AN: Hi everyone… this something that probably should not have been done, but I just had to get the idea down on paper so it stopped bugging me. Welcome to the Frozen Titanfall (& EVE/DUST) AU. There will be much fighting—which is to be expected given it's based off an FPS after all. I'm still not sure it translates too well to the page, but I gave it my best shot. Hopefully you'll enjoy it.

The story will follow the actual campaign as closely as is reasonably possible, and each chapter will be based around one of the missions in said campaign. In total that means I should wind up with 9 chapters, and most likely an epilogue.

Sergeant Elizabeth Stroud had one hand on the coaming around the portside hatch on the IMC Goblin dropship designated Zulu One while her other hand gripped a C.A.R. submachine-gun. Along with three other Pilots in the same dropship she had been tasked to team two. Two more Pilots followed in Zulu Two. Fifteen seconds earlier they had arrived over the Fracture facility via short range jump. The hatch had opened and Graves had the pilot circle the perimeter of the facility. It was an old pumping station, but the machinery was fully functional, and had appropriate transmission gear to send any processed fuel into orbit—either via tender, or direct warpfall conduit.

One of the other pilots nudged her, and Sergeant Stroud noticed that Vice Admiral Graves had begun talking. He had to shout to make himself heard over the wash of the Goblin's VTOL engines.

"In space, fuel is life, and the Militia Fleet is running low. Only seven planets in the Yuma system can replenish a fleet of that size. This is one of them. We've set up turrets, like this one, just in case the Milita decide to pay this site a visit," Graves waved towards a heavy auto-turret atop a large, open building with a collapsed roof. "That's Charlie"—he waved out to a half buried control complex, and those on the dropship could just make out the bunker entrances to the complex—"this one's Bravo."

"Vice Admiral Graves, Zulu Three shows multiple jump signatures three klicks out," the dropship pilot's voice cut across the intercom. Graves response was immediate.

"Blisk, tell Riggs to get his squad on the deck—now."

Three Militia Crow Dropships jumped in formation, micro-jump drives still cooling as the boom of their entry echoed across the landscape. All three made a low altitude pass over Charlie, hovering above the terrace. The auto-turret froze in place, deactivating before it could track even halfway towards the dropships. Three Pilots fell from each of the leading Crows, while a full squad of Militia Grunts ziplined from the trailing dropship.

All three Zulu dropships had hovered around a long, low building with another Goblin sitting on the landing pad, surrounded by maintenance equipment. Between that structure, reinforced with a heavy auto-turret, and a half-destroyed IMC control center, captain Riggs was booting his Titan. The captain curled into a ball as the Titan's massive hand lifted and deposited him in the Atlas's cockpit.

"Come on Elsa—Stroud—boots on ground," Corporal Duke Laski clapped her on the arm as he leapt from the dropship, stirring up a small dust cloud upon landing. Sergeant Stroud followed him a moment later, landing so softly she barely disturbed the grass beneath her feet. She knew Laski would be the one to find the only barren patch beneath the dropship. He was just like that. Blisk's voice echoed over the comm.

"Sir, our forces have assembled at rally point Alpha."

Graves stood in the open hatch of the slowly ascending Goblin. "Pilots, today, you have a chance to establish peace on the Frontier. Make it count!"

Elsa was already sprinting as she heard the familiar whip-whumpf of dropships departing via short range jump. Her weapon was braced at the ready even though she was sprinting at full speed towards a large pair of generator housings. Powerfully enhanced legs launched her halfway up, and a quick blast from her jetpack finished the ascent. An instant later she was leaping onto a nearby balcony, sweeping instinctively for both hostiles and useful paths. With the former absent, she launched herself at the wall to her left, jetpack putting out a constant thrust to keep her steady against the surface. She still hadn't surrendered any momentum. To her, motion was life, and she planned to live.

She still planned to live when five Hemlok rounds ripped through her left side, spraying the roof beneath her with bright red blood. She stumbled and rolled, hitting her Stim booster as she rose, Adrenaline coursing through her veins, fast-burn nanites knitting her skin and organs back together as she launched herself from the edge of the roof towards a rocky precipice, a blast from her jetpack just enough to carry her to the lip, quickly using her arms to scramble up onto the dusty surface. A line of impacts cratered the dirt beside her, and Elsa launched herself at the cliff face behind her, sprinting for the transport array in front of her before leaping sideways into nothingness, fifty feet from the ground. Blisk's voice crackled in her ear.

"Hardpoint Bravo's in that building up ahead. Get inside and patch me into the terminal."

