The main medical field station in the city of Innes had advanced from tent to prefab construction, dropped into the suburbs by the Sirius to handle overspill now the main hospitals were fully operational. It was still rough and ready, the air acrid with the scent of disinfectant and medical supplies.

Aryn found Q’ira sat up on one of the beds, her leg still encased in the sub-dermal regeneration brace. PADDs were scattered around her, screens showing colourful displays of what he suspected was a backlog of Alpha Centauri’s fashion magazines. She beamed when he walked in, which was the second thing to surprise him.

He voiced his first surprise. ‘I didn’t think you’d be resting up here.’

‘Pfft. I’m not badly off enough for the main hospital.’

‘No, but… you could be on the Sirius.’

‘You mean, the Sirius that’s about to risk getting blown up to save the day?’ Q’ira shook her head and tossed a PADD onto the bed. ‘Please. Even if it all goes horribly wrong, I’d much rather take my chances under renewed occupation than being strapped to a bed that might explode.’

‘I can’t argue with that reasoning.’ Aryn rested his hands on the foot of the bed, shoulders stiff. ‘Are you alright?’

‘I got shot.’ She gestured at the brace. ‘That really hurt. This thing pumps out drugs like nobody’s business, though, it’s great. But they say I’ll be right as rain in a week. Just in time to miss the final death-charge, oh no.’

He fought a smile. ‘I wish you were riding with us.’

‘I don’t; I don’t want to get shot again.’ But her dancing eyes grew serious. ‘You guys don’t need me.’

‘Recent experience would suggest otherwise,’ he pointed out. ‘Without you, I get shot and we don’t get the intel.’

‘Someone else would have been there. A proper Starfleet professional.’

‘Our “proper Starfleet professionals” had left us.’ Aryn sighed, looking away. ‘John says he’s sorry. But John lies when he breathes, sometimes.’

Her brow furrowed. ‘You’re really worried?’

He opened his mouth to insist that was obvious, but the words died, tasting off, insincere. Aryn winced. ‘No,’ he admitted. ‘In that I don’t actually think they’ll do it again. I don’t worry they’ll hang us out to dry. I do believe the mission comes first for them. I just… I’m – you got shot.’

‘I didn’t like that,’ Q’ira agreed. ‘But I am okay. See?’ She wiggled her toes.

‘Fighting fit,’ Aryn drawled. ‘But you didn’t have to get shot; if we’d stayed on-mission, and we’d all stuck together…’

‘You’re pissed at them.’

He stopped. ‘I suppose. Yes.’

‘Is now the best time to be pissed at them? Going into this stupid mission? Where you’re gonna need each other not just to win, but to survive?’ In his silence, she bit her lip. ‘I’ll feel a hell of a lot better of you all running off into danger without me if I know you’re actually sticking together. If you’re not hanging onto anger like they were back on Threshold.’

Aryn’s breath caught. ‘…that’s a low blow,’ he pointed out, briefly indignant.

She smirked. ‘Does it work?’ But the smile was short-lived, her eyes going serious. ‘Try to win. I don’t fancy surviving under a Vaadwaur occupation.’

He tapped the bedframe and nodded. ‘We will,’ he insisted, and turned to go.

‘And – Mac? Try to survive it. I don’t fancy looking for a new job.’

He hesitated. Wondered if he should look back. Wondered what it would do to him to look her in the eye, give a promise he knew he couldn’t guarantee, or some reassurance he knew would feel empty. Wondered if he’d be able to walk away without saying something even more stupid.

He nodded. And left.

Even with his recommended modifications to the squadron’s warp engines, the trip between Proxima and Toliman was not swift. Aryn had grown used to it in the campaigns of the last few weeks, harassing and harrying Vaadwaur operations in the space between stars. Then, their progress had felt steady, firm. Now, it felt interminable.

After a day, or two, or perhaps a lifetime, Cassidy’s voice crackled over the Blackbird’s comms. ‘One hour out from Toliman. Gear up.’

