Reformation: Chapter Thirty-Four

Notes: Back at last! Sorry for the delay, and the fact that it's not terribly long, but hey--it's here. And Cody and Ten! Yay!

Also, again--sorry for the delay, but winners of the audiobooks for Where There's Fire will be announced tomorrow! The conference was fun, the networking was great, but omg--I'm so tired now.

Title: Reformation: Chapter Thirty-Four

***

Chapter Thirty-Four

It felt different than ze had expected, approaching the planet like this. Ten had done the same exposure and zero-g training that every cadet at the Academy did, and while careening through a planet’s atmosphere in an attempt to safely land a modified hoverbike on its surface was decidedly not one of the training scenarios, it shouldn’t have made any difference. Ze’d been exposed to crashes, explosions, breakaways—every nasty thing the programmers could think of. Hell, Ten had been in actual shuttle crashes, so this really shouldn’t have fazed hir at all.

Which was why ze couldn’t understand why hir heartrate was spiking so abnormally, or why it felt like their oxygen supply had already run out even though ze knew, logically, that that was impossible.

“Everything looks good,” Cody said from in front of hir, his eyes glued to the instrument panel. Never mind that the bike was projecting data that could be read directly through their implants—Cody had never quite attached himself to doing things the easy way, like cadets who’d grown up with the technology. “We should start falling through the top layer of atmosphere in forty-five seconds.” Ten could hear the excitement in his voice. “Time to see how good our heat shielding really is!”

“It’s—the best,” Ten replied, and why was ze stumbling over hir words? “Nat-naturally. I-I-I’m the one who…the one who des-designed it.”

“Ten?” Cody turned his head around to look at hir. “What’s wrong?”

Ten shook hir head. “Noth-nothing.”

“This doesn’t sound like nothing.”

“It’s nothing!” Ten snapped, pleased at how anger kept hir words together better. “I’m perfectly fi-fi-fine!”

“Ten…”

“I don’t know!” ze burst at him. “I don’t know what’s wro-wrong with m-m-me! I feel like I’m having a hear-heart-heart attack! I don’t even know wha-what that feels like, but it must be a lo-lo-lot like this!” Stars that had no place in the sky were swimming in front of hir eyes now, and Ten blinked rapidly trying to clear them. Hallucinations? Ze couldn’t be having hallucinations, there was no reason for it!

“Ten.”

Hir eyelids were fluttering fast enough that they blurred the back of Cody’s head. The stars were getting thicker.

“Ten! Listen to me!”

“I-I am!”

“You need to take some deep breaths before you pass out!”

“My brea-bre-buh—” Ze stopped talking to save hirself the embarrassment. Obviously if ze couldn’t even get a word out, hir breathing wasn’t fine.

“Here.” Cody moved one of hir hands from around his waist up to his chest. His suit was too thick to feel anything through, but a moment later a reassuring thud pulsed through their combined grip. “You feel that? Breathe when you feel the beat.”

Ten would have argued, but ze didn’t have the air to spare for it. Ze pushed hir pride aside and tried to breathe along with the next slow thud. It was…harder than ze’d anticipated.

“Good,” Cody said encouragingly, and it shouldn’t have mattered because being good at breathing was a stupid thing to try and excel at, but the strange, crackling tension in Ten’s chest eased slightly. “Keep it up. Keep breathing with the beat.” The planet grew larger and larger, filling all of Ten’s view, looming immense and inescapable as the light surrounding their shields began to glow with heat. “Breathe with the beat, Ten.” Cody squeezed hir hand. “You don’t have to watch,” he said gently, his voice as sweet as any touch he’d ever shared with hir. “Just close your eyes and feel. Feel the beat. Feel me. I’m here with you. We’re together.”

And it might have been cowardly, and any other day Ten might have scoffed and rolled hir eyes at what seemed like such condescending gentility, but not now. Now ze pressed hir head tight to Cody’s back, closed hir eyes against the brilliant fire surrounding them, and focused on the beat.

Ze didn’t need to look death in the eye when life was holding hir hand.

***

Miles swayed back and forth like he was lying in a wave pool, like the kind he and Claudia had taken the girls to a while back. It had been nicer than he cared to admit out loud, the warm air contrasting perfectly with the cool water. He’d closed his eyes and floated for over an hour, until his kids had pulled him into a water fight. It was like being back there, except…he was cold. And dry. And—fuck.

He forced his eyes open and looked around the darkened interior of the pod. The emergency lights were on, and the locator beacon was beeping soundlessly—the speaker must have broken in the fall. His cadets were still, unmoving on the floor, and Miles reached out to them, ignoring the sudden stabbing pain in his leg. He touched Grennson’s neck—there was a pulse, a strong one, but he had a bleeding head wound. And Darrell’s own heartbeat was thready, and from the odd way his tunic sat against his chest, Miles could guess why. Shattered ribs, in all likelihood. More than the simple Regen kit in the pod could handle, but he pulled it free and gave them each a shot anyway. Grennson’s wound stopped bleeding, and Darrell’s breathing eased some, so it clearly hadn’t hurt.

Cadets stabilized, now he needed to stabilize their craft. Miles tapped into the computer with his implant. Current status?

Pod is 88.5% inoperable. Hull is cracked. The rate of leakage into the space between the outer and inner hull will force complete submersion in approximately five minutes.

Submersion… Outside environment?

H20, Cl-, Na+, Mg2+, Ca+—

Seawater. They’d hit the ocean. Any air?

The top 23% of the craft is yet uncovered.

Then they still had time to get out. The parachute that had deployed to keep them from dying when they hit the surface doubled as a life raft, if he could get it to inflate. Miles crawled to the hatch at the top of the pod and checked for it. Still there, still attached. Good. Activate raft inflation.

Affirmative. The raft puffed into life in front of him, and Miles breathed a little easier.

Location of detachable emergency beacon? It glowed into existence in his mind, much subdued compared to the motion of the other one. He grabbed it and tucked it away in a pocket. “Emergency kit? He took it and stowed it away, then gingerly slid the boys into inflatable vests, careful not to move them too much.

Speed of saturation is increasing. This pod will face complete submersion in thirty-four seconds.

“Shit.” Miles wrenched the hatch open, shivered for a moment at the chill air and the splash of icy water that entered through the hole, then lifted Grennson up. It wasn’t easy, but he got the cadet onto the raft and secured with just enough time to get an arm around Darrell before the pod was completely submerged, and water filled the rest of the interior. Miles held his breath and reminded himself not to panic. He could do this. He’d been in worse situations, and at least the chill of the water was numbing the pain in his leg.

Darrell’s best inflated automatically, buoyant enough to lift the cadet but slim enough that Miles could still get him through the darkened porthole. He followed and pulled the lever detaching the raft from the pod before it dragged the whole thing down, then got onto the raft himself before gently lifting Darrell up after him. He secured the cadet’s vest to the raft, pulled a thin survival blanket out of the emergency gear and nestled in between the kids, then covered all of them with it. They were both still breathing, and the beacon was going. If anybody was looking for them, they’d be found.

Before the next storm, he hoped. 

Reformation: Chapter Thirty

Notes: A little longer today, yay! Prepare for...baaaattles iiiiin spaaaaaaaace! Next week will be Cody and Ten making more questionable decisions, which should be lots of fun.

Title: Reformation: Chaper Thirty

***

Chapter Thirty

The air reverberated with the sound of alarms, yellow and red lights almost blinding as they blinked in time with their auditory accompaniment. Darrel sat fixed in his chair, hands gripping the seat so hard he couldn’t even feel them anymore, heart racing.

“Forward shields down to fifteen percent, sir! Ventral shields down to five. One more strafe across the bottom and we’re going to start venting!”

“The Cleaver is dead in space, sir! Full evac ongoing, but two Starshatterers are closing in on it.”

“Captain Obede says he needs another five minutes before he can safely break formation, sir.”