She somersaulted in mid-air, using her jetpack to sail closer to the bunker entrance of Bravo, on the grassy hill beneath her. Another blast from her jetpack ensured she hit the ground at a survivable speed before she dived through the entrance. She managed a quick sweep, her gun following her gaze, firing instinctively as she saw the Militia Pilot raise his weapon. Three rounds made it downrange before a wall of lead slammed into her chest and stomach, and Elsa knew no amount of Stim would be bringing her back from this one. Her body hit the floor with a wet thud, but her mind was already gone.

There was a violent disconnect, a surge of light and sound reaching an insane crescendo, and suddenly Elsa was sucking in a deep breath, her body whole and complete—and different. She grunted, rubbing her side at a phantom pain, and lifted another C.A.R. from the rack, strapping a P2011 pistol to her right hip as she slung the submachine-gun over her shoulder. An Archer missile launcher was the final element of her weaponry, also slung across her back as she gripped the C.A.R. and racked the slide, barreling into the warpfall conduit at the far side of the chamber. She landed just outside Charlie, on terraced, overgrown steps. Blisk's tactical update rang in her ears.

"All units, the turrets are online for Charlie. The Redeye is taking some heavy damage." It was followed shortly thereafter with: "We just lost Alpha."

Elsa took off at a dead run, charging through Charlie, past the terminal, and through a lower level corridor out to the verdant expanse between there and Bravo. She made a split second decision to avoid the exposed hilltop, despite the path between a slightly damaged building offering an excellent vantage point. She was a runner, not a marksman. She burst through the entrance to the unmarked bunker, barely noticing the floor, and a painting fallen from the wall to her right. There was a shimmering movement ahead of her, and her gun rattled, spitting lead as she sprinted into the fray.

The Militia Pilot fell without a sound, blood pouring from a dozen impacts on his chest, his weapon skittering across the floor of the bunker. He'd had no chance, but, like her, he would be back in the fight in seconds. Both the IMC and the Militia had Ripcord technology—the ability to create an instantaneous engram upload that contained everything a person ever was, and download it into the next available body. Pilots were immortal, their minds deathless, beyond even the enhanced capabilities of their flash-cloned and gene-enhanced bodies.

Another Milita Pilot sprinted from the upper exit of Bravo, leveling her R101 Carbine at Elsa. Both Pilots fired at the same time, Elsa hitting her Stim, and blasting forwards, throwing off the Militia Pilot's aim while maintaining her own. The other woman dropped in a hail of lead, letting out a small whimper as her body collapsed. Elsa surged onwards, scanning the entrance before vaulting the balcony to get within range of the hardpoint terminal below. Spyglass began the counter-hacking procedure immediately—simultaneously giving her a status update on her Titan. Two minutes before she was cleared for Titanfall.

She sprinted for the ruins between Bravo and Alpha, hearing Blisk's call for Pilots to defend the hardpoint. Jetpack pinning her to the high wall, she sprinted forward, Stim active, and was firing before her mind fully registered the pair of Militia Pilots in front of her, diving for the lower entrance to Alpha. The first pilot fell like a sack of bricks, the second turning, Spitfire LMG already roaring. Elsa dived sideways, a round still catching her in the shoulder. She drew her pistol as she rose, C.A.R. mag empty, and fired on the run, bullets kicking up the dirt behind her. With her free hand she tossed an arc grenade for good measure, and the Spitfire armed Pilot finally fell.

Blisk's tactical updates cut across the network, informing her that both Alpha and Charlie had fallen to the Militia's hackers. That meant the fleet in orbit was taking on fuel at an enormous rate, despite the damage being inflicted against it. Full ships had to be jumping out, cycling new ships in to suckle at the planet's resources. The Redeye was still taking damage, but it was far from serious yet. Elsa sprinted through the door to Alpha's terminal, then launched herself at the wall, hanging on in midair with the help of her grip-gloves and jetpack. She swept the mezzanine with her gun, and found it thankfully empty. The hardpoint was back in IMC hands, and she could hear the heavy auto-turret overhead banging away at the fleet above.

"You Titan is ready to drop," Spyglass's smooth, artificial voice echoed in her ear. "Signal when ready."