In the earliest stages of the operation, in the weeks and months beforehand, the Rooks’ mission loadout had usually required some subtlety; civilian clothing, discreet weapons, lighter body armour out of sight. The time for that had passed long ago, and when Aryn got to the locker room, he found Nallera strapping plates to her legs for full protection, Rosewood assessing his rifle selection for the heavy firepower of close-quarters work aboard a hostile platform.

And Ranicus stood at the sixth, usually empty locker.

Aryn frowned. ‘Commander?’

She was slipping on a vest, and turned with a level expression. ‘Lieutenant.’ A beat. ‘Yes. I’m joining you. Temporary Rook Five.’

‘We need someone who can watch our asses and knows how we work,’ said Nallera cheerfully.

‘If we were drawing from the support staff, surely… Jakorr…’

‘Jakorr doesn’t share my technical and scientific proficiencies,’ Ranicus said simply. ‘If all you needed was brute force, this role would be easy to fill. I have absolute trust in the lieutenant’s capability to keep Blackbird out of trouble while we deploy.’

‘And,’ said Rosewood, finally picking which combination of stock and barrel he wanted on his rifle, ‘what matters is what happens after we leave the Blackbird. Getting home is a bonus.’

‘A bonus I really freaking like,’ called Nallera. ‘Let’s not suicide mission this shit yet.’

The door slid open, and in walked Cassidy, already loaded for bear, two pistols holstered at his hips and the body armour chestplate glinting in the dim lighting. He looked them all over. ‘This is gonna be a rough ride,’ he warned. ‘Main fleet goes in. We wait for them to engage. Slip through the chaos, get in the aperture, spoof our transponder and hunt down that outpost.’

‘And every second we waste,’ said Aryn, ‘is a second Sirius Squadron is exposed, covering us so we can get to the outpost.’

‘Sirius Squadron won’t win the day.’ Rosewood frowned. ‘Once the Blackout is down, the First Fleet wins the day. Even with the Blackout down, the squadron might not survive long enough for reinforcements to get here.’

‘Wow,’ said Nallera, standing up from the bench and heading to the locker for her munitions. ‘Someone woke up on the wrong side of bed today.’

‘I’d like,’ said Aryn, ‘for us to survive the liberation of Alpha Centauri. As many of us as possible.’

Rosewood looked at him. Aryn had seen accusing looks, charming looks, manipulative looks. There wasn’t much going on in these cold blue eyes this time. ‘Like you reminded me, Mac. The mission comes first. Survival isn’t the mission.’

‘Stop this,’ snapped Cassidy. ‘All of you. And look at me.’

They did, and the tension in Aryn’s chest eased at their team leader’s calm, level gaze. There was less of a sense of tight wire coiled through Cassidy’s muscles, or rip-tides pulling deep beneath the still surface. Storms were coming, but in facing them, he was calm again. Controlled again. Ready to remind them to push away distractions, to focus on what they could affect, on the three feet around them –

‘We’re here to save people,’ said Cassidy. ‘That’s the most important thing. Alpha Centauri. The squadron. Each other. We keep hiding from these things, acting like all that exists is what’s front of us, the next step, the next room, the next shot. And no, we can’t get distracted. But it’s a reality. Use this pressure.’

Cassidy looked at Aryn. ‘You’re worried about your girl on Sirius. Not asking you to pretend she doesn’t exist. Take a beat before we start, though. Think about her. And take any of that fear or rage or whatever goes on in your head, Four, and put it in your speed, your strength, your accuracy.’ His eyes fell on Ranicus. ‘Same for you, Commander. You want to prove yourself? You want to show Command they shouldn’t have thrown you away? That’s pressure. And that pressure’s a privilege. It’s part of what makes us different. Use it.’

He turned to Rosewood. ‘This is your home, kid. Ignoring that won’t change a thing. Don’t fight in spite of it. Fight for it.’

Rosewood was unmoved. ‘I am.’

Rather than get drawn into that, Cassidy looked to Nallera at last. ‘Chief…’

‘Yeah, Boss?’

‘…you’re fine. Great, actually. Carry on.’

Nallera brandished a pair of charges, beaming. ‘Solid copy.’

There was a faint rumble of the deck, the telltale sign of Blackbird adjusting its speed. Decelerating.

Cassidy looked up. ‘This is it. This is us. Time to be the best.’