“Sir—”

“Sir—”

“All firepower and shields forward, full weapons spread and engage wherever we get a lock. If our shields are low, theirs have to be close to tatters.” General Caractacus’ voice cut through the babble like a scalpel through flesh. “Put as much of our bulk between the Cleaver and her pursuers as possible. Acknowledge Obede, but tell him to shave two minutes off that time, because we’re not going to be able to maintain our position for longer than that.” He paused for a moment, then continued. “And signal our own evacuation. All non-essential personnel are to proceed to the escape pods immediately.”

“But sir—”

“We’re not going to survive many more direct hits. We don’t have the power or maneuverability this close to the other ships, but if we don’t stay close to cover their retreats, more lives will be lost. Signal the evacuation now. I want to see progress with our battery, give me a status update!”

More happened, the timbre of the alarms changing, more orders shouted, officers scuttling to obey, and yet for Darrel everything felt like it was coming at him through gauzy layers of cloth. Even his breaths, tight and short as they were, seemed muffled, like he was inhaling into a pair of pillowcases, not lungs. They were the best ship in the fleet, and they were evacuating. What did that mean for everyone else?

Clumsily, Darrel pulled up his seat’s nav screen. He could have looked over Lieutenant Reyes’ shoulder, but he didn’t want to risk distracting her. He scanned the numbers, desperate for a sign that the general was overreacting, that things weren’t as bad as he feared. But…no, it was bad enough. Their original contingent of eighteen was down to twelve, nothing but the smallest ships and their own super-destroyer still bringing the fight. On the other hand, the pirates had gone from twenty-nine ships to fifteen, and even as he watched, another one of their signals flared briefly, then died. They still had their own destroyer, though, and if the Triumph went down, it would be able to pick off the remnants of the fleet, mostly Skyblazers, built for speed but not meant to sustain heavy damage. On the other hand, if they could take out the destroyer first, then the Skyblazers would have an even fight ahead of them, slightly outnumbered but better prepared to move and dodge.

There was no way, though. All scans of the enemy destroyer showed robust shielding still holding at fifty percent, and the ship had no compunction about ordering smaller vessels into the path of the Triumph’s fire to save it from more damage. It was a bulky, clumsy thing, but in a toe-to-toe fight right now, it would win. It was winning, because Miles was concerned with saving his people’s lives, and the enemy captain clearly wasn’t.

“Pirates, my ass,” he heard Reyes mutter, her hands flying over her screen. “No pirates are this disciplined. They should have cut and run like the Hammerfall an hour ago.”

“Update on the Cleaver, sir, all crew accounted for and away.”

“Including Captain Gorion?”

“Yes, sir.”

“And our own evacuation?”

“Fifty percent and—enemy ship rolling beneath us, sir, we’re going to take fire!”

“Shift all power to ventral shields, maximum thrusters for a portside roll, now!”

The Triumph began its maneuver, but Darrel was positive they were too late. Their belly was raw and exposed, and even a little ship like that could do enough damage to send them reeling. If they hit the engines, the super-destroyer would be blown in half. He and everyone else on the bridge held their breath as the nav officer said, “Taking fire in three, two—missed us, sir!” He sounded amazed. “Not entirely, some hit the starboard edge, but we’re doing all right. Ship is—”

“Continue the roll.”

“Sir, then we’ll hit the enemy ship!”

“Exactly.” He sounded darkly satisfied. “Brace for impact.”

Darrel braced, but it still wasn’t enough to keep him from feeling the vibration of the blow all the way into his teeth, the ground-shattering feeling of two enormous vessels of war colliding in an otherwise frictionless environment. More alarms sounded, but it hardly mattered at this point—they couldn’t get any more distracting. Vaguely, Darrel felt a fluttering at the edges of his mind that he knew was Grennson, desperate for answers. He should have evacuated already…

“Sir, we’ve lost our portside thrusters, shields down to two percent!”

“Evacuate the essential personnel and pass me helm control. Get yourselves to the escape pods.”

There was a moment of pure, stunned silence on the bridge, and then an outcry from every person there.

“We can’t leave you to—”

“I can stay, I can—”

“Let us—”

“Please, don’t—”

“This is not up for discussion!” There was the scalpel voice again, and this time it stabbed Darrel straight in the heart. “Give me control of the helm and get to your pods, now. That’s an order, people, move!” And reluctantly, unhappily, people did.

Reyes touched Darrel’s arm, drawing him out of his distracted state. “C’mon, cadet,” she murmured. “We have to go.”

Darrel didn’t respond, watching the new course Miles plotted on the nav screen. He was heading straight for the destroyer, a lurching, tilted charge thanks to the loss of one whole set of thrusters. The destroyer was already backing away, firing full tilt at the same time. It was a race to see if the Triumph would reach it before it exploded.

<Darrel? I’ve saved a pod, come meet me!>

He sent back a general feeling of wait before getting to his feet. There was something he needed to do first. “I’ll be right there,” he said. “You go, Lieutenant. Thank you.”

She frowned. “Cadet, I’ll make it an order if I have to.”

He smiled unsteadily. “I’m already disobeying one order, I’ve got no problem disobeying another one. Go on, I’ll be right there.” He had to keep Miles from doing something stupid, first.

In another thirty seconds, it was just the two of them on the bridge. “I believe I told you to evacuate, Cadet,” Miles said, but the ferocious sense of purpose had gone out of his voice.

“I will, sir, but only if you come with me.”

“Don’t worry about me, I don’t intend to commit glorious suicide today.”

Darrel bit his lip for a moment, then rushed ahead. “Captains never do, but eight out of ten times in similar situations, they do it anyway. My father did. I read all the transcripts of the battle he was in, I analyzed it over and over, and—he could have gotten away. He could have lived. He chose not to, because he thought he was helping more people by staying behind, but he didn’t. I’ve aggregated reports for every major battle of the past fifty years and investigated similar scenarios, and with very few exceptions, when a captain stays behind, they do so for no palpable gain. But they do it, because something about being in charge makes you feel too responsible.” He risked a touch of Miles’ arm. “Don’t do that to your family, please. Cody would never get over it.”

Miles raised one eyebrow. “I feel like you’re blackmailing me, Cadet.”

“Maybe I am, sir.”

“And I think it’s working.” Miles shut his eyes for a moment, then his fingers began to fly across the nav screen. “All right, I’ve autoset our course. If that destroyer gets smart we’ll miss it entirely, but we’ve still got a chance of hitting it.” He got up out of his chair. “I assume Grennson is holding a pod?”

“How did you—”

“Oh please. He wouldn’t leave without you. Lead the way, Darrel.”

The halls were empty of people now, and they couldn’t walk more than five steps without being sent staggering as another explosion rocked the ship. By the time they got to Grennson, Darrel was afraid the Triumph would break apart under their feet.

“Oh good!” Grennson beamed at them, and it was like sunshine in the middle of Darrel’s mind for a moment. “You brought him! Get in, everything is prepped to go.”

The launch sequence seemed to take forever, even though realistically, Darrel knew Miles was working as fast as he could. Finally the airlock closed, and the mechanism gave the pod a gentle push away from the carcass of their ship. The three of them clustered around the single window, watching as the Triumph gradually came into view.

“Poor girl,” Miles murmured. “My poor, poor girl.”

“You did your best by her, sir,” Grennson murmured comfortingly.

“Perhaps. If not, then it’s too late for—” His voice cut off abruptly as the ship suddenly flared with light, a coruscating series of explosions breaking it into pieces at last. “Boys, get dow—” They didn’t have time to strap in before the shockwave reached them, though, and sent the pod hurtling toward Pandora at breakneck speed.

Reformation: Chapter Twenty-Eight

Notes: The battle has begun! Have some starships duking it out for a while. Tactics, treachery and a whole lot of Darrel doing his best to follow along.

Title: Reformation: Chapter Twenty-Eight

***

Chapter Twenty-Eight

They weren’t caught off guard. That was the best that could be said of the Federation Fleet’s initial foray into battle. They knew what they were flying into, and that was the only reason that the descent from liminal space didn’t result in a bloodbath. That, and modified shields that gave the Federation ships a better chance against energy weapons that tore through their outer resonances like they were cobweb.