Elsa threw the signal beacon out the balcony door ahead of her, uplink instantly established with the IMC Sentinel in low orbit. Diving out the window she looked up, a pinprick of fire arcing through the sky above her. Five. She cleared her C.A.R. and leapt from the balcony. The trail of fire grew larger, thick smoke visible as it fell. Four. She fired the jetpack and flew through the air, landing just short of the projected fall zone. Three. The pod overhead split into four, like a violent flower revealing itself to the world. What was left of the heat shield would burn up before it hit the ground. Two. The Ogre continued to fall, onboard AI bracing the reinforced leg joints against the coming shock. One. The Titan slammed to the ground, making everything shake and stirring up a large cloud of dust and debris. The dome shield flickered to life, enfolding the Titan within its impenetrable embrace.

Elsa darted through the shield, the harmonic signature of her jumpsuit allowing her safe passage. She grabbed the rail on the side of the cockpit, using it to throw herself into the pilot's seat. The hatch closed with a soft hiss, and as the display booted up the massive Ogre drew the Plasma Railgun slung over its back and loaded the first power cell.

"AI offline, Pilot mode engaged."

"Alright Marshmallow, let's do this!" And the Ogre took off at a ponderous run, slowly building momentum as Elsa began searching for targets. There, in the distance, between the buildings bracketing hardpoint Bravo. A Stryder, shields low. The Plasma Railgun hissed and cracked as it fired, a trail of superheated, ionized air following the packet of charged particles, back-tracing to the muzzle of the weapon. Downrange the round impacted the Stryder's reactor with enough force to make the Titan stagger sideways, critically damaged. A sweep of her hand and caressing a different trigger sent a quartet of Multi-Target missiles streaking towards the Stryder. It dashed sideways at the last second, missiles slamming into the building facade behind the Titan. In return it fired a heavy cluster missile straight at Elsa.

Her vortex shield caught it, and redirected it towards a squad of Militia grunts, but by then the Stryder had popped smoke and disappeared behind a building. Elsa didn't catch which one, so she strode forward purposefully, ground shaking with every step her Titan took. She was thundering over Bravo before she realized it was being taken. A dash and a snap turn saw her Ogre sail over the destroyed entrance, facing into the bunker. Crouching to get a better view, she sighted on a Militia Pilot who thought she was hidden behind the hardpoint terminal. When the railgun round hit her, there was nothing left, just a red mist.

Elsa thumped a button on the side of her cockpit, and it hissed open, allowing her to disembark. The Titan's AI automatically took over, stepping back and sweeping for nearby enemies. Elsa skirted the terminal, watching the progress on her HUD as Spyglass once more hacked the hardpoint, disabling the fuel pumps and re-engaging the turrets. Blisk's voice crackled across the tactical network.

"Well done Pilots, the Redeye's at 75% hull integrity and decreasing."

Elsa sprinted from the bunker, launching herself at her Titan, now facing away from her and engaging an enemy Atlas. She landed hard, sliding between the Ogre's legs as it lowered a hand to scoop her up, heavily armoured fingers protecting her as she was deposited safely in the cockpit. Chaingun rounds rattled off the hull as the Atlas closed, and Elsa swung instinctively, before the cockpit displays had time to come online. The steel fist of her Titan connected solidly with the armoured torso of her assailant, driving it back into the wall of the cliff behind it. Elsa used the momentary reprieve to dash out of line with it as she aimed carefully with her railgun. The round flashed between them in an instant, slamming into the Atlas's torso, driving it back.

Her Vortex shield engaged as the medium Titan dashed sideways, opening up with its chaingun once again. Rounds pattered off against the projected energy field, claimed within its strange embrace. She ran the shield to the redline, waiting for the Atlas Pilot to reload his weapon. She released the collected rounds as the drum fell from the other Titan's weapon. Just before impact a wall of energy intercepted the blast, turning from green to red with the strain of absorbing that much damage.

There was a hiss, and high pitched whine, and Elsa saw the core of the Atlas glowing white hot, surging through its weapons. A rocket salvo threw her aim off, stripping what little shields had managed to regenerate. The chaingun ripped into the hull of her Titan, shredding it in seconds, coring her reactor. Elsa hit the failsafe as she pulled the ejection handle between her legs at the front of her seat. A burst of energy from the dash charger blasted through her jetpack, launching her a hundred feet in the air as her Titan's reactor went critical.

The blue-white glow temporarily flash-blinded her as shell fell, but she watched with grim satisfaction as the Atlas was torn to pieces by the explosion. Take that, you bastard. The IMC still only held Bravo, and Elsa adjusted her descent to land closer to Charlie, surging forwards as soon as she hit the ground. She was running over the exposed hilltop, and then suddenly she was back in the Ripcord chamber of the Sentinel.

