, explaining her intentions to give it as a gift from the ashen bastard as a peace offering. She had intended to decorate the tool and give it back once again as a present for the two Stannocks as a way of making amends, but saving her boyfriend would have to do.

  Surging forward, and pushing off her good leg, she wrapped one arm around the beast’s neck and used the knife in the other to gouge at him. With a wail, he stumbled back, immediately giving Ace enough air to prop himself up and thrust a claw into his gut. Still holding on for dear life, both he and the grotesque man toppled into the pool, the cold water chilling Xin to the bone. Soaked, panicking, Xin flailed wildly in the water. Now in the opposite situation of her Needle-class ship, she would die by drowning, not searing flames or the depressurization of space. Just as she felt her lungs burn, she reoriented herself and kicked off the bottom floor with her bad leg, the most force she had put on it in years. Kicking wildly, she broke the surface and found a clawed hand outstretched to drag her out. A familiar face greeted her, hanging over the pool’s edge.

  “Need a hand?” Ace smirked.

  Though the red marks around his neck were still raw, he sounded mostly fine. Together, they pulled Xin out and both flopped to the side. Her immediate thought was to rush and help Marcus, but the collapsed pair inclined their heads to see a panting Marcus standing over more bodies and reaching out to grab the last conscious marauder by their long hair. Marcus tossed the man into the wall and letting him fall to the now thoroughly bloodstained floor before pounding the man over and over with the bottom of his fist. The foe’s head cracked against the hard tile floor with every strike.

  “This! Is! For! My! Family!” he roared, skin split and bloodied.

  Once he was done pulping the man’s skull, he steadily rose up and looked over to see Xin and Ace looking in shock. With as much care as one would wipe starch-flake crumbs from their jumpsuit after breakfast, he gripped a small knife embedded in his shoulder and casually flicked it into the pool. Blood from the blade mixed with the hairy man’s as the metal blade sank to the bottom.

  “You guys ok? They didn’t get you, did they?” Marcus’ voice had a cold edge to it as he slowly walked their way.

  Xin shook her head and heaved to her feet with Ace. Like a viper, Marcus snapped to attention when distant sounds coming from the reception grew closer. Sighing with relief, the trio saw the rest of the Torchers stumbled in, absorbing the scene with astonishment.

  “Oh, thank god you’re fine.” Abel bent over sighing. “The resistance has pushed forward, and we can actually start moving now and we finally got some schematics. The fore section of the ship has the bridge, which is where we can send out a mayday and the central control unit where we can figure out what’s going on a bit clearer.”

  “Are there more of them on the way?” Marcus didn’t phrase it as a question - it was a challenge.

  Abel shrugged, not apparently wanting to fuel his testy friend’s apparent newfound hunger for violence, and gestured them to follow. Xin and Ace regrouped with Marcus as they left the pool, the smaller Cambiar taking some time to inspect and clean his wounds. Busy fussing and fiddling, Ace didn’t pay attention when Marcus turned to Xin.

  “Xin. Don’t give up hope on Sal. I did for a bit there too, but one day he’ll see the light. We all do, eventually.”

  He smiled determinedly, looking much more robust than he had before.

  “Doesn’t mean I won’t sock him one when I see him next though.”