Darrel sat frozen in his seat behind Cadet Reyes, watching the numbers fade in and out on her tactical screen and listening to General Caractacus respond to his crew’s information with calm, detached orders. “The Pisces is heeling, sir, portside shields look to be completely down!”

“The rest of Pisces’ detachment will bring up cover for her. Keep our firepower on the ship in front of us.” He sounded so certain, but Darrel knew there was no certainty in the heart of battle. It was clear now which commanders had been slow to respond to the general’s staffing and defensive orders—they were taking heavier damage, and were slower to respond to threats. Their fleet was outnumbered initially, twenty-nine ships to eighteen, but they weren’t entirely outgunned. The pirates in front of them—and Darrel had never even heard of pirates who had access to a military-level Destroyer, it was a fucking farce—were being surprisingly chary with their ammunition, and their delays gave the biggest Federation ships time to maneuver themselves into the line of fire.

One of the ship designations on Reyes’ screen suddenly went dark. “Enemy ship destroyed, sir!”

“Target the next closest of a similar size within the same zone. On my mark, turn broadside guns on it and focus our forward firepower on the ship harassing the Cleaver.”

“Sir,” one of the tac officers called out worriedly, “if we change our heading like that, we open ourselves up to enemy fire against the dorsal shields. They’re down to fifty-one percent.”

“If we lose the Cleaver, we open up the smaller ships she’s protecting to firepower they can’t expect to handle. We’ll manage, Cadet. In three, two…mark.”

The Triumph was a Super-Destroyer, a new class of ship that was bigger and more powerful than anything the Federation had put out in decades. There hadn’t been much of a need, without open warfare dogging them, but the admiralty had wanted a new toy. The Triumph was half again larger than a regular Destroyer, had more flexible defensive capabilities and a weapons system that was more than a match for anything they were facing. That was good, since it was the only ship in the fleet that was doing consistent damage to the enemy ships. The Triumph’s starboard battery opened fire on the harrier-class that was firing on them, hitting it with a flurry of destructive power so vast it had no choice but to run. It tried, but it didn’t make it far. “Enemy ship destroyed, sir!”

“Two on our tail, sinking under to fire on our belly!”

“Fire ventral thrusters fifty percent, take us down. Maintain forward firepower on the Cleaver’s enemy.”

“Aye, sir.” The ship began a vertical roll, its stern dropping as the bow remained fixed on the ship it was engaging there. The forward guns weren’t as powerful as the side batteries, but between their firepower and the Cleaver’s defensive shots, the enemy ship had to turn tail and run.

“They’re following and firing, sir, impact in six seconds.”

“Ventral thrusters to full power, end forward engagement. Brace for impact.”

Three, two, one… Darrel counted down in his head, gritting his teeth, but when the shots hit it wasn’t nearly as stunning as some of the earlier hits had been.

“Deflection to ventral shields was seventy-five percent. We’re holding steady, sir.”

“Good. Give me a count.”

“Twenty-four enemy ships remain. We have all eighteen, although—” The tac officer cut off for a moment. When he spoke up again, he sounded worried. “Pisces is in bad shape, sir. Captain Himmel has ordered an evacuation. Their shields are next to nothing, and there are two ships converging on it.”

“Where’s Himmel’s detachment leader?”

“Captain Uris isn’t responding to the comm, sir.”

“Force a connection, and get us to Pisces, now. Inform Captain Gorion that the Cleaver will have to stand in front for the moment.”

“Aye, sir!” People got to work, and Darrel’s hands itched with the urge to be doing something, anything, other than watching. On the other hand, seeing how hard Reyes was working just to get the Triumph going in the right direction, much less responding to commands from the tactical staff, and he had to admit that he was probably doing more good by not doing anything at all.

“Connection holding, sir! We have the Hammerfall on the conn.”

“Captain Uris.” Darrel shivered at the dark tone of the general’s voice. He’d first met the man as Cody’s grandfather, a kind, patient man. He’d gotten to know him better as a commanding officer, hard but fair. This tone, though? There was nothing kind or fair about it—he sounded coldly furious. “Why aren’t you covering your detachment?”

“I’m currently engaged with two separate warships, General,” Captain Uris snapped. “Forgive me if I don’t have time to pander to your urge to backseat command.”

“Your destroyer should have been at the front of your detachment, not cowering behind a Class-Five Skyblazer. You’ve been engaged with those two ships for half an hour. They’re a third your size. Why aren’t they destroyed?”

“Not all of us have your firepower, sir. My shields are at forty percent and dropping, I don’t have time to—”

“Captain Obede.” The general cut off the detachment commander, talking directly to her subordinate. “Status, now.”

“Shields at eighty-five percent, sir.”

“Why are you shadowing Uris instead of assisting the Pisces?”

“Sir, I was ordered by my commanding officer to maintain a defensive position on Hammerfall’s port side.” He sounded tense.

“Shut your mouth, Obede. That’s an order!”

“Ma’am, my general has asked me to report. I must comply with his direct order, the same as I did for you.”

“Open my comm to the rest of Uris’s detachment,” Miles directed his communications officer. When she nodded, he spoke with resounding authority. “Captains Obede, Kylal, and Terry, I’m reassigning you to my detachment. Disregard all former directives and protect the evacuation of the Pisces. Kylal and Terry, for the time being, follow Captain Obede’s lead.”

“Aye, sir.” A chorus of what sounded like relieved voices echoed through the comm, and Darrel could see the ships begin to move away from Hammerfall.

“You can’t steal my detachment in the middle of battle!”

“You haven’t proven to me that you deserve them,” Miles retorted. “How many enemy ships have you destroyed, Captain?”

“I’ve been faced with a situation that—”

“None. And according to my engineer’s scan, your shields are over ninety percent. If you want your protective detail back,” and oh, the general sounded positively vicious now, “then you’ll prove your mettle by putting your ship on the line for this fleet. The Hammerfall is the second most powerful ship we have. It needs to be doing the second-highest amount of damage.”

“You don’t understand anything.” Captain Uris was practically spitting into the conn. “This can only end one way, and I’m not going to drag myself and my crew through the black just so you can go down in a blaze of glory! I refuse to follow your immoral orders. We’re leaving.” And a moment later…

“Hammerfall has entered liminal space, sir.” The communications officer sounded stunned. “She’s gone.” And all the enemy ships that had been closing in on her were suddenly free to target other, less defensible vessels.

“The Pisces’ main engine has just blown, sir,” a tac officer added. “It’s completely disintegrated. Last evac numbers were at eighty percent safely away.”

“And Captain Himmel?”

“I believe the captain went down with the ship, sir.”

A moment of solemn silence reigned before Miles spoke again. “Pursue broadside engagement against the three nearest ships. Roll us if you have to, we’re playing a game of brute force now.”

Rolling them would expose the fragile dorsal shields. But the Triumph was the only cover some of the smaller ships had, and would make itself vulnerable accordingly.

Darrel gritted his teeth and took a deep breath as the ship began to twist.

Reformation: Chapter Twenty-Six

Notes: Happy Valentine's Day, darlins! Thanks to everyone who played along with my audiobook contest, and thanks to everyone who's commented and messaged me. I'm moving a little slowly lately (really persistent cold) but I swear, I'll get back to you soon. In the meantime, enjoy some new perspectives.

Title: Reformation: Chapter Twenty-Six

***

Chapter Twenty-Six

Miles sat alone in his ready room, eyes darting between the message he’d just received from his son and the data he was getting on the enemy fleet’s formation. They were less than a standard day’s distance from Pandora. Now, he reminded himself firmly, was not the time to turn this ship around and blast Raymond Alexander’s personal residence into atoms.

They’re safe. That was the first thing Garrett had said, that his girls were safe. It was a good way to start, because the story that followed was harrowing enough without a load of uncertainty on top of it. Explosions, deaths, being hunted down and almost captured if not for intervention from Perelan’s ambassadors. Now his family was on the way to an alien planet where the Federation had very little jurisdiction, which was a comfort. The president’s gamble had failed.