"The fuck?" she stumbled forward, closing her eyes and demanding a replay from her didactic implant. The battleROM software projected fuzzy green outlines before resolving into the viewpoint of her assailant. Another Ogre, armed with a 40mm cannon. She watched, pissed off, as a single cannon round blasted her previous body into tiny chunks of meat. But it hadn't been a deliberate shot. The Pilot had been aiming at a cluster of Spectres guarding the entrance to Charlie—but something had thrown his aim off, some random impact, and the round had hit her instead of the Spectres.

Duke was also in the Ripcord chamber, gathering his preferred weapons and pulling rank on someone, getting his Titan pushed to the front of the build queue. Elsa snorted in disgust, gathering her weapons and pulling an Amped Archer from the rack she had loaded earlier. It was getting heavy on Titans down there, and she was eager to settle the score. The warpfall conduit deposited her outside Alpha, another update from Blisk crackling across the tactical network.

"The turrets for this hardpoint are back online, and we are engaging the Redeye!" He continued, static temporarily interrupting the transmission. "All units, we've got the upper hand for now, but it's a close fight. Don't let your guard down."

Elsa was already moving, sprinting for the upper entrance to Alpha's mezzanine level, launching herself, using her jetpack to gain height and land softly on the balcony. Then she was sprinting through Alpha, leaping from the enclosed balcony at the far end of the building, jetpack just carrying her to the generator housings. She was following the same path she had at the start of the battle. The voice of Spyglass sounded in her ear, informing her her replacement Titan would be ready in thirty seconds. She hit her Stim, sprinted from the roof, and arrowed towards the bar entrance to Bravo. She landed softly with the assistance of her jetpack, gunning down a trio of Grunts holding the area.

Grunts didn't come back, but she felt no remorse at the killing. Grunts didn't even have personalities. They were clones, like Pilots, but only implanted with combat instincts and experience from the best templates. They were, in short, expendable. Even more so than Pilots or Spectres. IMC Pilots would often joke it was a sad day when a Militia grunt managed to kill them—usually after a duel with another Pilot left them weakened. More grunts would always arrive, either by dropship or drop pod, depending on who controlled local airspace.

Elsa ignored the bodies, hearing Blisk's call to get closer to the hardpoint so they could take it back. She caught another grunt staggering through the bunker entrance to the field, and a Militia Pilot with an R101 walking down the stairs covering the corners. Her reaction was immediate, and in the firefight Elsa felt at least half a dozen impacts against her vest. The Militia Pilot suffered worse, slumping to the floor, dead. Elsa finished the grunt with a snap-kick that shattered his spine, made possible only by her enhanced physique. As soon as the hardpoint was recaptured, Spyglass informed her that her replacement Titan was ready to drop. Seconds later she was inside it.

"Come on, Marshmallow," Elsa thumped at the side of her cockpit for good luck. "Time to move out."

The Ogre ran ponderously onward, down the narrow road that circled past the ruined building between Bravo and Alpha. Elsa urged her Titan onwards, almost missing the yellow warning sign on her HUD. Titan grenades. Someone near Alpha was using a Triple-Threat. Three grenades slammed into the Ogre, and Elsa lowered the shoulder and bulled through, sweeping across the perpetrator with her Multi-Target missiles. A full pack of ten slammed into the Stryder, staggering it and sending its final launch wide, grenades scattering behind the Ogre. Elsa risked a snap-shot with her railgun, and watched with satisfaction as it cored the lower section of the Stryder's cockpit, punching out the back of the lighter Titan.

"Warning, threat level high." The Titan's AI rang in Elsa's ears. "Warning, another Titan is attacking you. Caution, you are outnumbered two to one."

Shit. That was Elsa had time to think before attempting to at least finish off the Stryder in front of her. Dropping the railgun, Elsa took hold of the Stryder, ripping it's left arm off in a spray of sparks and hydraulic fluid. Then she brought it crashing down on the damaged cockpit of the enemy Titan. The Stryder fell in a heap of scrap, the Pilot inside crushed to death when the cockpit stoved in from the blow. AI all but screaming at her, Elsa knew it was too late to save her own Titan. She hit the overload button and yanked the eject lever, sailing into the air. The explosion caught the Atlas shooting her in the back off guard, nearly obliterating it.

Armour scraped and blackened, systems exposed, Elsa was surprised to see the tell-tale flicker of shields powering up on the Titan beneath her. She landed hard, then hit her Stim, chasing the Titan along the wall, boosting into the air and scrabbling over its shoulder, ripping open a critical access panel. Holding on with one hand, a grip-glove, and help from her jetpack, Elsa emptied a clip of C.A.R. rounds into the Atlas's internal systems. That did the trick, the Titan lurching forwards as Elsa jumped back, boosting to the roof. The Pilot ejected, but Elsa lost sight of him as he rocketed into the air and cloaked.