You’re next. His son had sounded hollow as he said the words, like all the energy had been burnt out of him. He’ll have them focus on your flagship, to try and take you out. It’ll sow dissension and put your fleet into a state of chaos. You should hang back, let other ships take the brunt of the attacks while you whittle them down.

It was a loving thought, but not a practical one. Miles’s ship was the flagship for a reason—it was half again as big as any of the other vessels, and had the best shields and guns by far. Miles had already pulled his senior staff aside and had them install a program into the tracking systems that was calibrated to center on the energy signatures of the waiting ships, instead of arriving in a flurry and wasting valuable time trying to identify the enemy. He’d gotten some side-eyes for it, but nothing he couldn’t defuse and certainly no accusations, not after laying down the law with his subordinate captains. They could complain about him all they wanted to, but they would follow him into battle and follow their orders or he would install a new captain in their place.

Less than twenty-four hours before they arrived. He should sleep. He should send Garrett more than a rote affirmation of receipt of his message. What he wanted to do was contact the Perel ship directly, but that could draw attention that would be unwise, not to mention deadly for everyone aboard. They wouldn’t be safe until they were actually on the planet. Raymond hadn’t grown bold enough to attack a sovereign alien world, not yet. Not ever if Miles had his way.

His children were in the hands of the Perel. He, in turn, had one of their children on his ship. Miles rubbed his eyes for a moment, then went back to studying the spacescape over Pandora. He was going to do everything in his power to make sure that child was returned, safely, to his home.

***

There was a strange sort of tension on board, nothing like what Darrel had imagined when he thought about serving in the Fleet. He had assumed that activity would far outweigh any downtime, that excitement would supersede boredom, that duty wouldn’t feel like so much terrifying obligation. He was wrong. They were heading into a fight tomorrow, and far from bluster and brashness, everyone around him was just…quiet. Like they couldn’t quite believe what was happening to them, and didn’t want to think about it anyway. Most of the crew were first and second year cadets, so that stood to reason.

Eventually he took refuge in the room he shared with Grennson, who looked as disturbed as Darrel had ever seen him, all his quills sharp and lifted. “Oh,” Darrel said, finally understanding. “This must feel even worse to you.”

Grennson nodded miserably. “There’s a lot of fear. It’s…without something like adrenaline to combat it, fear is an exhausting emotion to subject yourself to over and over. It grates against the mind, always moving, never silent. It’s radiating at me from all corners of the ship right now, and I can’t escape it.”

Darrel sat down next to him. “Am I making it worse, or do you want me to stay?”

Grennson immediately took his hand. “Stay. You make everything better.”

Darrel had finally gotten over his blushing reaction every time Grennson complimented him, but he still felt a little swell of warmth from it. “Here, sit down in front of me.” He tossed a cushion on the floor. “And try not to stab me, okay?”

“Okay.” Grennson got down on his knees, facing away from Darrel, and Darrel cracked his knuckles and tried to remember what Jason had told him about tension headaches and Perel. Light and gentle, focus on the temples, deep breaths, easy strokes. He set his fingertips along the ridge of Grennson’s eyebrows and stroked outward, following the curving bone to the very edge of Grennson’s temples, then repeating it. Slowly he got into a rhythm, and as he made his gentle motions, his own nerves started to settle. He could see the good it did Grennson, the stiffness of his quills lessening until at last they were feather-soft again, his shoulders gradually lowering until they didn’t almost touch his ears anymore.

Darrel wasn’t sure how long he’d been going, but by the time he stopped he could tell that their breaths, even their heartbeats, were in perfect sync. It was the sort of empathic connection Perel were only capable of with people they were especially close to, and he felt grateful that he qualified. “Do you think you can sleep?”

Grennson nodded. “Do you feel ready for tomorrow?”

Darrel shrugged. “I’ve spent so much time on the sims lately I feel like I’ve been living there. I feel better about being Reyes’s backup, at least. I think that’s the best I can hope for.”

“Then it will be enough.”

Darrel hoped that Grennson was right.

***

“You’ve got to sleep, darlin’.”

Garrett shook his head, resolutely not looking at his hallucination of Jonah. “I’ve got to finish this first.”

“Sigurd’s working on it. Let him handle things while you take a break.”

“It’s too much for just one person to work out.”

“Especially when one of them is dead on his feet.”

“If you could avoid that word while I don’t know whether you’re alive or not, I’d really appreciate it,” Garrett snapped, breaking his resolution and glaring at the image of his husband. He knew he wasn’t there, he knew it, but he didn’t feel it. It felt like Jonah, and if he let himself go too far down that hall, he wouldn’t be able to back out of it. Especially if Jonah really was… “I’ll sleep in another few hours.”

“Fifteen minutes,” Jonah wheedled. “Fifteen minutes to let Sigurd tie the net tighter without you. That’s all.”

“There’s no time to—”

“There is, darlin’. I swear there is. You know it must be true if you’re the one thinkin’ it.”

Garrett sighed. “Stop logicking me.”

“You’re doing it to yourself. C’mon.” Jonah patted the couch where he was sitting. “Come and sit, just for a little while. Come back at it fresh.”

“Just for a little while.” Garrett’s arms felt like lead as he pushed away from the table, and it was surprisingly difficult to get all the way over to the couch. He sipped from the bottle of water Jonah pointed out on the side table, then leaned his head back with a sigh. It wasn’t fair. Humans had figured out cures to almost every disease and disorder that could come at them, had found a way to practically defeat death itself, and yet there was still no way to go completely without sleep. Oh, there were stimulants that would let you evade it for days, weeks if need be, but none of them came without permanent side effects. Garrett was rather fond of his brain, all things considered—he wasn’t about to sacrifice it for the sake of a few more minutes, even though he kind of wanted to.

“No, you don’t.”

“Stop telling me things I already know.”

“Somebody’s gotta say them out loud.” Jonah was so close, Garrett could feel the heat of his thigh. Or rather…well, it was as though he could, which was better than the alternative. Wasn’t it?

“If you’re that confused, you need more sleep.”

“Anyone would be confused talking to their hallucination,” Garrett defended himself. He had to keep saying that—as tempting as it was to live in the delusion more fully, his actual husband was on Pandora fighting for his life. He’d better be fighting for his life, at least. Garrett couldn’t let himself forget that.

“He’d want you to sleep too. C’mon, kick your shoes off, darlin’, stay a while.”

Garrett sighed. “One hour.”

“Four.”

“Two.”

“Three and a half.”

“Two and a half.”

“Three it is.” Jonah sounded satisfied. “Lay down, relax. I’ll get you up in time.”

Garrett didn’t let himself think too hard about his own sub-conscious promises as he settled on the couch. A minute later, he couldn’t think at all.

Sleep had never come so fast.

Reformation: Chapter Eighteen

Notes: Another new perspective, because I'm apparently a glutton for punishment and complication. Enjoy seeing Miles from a different direction.

Title: Reformation: Chapter Eighteen

***

Chapter Eighteen

“I don’t understand this man’s love of in-person meetings,” Captain Rianna Kylal muttered to her fellow captain, Blake Obede, as they made their way from the Academy fleet flagship’s dock to General Caractacus’s ready room. “We’re barely three days out from Olympus and he wants to speak to us again? All together? What’s so important that it has to be said in person as opposed to over a private comm?”

“He’s old-fashioned, I suppose,” Blake replied easily. They’d come without their aides—not a requirement, the general’s personal secretary had stressed, but as said aides wouldn’t be allowed into the briefing, it didn’t make much sense for them to tag along. After all, they had their orders from the admiralty. Nothing Miles Caractacus could do would change those, at this point. “Or perhaps he’s just reinforcing his position as the head of our little armada.”

Rianna snorted. “Please. This is a milk run, we all know it. Why the admiralty bothered to pull in a marine general, of all people, instead of giving it to an active duty captain I have no idea. Maybe Garrett Helms made them.”

“You think Helms has that kind of pull in the senate?”

“There’s no telling what that snake is capable of. His own kid’s not on the roster here, did you know that?” Rianna shook her head. “Coddling him won’t do him any favors.”

“Or maybe he knows something we don’t.”

“Conspiracy theories, Blake?” She nudged him. “Don’t get buzzy on me. I need someone around who knows how to keep a level head.” They were coming up on the general’s ready room. His secretary, Shen Lin, was waiting at the door, immaculate in a space-black suit, her hands crossed in front of her.

“Thank you both for coming,” she said. “You’re the last to be accounted for, so if you would please enter and be seated?”

“Last in and first out,” Rianna whispered as they walked in. Blake just eyed her sidelong before taking his seat. Fifteen other captains were already there, and she flushed a little at the sudden attention. Whatever, they weren’t that late. At the head of the table was General Caractacus, and Rianna made a show of leaning forward and focusing on him. The sooner they’d sopped his ego, the sooner she could get back to her ship.

The general smiled. “Thanks for coming so promptly. Now that you’re all here, I’ll get right to the point.” Digital data sheets suddenly displayed on the tables in front of each of them. “These are your new crew rosters. I want you to inspect them, bring any potential issues you have with them to me by the end of the day, and be prepared to implement them by tomorrow.”

Captain Uris asked the question that was on everybody’s mind. “Why are we making changes to our crews? Our current rosters were designated by the admiralty themselves.”

“Indeed they were,” the general said mildly. “By the admiralty: not by the instructors at the Academy, not by Admiral Liang, not by anyone who would be in a place to better understand the strengths and weaknesses of the cadets under your command. Several of you were given helmsmen who have less than a hundred hours of simulation time—only helmsmen with low preparedness, for all shifts—as opposed to here of you who were given senior cadets with over a thousand hours on the sim, and actual flight time in crafts ranging from shuttles to Destroyers.”

“Surely that was based on potential proximity to combat,” another captain protested. “A fifty-crew puddlejumper is far less likely to encounter armed resistance than the destroyers we’re putting to the front of the line.”

Rianna bristled slightly—she was captaining one of those smaller ships, and she didn’t appreciate it being referred to as a puddlejumper—but the general was quick with a response. “The original crew orientation is included in the data. Feel free to flip back and take a look, and I think you’ll find that there was very little combat strategy applied to the placement of crew. Four destroyers were given fewer than ten percent upper classmen, whereas our communications ship—which is certainly meant to be at the back, and I’m not suggesting otherwise—is entirely staffed with juniors and seniors. Cadets, in fact, that all have a direct connection to members of Parliament.”

A strange silence descended over the group. Blake eventually ventured to speak. “You’re saying that the admiralty cherry-picked which cadet would be placed on which ship, regardless of capacity.”

“I am.”

“That’s a bold claim to make, sir.”

The general waved toward the table. “It’s not bold if it’s true. The evidence is there. You can peruse it on your own and get back to me as to whether you agree or not, I don’t care. I don’t have to care, even though I do. But the fact of the matter is, this fleet was put under my command. No matter what we’re heading into, whether it’s a skirmish with pirates that’ll be over before we know it or something bigger, I am the final arbiter of who serves where now that we’re underway.”

“I don’t think the admiralty would appreciate your changes, sir.” Captain Uris again. She, Brianna recalled, was married to a cousin of President Alexander.

“I don’t feel the need to care about what they would appreciate,” he replied easily. A few of the other captains looked to be stifling smiles. “They’re on the ground, we’re in the air. Command may issue guidelines at this point, but any orders go through me first. Unless you feel that I’m asking you to do something that is immoral,” he added. “In which case, it’s your prerogative to file a report with the admiralty in accordance with the law. I imagine they’ll get around to reviewing it before we reach Pandora, but until that time, you’ll obey my orders. Do you find reshuffling your crews to be an immoral act, Captain Uris?”

Her hands were clenched, but she persisted. “I’m simply stating that the admiralty must have had their reasons for doing what they did, and for you to step in and rearrange something that is possibly beyond your comprehension for reasons of—”

“You can stop right there.” General Caractacus sat forward and fixed his pale eyes on Uris. Brianna felt the second-hand tension like it was her own, quickening her heartbeat and tightening her muscles. “First off, your insinuation that I’m ill-prepared for this command is a slap in the face of the very admiralty whose intentions you purport to know better than myself. I was pulled out of retirement, against my wishes, to take this post. I intend to do my duty to the best of my abilities regardless, and the safety of my people is of paramount importance to me. You don’t like it, take it up with my record of service.

“Secondly, don’t talk to me about reasoning before you’ve even so much as glanced at the data in front of you. If you’re here to shill for the admiralty, you’d have better luck doing your research first and attacking after instead of the other way around.” Captain Uris’s face was getting redder and redder, but the general pressed on.

“Thirdly, if we’re going to be asking questions about the whys of crew placement, I invite all of you to ask yourselves—in the quiet of your own ready rooms—why you were given the cadets you were, and whether or not their placement was logical. If you disagree with a move I’ve made, I want you to step forward with it. Feel free to challenge me, but the information I’m giving you here is about more than just your individual ships. I’ve shared the data for every ship’s personnel, so when you look through the rosters, I want you to weigh the benefit of each orientation—the original, and the new one I’m proposing. See if it doesn’t make more sense. And if it does make more sense? Well.” He sat back in his chair.

“You can stop thinking as soon as you agree with me, if that’s the way you prefer to work. Or you can consider the reasoning behind the admiralty’s original decision, and ask yourself what in the hell they were thinking when they divided our people up the way they did.”

“You’re asking us to commit an act of treason—”

“A thought is never treasonous, only an action is,” the general snapped. “If we were tried on the basis of our thoughts, no one would make it to adulthood. It’s not treason to question, but if you’re going to question me you’d better back your claims up with hard facts and not expect me to cower just because you’re tight with the admiralty. Otherwise, you do as I say, or I replace you with someone more discerning. Do you understand me?”

Nods and murmured, “Yes sirs,” went around the room. Even Uris nodded after a moment.

“Good. Then I expect to hear from you before the start of third shift tonight if you disagree with any of my changes. Otherwise, I want this done by second shift tomorrow.” He pushed back from the table and stood up. “Dismissed.”

Uris left in a huff, and most of the other captains left quickly, eager to get back to their ships and prepare. Rianna waited for Blake to join her, glancing back once at General Caractacus as he conferred with his secretary.

“Do you think he’s right?” she whispered as they walked. “About the…cherry-picking?”

Blake looked grim. “All I know is that my own ship is ninety percent full of freshmen and I didn’t even realize it until now. No wonder our exercises have been going so slow. My new XO didn’t tell me any of this, either.”

“You aren’t still working with Johnson?” They’d been a command team ever since Rianna had first me Blake, almost twenty years ago.

“No. He was reassigned.” Blake’s lips tightened. “To Captain Uris.”

“You think the general is on to something?”

“I think I’m going to obey my orders and get my ship’s crew straightened out. And I think I’m going to be a lot more careful about how I go about my business for the rest of this deployment.” He glanced at her. “I suggest you do the same.”

Reformation: Chapter Thirteen

Notes: More Reformation! Back to Miles and Garrett, because they like to be in the thick of things. It isn't the longest one (lots on my mind today--omg it's election day, I wish it was over already) but interesting, I hope.

Title: Reformation: Chapter Thirteen

***

Chapter Thirteen

“What do you mean, he’s missing?”

“I mean exactly that.” Miles wasn’t sure what it meant that his son could look so calm talking about Cody’s disappearance, but given the way his kid tended to repress, it couldn’t mean anything good. “He’s gone missing. Or rather, I know where he is at this point, but there’s no way I’m going to get him back short of dragging him out of a very precarious situation by abusing my authority, and I’m not going to compromise him or Ten like that.”

“I wondered where Ten was when I came to get the boys,” Miles said.

Garrett laughed. It wasn’t a good sound. “They’re inseparable. It could have broken a thousand regulations and laws and Ten still would have found a way to stick to Cody. That’s literally the only bright spot I’m seeing right now, apart from the fact that at least you got Darrel and Grennson. How are they?”

Miles leaned back in his ready-room chair and pinched the bridge of his nose. “Confused. Unwillingly excited. Afraid. Curious. You name it, they’ve probably felt it.” He was leading three thousand cadets so green they’d barely even sprouted into a battle he had nothing but bad intel for, and their youthful, endearing and stupidly optimistic outlooks were the only thing keeping Miles from giving his personal sense of foreboding more room to flourish.

“Not surprising. And your officers?”

Miles shrugged. “No one I’ve worked with before. They look good on the screen, but not many of them have active combat experience. I’m going to be doing a lot of live drills and handholding on the way to the Fringe.”

“When do you estimate you’ll get there by?”

“We have a twenty-one ship armada, ranging from two fifteen-person Quicksilvers to my seven hundred-person Annihilator. Not all of them have the same power, and while normally I’d send some of the fleet ahead to scout, something about this…” He tapped his fingers on the console. “It bothers me, beyond the extreme circumstances that brought it about. We have fluctuating data on the pirate fleet that makes anything we think we know suspect, and so little of it that it’s virtually useless regardless of numeric values. They could have anywhere from five to fifteen to fifty ships, and all I’m sure of with regards to weaponry is that it’s more intense than anything most Fringe planets are able to handle. Has there been any word yet from Pandora?”

“None,” Garrett said. He sounded like he was gritting his teeth. “I know their shield is holding, and I know if it’s still up then they’re still experiencing problems. Also, I can tell you that there are twenty-nine vessels in orbit above Pandora that have no recognizable Federation digital insignia.”

Miles frowned. “How do you know that?”

“I have my ways. I’m going to set up a link between my live data stream and your personal implant. It’s heavily encrypted, and should only be accessible by you. If it goes dead suddenly, you’ll know I either had to shut it down to prevent us being spied on, or I’ve lost the mechanism for getting the data in the first place.” He tapped a few things on his console, and a moment later Miles’ implant let him know he was receiving data. He opened it up to project in front of his eyes, and inhaled sharply.

“Satellites? I didn’t think there were any Federation ones that close to the planet that had survived the initial attack.”

“They didn’t. Everything emitting a Federation signal was incinerated within the first five minutes of battle. I used a few Fed satellites further out as bouncers, but this one is personal.”

Miles blinked. Even for Garrett, that was extreme. “You set up a personal satellite to orbit Pandora?”

“Disguised as a meteor,” Garrett confirmed.

“How long ago?”

“Years.” His son smiled grimly. “You can call me a lot of things, but you can’t say I’m unprepared.”

“That’s true.” Miles shut his eyes and examined the ship signatures for a long moment. All mid-sized, from the look of things, but that in and of itself didn’t really make any sense. This wasn’t how pirates operated. “Interesting that they managed to target Federation satellites so specifically. Those signals are supposed to be unhackable.”

“One more item for the list of ‘interesting’ things about this whole shit show,” Garrett said. “You see what’s going on now, of course.”

“I do.” Miles opened his eyes. “We’re going to have to recalibrate our shields if they’re going to stand up to heavy fire from our own weapons. I’m going to raise a lot of eyebrows in the engineering departments.”

“Let them rise. If your officers refuse to comply, you can always throw them in the brig or out an airlock, whichever is closer.”

“Garrett.”

“I’m serious. Don’t let your own people endanger your life because they don’t have their priorities straight.” He sat up in his chair. “Dad, if you happen to find evidence of a Drifter ship in the vicinity of Pandora, I need you to do your best to ensure that it survives, okay? This is really important.”

“This is about Cody, isn’t it?”

“I can’t say that for sure.” But there was surety in his son’s voice, in the cold glint of his eyes, in the way he clasped his hands together like if he didn’t, they’d be squeezing someone’s throat. “Just look out for them. Please.”

“I’ll do that.”

“Thank you.”

“Anything for you, kid, you know that.”

Garrett nodded. “I know. Claudia and the girls are safe, by the way. I made sure of it.”

“Yeah, she messaged me.”

“Okay.” Garrett looked down at his hands for a second. “Keep me updated.”

“I will.” Miles ended the call without ceremony—more emotion wouldn’t do his son any good right now. He took a moment to himself to read between the lines: Cody and Ten had run off with Drifters headed toward Pandora, there were twenty-nine ships that were far too big to be pirates waiting for them once they arrived, and those ships were armed with plasma cannons. Probably standard torpedoes too, but the cannons were the thing that would cut through their shields without too much effort. Normal countermeasures didn’t work on them, and in fact, they’d only begun installing the cannons in Federation ships within the past five years. Miles called for Shen Lin.

His personal secretary opened the door a moment later. “Sir?”

“Do me a favor and run an inventory analysis on all the public data we’ve got for Federation shipyards. I want to see where supplies have gone, more particularly which ships have been upgraded to plasma and which haven’t. I’d also like to see raw numbers for orders, if possible. If a shipyard received eighty cannons and only installed sixty, I want to know it.”

If she wondered why he was giving her what probably seemed like busy work, she didn’t mention it. “Yes, sir.”

“Forward all of your findings to Garrett. File it under ‘interesting.’”

“And if I don’t find anything amiss?”

“Then we’ll still know something important.” Namely, that Raymond Alexander has managed to get his hands on enough funds to privately, and quietly, build a fleet of his own, which almost certainly means he’s stealing money from somewhere. Either way, it would give them a lead. If Miles knew how Garrett’s mind worked, he knew that his son was already building a file of incriminating evidence. Anything Miles could do to thicken it, he would.

“Yes, sir.”

“Also, set up a group comm with all the captains in the rest of the fleet. I need to pass along some technical details.” There were sure to be dissenters when he proposed his strategy, but he could phrase it as a way to keep idle hands busy for the next few days, and a learning experience for the cadets. In the end, too, he could simply tell them to get it done and expect that they would. And if someone didn’t, well…

That would also be…interesting. Sabotage within the ranks should have been a minor threat, but the way things were going right now, and with so many unproven cadets under his command and care, Miles wasn’t going to take anything for granted.

“Anything else, sir?”

He shook his head and reactivated Garrett’s stolen data feed. “Dismissed.”

Reformation: Chapter Ten

 Notes: Ah, rush rush rush! But here is a new, and hopefully different, perspective for Reformation for you today. It's about time we got back to the boys, isn't it? I mean, the other boys.

Title: Reformation: Chapter Ten

***

Chapter Ten

Darrel felt like the klaxon that had sounded over the Academy campus half an hour ago was still ringing in his ears. Emergency declaration. Emergency declaration. Proceed to your towers for orders. Proceed to your towers for orders. It had been broadcast over their implants too, and the flashing red and yellow indicator in the corner of his vision would stay there until Darrel reported to his superior officer for duty. The thing was, he didn’t even know who his superior officer was supposed to be yet.

“This is a non-standard emergency mobilization,” Sergeant Bowers had explained to him and the rest of the cadets in Apollo Tower. “There are confirmed reports of a piracy attack on a planet in the Fringe, and the admiralty has decided to take this opportunity to improve the wartime capabilities of our student body.”

“But most of us haven’t even done a mock deployment before, sir,” Darrel had spoken up before he could talk himself out of it. He didn’t have to be Grennson to feel the apprehension rolling off his fellow cadets. This wasn’t just non-standard, it was unprecedented. Grennson couldn’t stop shifting on his feet, quills vibrating with little shudders that only Darrel was really close enough to see. “Is there something wrong with the fleet that’s already deployed out there?”

“Our navy has downsized dramatically in recent years, cadet, but regardless, this is an executive order. Kit up, and follow the directive sent through Hermes to get your personal mission plan.”

Well, that was a fucking non-answer if Darrel had ever heard one. He’d wanted to press the point, but Grennson’s discomfort and the sergeant’s obvious dismissal decided against it for him. Instead he took Grennson’s hand and radiated as much calm and comfort as he could when he wasn’t really feeling it himself, and led his friend back to their quad. Their currently empty quad.

“Where are Cody and Ten?” he muttered, looking around. He waited for his personal directive to start scrolling across his mental screen, but nothing came, just the indicator to wait, wait, wait.

“They’re not here.”

“I know they’re not, it’s annoying.” And a little disturbing. Darrel would never admit it out loud, but he always felt a little better when the four of them were together. More like they could handle anything that was thrown their way, instead of worrying about unsolvable science or a personal interaction that he wasn’t prepared to deal with.

“No, I mean they’re not here at all.”

Darrel turned and faced Grennson. “What, on campus?”

“No,” Grennson said breathlessly, like he couldn’t quite believe it. “On the planet.”

“What?” How could that be? Had they deployed early? Why hadn’t they send either of them a message to let them know? “Are you sure?”

“Yes.” Grennson’s eyes were huge, and bright with an emotion Darrel didn’t want to see in his best friend. It looked suspiciously like fear. “I can’t feel them anymore. I could, for a while, but now they’re moving away and I can’t feel them!”

“Okay, c’mere.” He led Grennson over to the couch and pushed him to sit back on it, but Grennson wouldn’t let go of his hand.

“Stay with me,” he insisted, and Darrel couldn’t say no.

“I’m not going anywhere,” he promised, all while sending out a ping for Cody and Ten. His implant echoed dully: no response evident. He checked his messages again, but there was still nothing. What the hell were the two of them doing, leaving the planet but not leaving a note?

An incoming call light flashed on the holo screen in the center of the living room. Darrel activated it instantly. “Hello?”

“Darrel?” The face that materialized in the vid was…Garrett Helms? Darrel felt himself relax a little. “Are you okay?”

“Grennson and I are fine. Do you know about the deployment?”

“I’ve heard about it, but I don’t have all the details yet. Is Cody there?”

Darrel’s tension ramped up so tight that he heard Grennson squeak in reaction next to him. “No,” he said slowly. “He and Ten are…I thought maybe they were with you? I haven’t seen either of them all morning.”

“No.” Garrett’s voice had lost all inflection. “They’re not with me. Do you have any idea where they could be?”

“Off planet,” Grennson whispered. Garrett’s eyes focused on him like a laser. “I felt them leave perhaps a quarter of an hour ago. I don’t know who they’re with, if not with you.”

“Ah.” That was it, just ah. “Give me a moment.” His face vanished from the screen, and Darrel and Grennson exchanged a blank look.

“What the hell?”

“If Garrett doesn’t know where they are, then they’ve—they’ve probably run away.”

“Why would they run away?” Darrel demanded. “Neither of them is afraid of something like a deployment. At the worst it would be an inconvenience for Ten, but Cody wouldn’t just…abandon his responsibilities like this.” He wouldn’t abandon us.

“I don’t think it’s about avoiding conflict,” Grennson said slowly, like he was still working it out in his head. “I think it might be about—approaching it from a different direction. Do you know where the pirates are attacking?”

“They haven’t announced it yet.” Darrel felt his heart stutter a little in his chest. “Do you think…”

“I think we’re going to Pandora.”

“Then why wouldn’t they want to go?” Darrel exploded. “You wouldn’t be able to keep Cody away from Pandora if it’s under attack, not with his dad there right now. It doesn’t make any sense!”

“I know.” Grennson’s voice was quiet. “Which makes you wonder, doesn’t it? What would pull them away from the opportunity to travel to Pandora and be part of its protection, without giving them black marks on their Academy records? What would make them leave without telling us? Why would they have to be so secret? Why wouldn’t they even contact Garrett?” He gestured toward the frozen holoscreen. “Cody has never been careless of his fathers’ feelings. Garrett is greatly distraught.”

“How can you even tell that?”

“It’s very clear to an empath.”

The holoscreen flared to life again before Darrel could reply. “Stay in your quad for the time being,” Garrett said without ceremony. “You’re going to be personally escorted to your individual deployments.”

“How do you know that?” Garrett wasn’t a part of the Academy’s administration, he shouldn’t be able to know these things. He just shook his head.

“Will we be together?” Grennson asked.

That got the first fresh hint of emotion from Garrett since they told him Cody and Ten weren’t around. He smiled, and now Darrel could see what Grennson must have been sensing all along: it was the most fragile, careful smile he had ever seen. “Yes, you’ll be together. I promise.”

Grennson exhaled heavily. “Thank you, Garrett.”

“It’s the least I can do. Take care of each other, all right?”

“What about Cody and Ten?” Darrel pressed.

Garrett shook his head. “Try not to worry about them. They’re all right.” For now, the subtext screamed. Garrett ended the connection before Darrel could ask any more questions.

He looked at Grennson, who seemed calmer now. “I still don’t understand.”

“It’s okay.” Grennson reached out and patted his head, the same way Darrel would stroke Grennson’s quills when he needed to be soothed. “I don’t think anyone does.”

Five minutes later, a knock sounded at their door. Darrel dashed over to answer it, Grennson at his heels. He opened the door—

And immediately brought his hand up into a salute. “General, sir!” Holy shit, what was General Caractacus doing outside their quad? What was he doing in active uniform at all? Darrel didn’t know him well, but the man was Cody’s grandfather, and a war hero. He’d retired years ago, though.

“Gentlemen.” The general looked between Darrel and Grennson, who had crept up beside him. “At ease. You two are under my personal command until further notice.” Sure enough, Darrel’s notification icon had stopped blinking. “I was here anyway, and I thought I would escort you to my ship.”

“We…um…we should be escorting you, not the other way around,” Darrel insisted. “You’re the general.”

“Call it whatever you like, but we’re on a schedule. Are your kits ready to go?”

“Yes,” Grennson said. They’d made sure they had their emergency kits prepped after getting off the holo with Garrett.

“Grab them and fall in. I’ll explain more once we’re on board the Masterful.”

Grennson looked around curiously. “Where is the rest of your entourage, sir?”

“They’d better be busting their asses getting our ship ready,” the general replied with a hint of humor. Darrel hoisted up their duffel bags and returned to the door. The air still smelled a little acrid with the scent of Ten’s last failed experiment. Darrel had never thought he’d miss something like that, but the prospect of leaving it behind had him nervous all of a sudden. What were they walking into? What had happened to their friends?

Grennson placed a steadying hand on Darrel’s elbow. “We’re ready, sir.”

And they were still together. Darrel’s unease steadied a bit. They were together, and wherever they were, so were Cody and Ten. He was grateful for that.

He just hoped things stayed this way.

Reformation: Ch. 6, and also, hey, I'm back!

Notes: I didn't know that I'd get the chance to write the next chapter in time, but apparently endless hours in a plane are good for something after all! Cambodia was amazing, I'll post about it soon, but in the meantime, have some Miles and Garrett to start your day off right.

Title: Reformation: Chapter 6

***

Chapter Six

http://www.worldofarchi.com/2013/11/impressive-modern-office-tower-by-aedas.html

Miles had forgotten the last time he’d worn his full dress uniform. He hadn’t been active duty with the marines for, oh, nearly a decade now. What used to feel like a second skin to him now seemed awkward, the medals clinking too loudly against his chest, the epaulets too gaudy, the collar far too tight. He’d have packed the thing away years ago if it weren’t for the fact that Claudia liked him to wear it occasionally, but he’d never kept it on for more than half an hour.

What was enjoyable to do for his wife felt almost too heavy to bear now, but Miles straightened his tie and pulled the corners of his hat crisp before stepping out of the shuttle and marching toward Federation Central Command. His personal staff fell in around him like bodyguards, the command escort that had been sent to meet him pushed back to the edge of his entourage.

“It’s a full tribunal meeting,” his secretary, Shen Lin, murmured as they walked along. “Very formal. My sources tell me it could go either way in there.” As in, either you could be thrown into command or thrown into the brig.

Miles nodded briskly. “Who’s sitting on the tribunal?”

“General Sokha, Admiral Davenport and Admiral Rupallier.”

It could have been worse. Miles had served with both Sokha and Davenport. Sokha, in fact, had only come into command of the Federation Marine Corps because Miles had turned the job down in order to take the position as Paradise’s interim governor. Unfortunately, Sokha knew that, and had never been fond of Miles because of it. Davenport was different; they had been equals when they’d served together, young men just starting out in their careers. Davenport, at least, had no reason to dislike him. Miles might be able to get some answers out of him.

Command Central was half-office space, half-museum. It seemed like every hallway was littered with monuments to different battles fought or leaders revered. It was considered a high honor to have your face immortalized on the walls of the Federation’s military hivemind. Another honor Miles had rejected; once upon a time he would have died to secure his place there, but that was before losing his wife, and almost losing Garrett. It had reminded him that he had so much to live for, all of it so much more important than ensuring his name was carved onto a sterile monument and tucked away into a hall somewhere. His family was the most important thing in the world to him, and being called up like this now…well, imprisonment would get him nowhere. He’d have to be careful.

The tribunal was convened in a relatively small conference room just before the enormous lecture hall in the center of the building. Miles entered, walked straight up to the table where the three presiding officers sat, and saluted. “Sirs.”

“General Caractacus.” All three saluted back, but it was Rupallier doing the talking, a bald, pale man who looked like he’d never seen the sun, much less space. “Thank you for coming on such short notice.”

As if I had a choice. “Of course.”

“Please sit.” In the single chair that would noticeably set him apart from his personal staff. Shen Lin stiffened slightly, but Miles just stepped forward and sat down, removing his hat and setting it on one folded knee.

“I’m sure you’ve heard about the attack on Pandora,” Rupallier began.

“Through unofficial channels, yes,” Miles interjected. “Why hasn’t the attack been made public yet?”

“We wanted some time to consider the appropriate response for a piracy attack of this severity. Clearly, our efforts so far haven’t been aggressive enough. We decided the best thing to do in this situation is mobilize a division of the Central Fleet to deal with it. It’s an excellent opportunity for the Academy’s rising cadets, and—”

“Cadets?” Miles knew it wasn’t in his best interest to keep interrupting, but he couldn’t help it. “Why would you send out cadets? Why not use the force stationed at Ceyla; they’re weeks closer to the Fringe.”

“The division at Ceyla has orders to maintain its presence there to protect the city and surrounding stations.”

“Surely the risk there is low. It’s not exactly a Fringe planet.”

“Close enough.” Rupallier’s voice rang with finality. “And it’s at the discretion of Central Command to decide if and when to allow cadets to participate in space maneuvers, and that decision is already made.”

Fine. Time to be more direct. “I understand and respect your authority to make those calls. It puzzles me that you’re bringing me into this situation, though.”

“It’s possible that our response will involve a ground presence on Pandora itself,” Admiral Davenport said, smoothly taking the reins of the conversation. “No one in the fleet has more experience in planning and commanding ground operations than you, Miles. And given your personal investment in the colony—”

“Which makes him the last person we need commanding ground troops,” General Sokha interrupted. Rupallier and Davenport both looked at him with the exasperated airs of people who had already had this conversation, but he pressed on. “I’m against your involvement in this action. Your very investment could compromise your ability to make necessary decisions in the heat of the moment. Obviously, my concerns have been overruled,” he added with a glare at his compatriots, “but you should know that you will be under observation, General Caractacus. All of your actions will be open to review, and if they’re found wanting, you’ll be held responsible in a court of military justice.”

It was the perfect storm. Reinstatement, encouragement to undertake close-combat operations with green troops against an unpredictable enemy, and the promise that every single one of his decisions could and would be used against him if they were interpreted the wrong way. Which some of them almost certainly would.

“I feel sure that such a review will be unnecessary,” Davenport snapped. “The situation calls for a strong commander, not a backseat driving committee.”

“And there’s no one else in the entirety of the fleet, in active duty, who could do this?” Miles asked. He already knew what they were going to say, but he wanted it recorded and out in the open.

Admiral Rupallier folded his hands on the table in front of him. “Are you refusing reinstatement, General?” Every staffer in the room tensed, and Miles could almost hear his secretary’s teeth grind.

“I will always do my duty,” Miles replied. “Even if that duty is a hard one.”

“What’s so hard about the situation at hand?” Rupallier asked. “One could almost think of it as a gift from Central Command, letting you back into the field for this operation. Who else would you trust to ensure it gets done right?”

Miles smiled thinly. “Absolutely no one.” Davenport flinched a little, but Miles wasn’t done twisting the knife. “I assume the customary twenty-four hour reinstatement rule applies here, or is that another formality being done away with?”

“Time is of the essence, General,” Rupallier reminded him.

“Certainly, but given that I know nothing of the forces being mobilized, or who my fellow commanding officers will be, I would think that you’d want to minimize mistakes in the field by giving me time to review what intelligence we have on the attack and coordinate a plan of action.”

“Let him do it by the book if that’s how we’ll be judging him,” Sokha said, in an unexpected show of support. “You have twenty-four hours until you leave, General Caractacus. Use them wisely.”

“I plan to.”

“Be back here at 1300 tomorrow to meet the shuttle that will take you to your command,” Rupallier said. “You’re grounded until then. Your military escort—”

“Will be waived.” Both the other commanders looked at Davenport like he was crazy. “For which I’ll take personal responsibility,” he added. “But I don’t see any need for it. It’s not as though Miles is going to run off with state secrets.”

Sokha shrugged. “Any fuckups are on your head, then.”

“I don’t anticipate any problems.” Davenport looked directly at Miles. “Do you?”

“No.” He nodded slightly, then stood up. “Sirs.” He held his salute until it was returned, then left the conference room without a backward glance. His staff held their positions around him, but now at least there were no direct threats.

“Claudia and the girls are en route to meet you in a suite at the Palace Hotel,” Shen Lin said as they walked. “I’ve ensured that the highest level security measures are in place. Everyone attending to them has been personally vetted, and there are three potential exits for them in case of emergency. Your son has transport standing by to take them out of the system as soon as you’re gone.”

It was above and beyond their standard emergency procedures, but Miles wasn’t about to argue. “And Garrett?”

“He’s waiting for you as well.”

He wasn’t waiting at the Palace Hotel, though. Instead, Miles found Garrett waiting for him in the shuttle, sitting in the pilot’s seat. He swiveled around when Miles entered, his expression apprehensive. “So? Is it as bad as we thought?”

Miles sighed. “It’s not good,” he admitted. “I’ll be subject to heightened oversight, and I’ve got very little time to get ready for the mission itself. But I’ve done more with less.”

“And their explanation for why?”

“I’m too good at my job, apparently.”

Garrett snorted. “Those fuckers. I mean yes, you are, but that’s such a flimsy reason to draw you out of retirement when there are dozens of armchair generals champing at the bit to take on ‘pirates.’” He laced his fingers together. They looked red, like he’d been wringing them a lot. “You know they’ll send out the kids.”

“I know. But not Cody.”

“Not Cody,” Garrett affirmed. “I’ve got transport on the way to grab him. He’ll be joining Claudia and the girls, but Ten and Darrel and probably Grennson, if they think they can get away with it. I need you to look out for them. They can’t get hurt.”

Miles nodded. “I’ll do my best.”

“Just make sure that it’s enough, Dad.”

There it was: the specter of Garrett’s distrust in him. For the most part they’d fixed their relationship, through a lot of hard work on both their parts, but every now and then Miles’ past came back to haunt him. “I promise,” he said, feeling the weight of his own words. “I’ll do everything I possibly can to keep them safe.”

Garrett’s eyes were getting as red as his hands, shining too bright for anything but fear and grief. “I know you will,” he said, and Miles almost couldn’t hear him, he spoke so quietly. “I don’t know why I said that.”

“It’s okay. I understand.”

“I love you. I trust you, you know I do.”

“Of course I know,” Miles said gently.

“I’m just so fucking afraid.”

Miles closed the distance between them and pulled Garrett forward into his arms. It wasn’t often that he got a chance to be an actual father to his son these days; Garrett had his own family, his own life and work. But as dark as the circumstances were that led to it, Miles couldn’t be upset over the chance to hold his son as though he were young again. “We’re going to get through this,” he said, and this time he was promising himself. “All of us.”