She turned back to Alpha, intent on completing her original task. Blisk gave an update as she hung from the wall opposite the mezzanine level. "This hardpoint's secured, but I'm detecting hostiles nearby. Don't let them near that terminal!" His voice crackled on the tactical network a moment later. "Excellent, the Redeye's now at 25% hull integrity. Let's finish her off, eh?"

A Militia Pilot armed with a shotgun decloaked as he rounded the false wall opposite the balcony, and Elsa barely had time to react as he threw something past her. As he fell she heard an ominous beep, and felt her damaged body being torn apart in a massive explosion. Satchel charge. Dead-man trigger.

She staggered out of the Ripcord chamber, going through the motions of collecting her weapons. Her Titan was ready. She scrambled out the far end of the chamber, into the Titan assembly line. The cockpit of her Ogre remained open, Plasma Railgun slung across its back, a Multi-Target missile system being quick welded onto its shoulder in a shower of sparks. She leapt high into the air, twisting sideways so the jetpack's thrust carried straight into the padded seat in the centre of the cockpit. She reached up and pulled the cockpit hatches closed, initializing all onboard systems. The whole Titan rumbled as the drop-rack held it in place.

Elsa looked down, the bay door beneath her sliding open. The rack released her with a resounding clang. The displays blacked out as she crossed the shock layer, the roar of descent deafening. The heat shield split open, and the Ogre slammed into the ground with tooth-jarring force. She rubbed her jaw for a second, getting her bearings. Somewhere near Charlie, middle of the road, next to an overgrown cliff. Blisk's voice crackled in her ears.

"Blisk to all remaining units: the Militia have a slight edge, and the fight is nearly over. You've got to turn this fight round before it's too late!"

"Alright Marshmallow, lets do this!" Elsa shouldered her Titan forward, crashing into Charlie, Spyglass hacking the terminal in there through her Titan's interface. Two Titans faced her, pinning her in the building. A Stryder with a Triple-Threat, and an Atlas armed with a chaingun. The same ones she'd fought earlier. Her vortex shield slammed the Stryder's cluster missile back at it full force, rocking it back and forcing it to dash into cover, deploying smoke as it went. Her own missiles, direct at the Atlas, met with a particle wall, almost destroying it. She dashed forward, steel fist slamming full force into the Atlas, sending it staggering backwards.

Then the Stryder was attacking from her right, and Elsa forced the Ogre she was piloting to backpedal. Her Titan's AI helpfully informed her she was now outnumbered three to one. The horrendous visual distortion across her screens told her that this assailant was armed with an Arc Cannon. A railgun shot stripped what was left of the Stryder's shields, and a follow up shot tore through the agile Titan's torso, leaving a superheated hole in its wake. The entire armour panel glowed with heat, and the Pilot wisely decided to seek cover.

"We've been defeated, prepare to evacuate," Blisk's voice cut bitterly across the tactical network. Elsa looked at the Atlas in front of her, then dashed backwards, spinning to fire another railgun shot at her newest assailant. It was another Ogre, still at full health. She heard a breach in her Titan's reactor core, and knew it wasn't worth saving. Not anymore. She slammed her fist against the safety override and yanked the ejection lever, angling herself towards the evac point as she flew into the sky. She didn't bother looking back, she knew anything that survived the blast would be following her.

She hit the ground hard, activating her Stim and sprinting between a narrow cliff face, jumping from one wall to the other, building momentum as she ran. Her feet hit the ground for only a second, and she was flying through the air again, sprinting across a low wall before launching herself towards the roof of the ruined building between Alpha and Bravo. Several high calibre impacts tracked behind her up that wall. She surged forwards, diving through the open hatch of the evac ship, securing her jump harness. Weapons fire rocked the dropship, but a moment later there was the familiar whip-whumpf of a short range jump, and the whine of a jump engine cooling down.

"Hmph, we didn't even kill half their fleet. 54 ships destroyed. That's it," Blisk sounded bitter as he finished his report over the tactical network.

"How many of those ships were civilian?" Graves's smooth baritone was distorted only a little by the commlink. Elsa felt her blood run cold. They'd been firing on civilian ships? That was against almost every rule of war she could name, but she couldn't tell if Graves was admonishing Blisk or merely confirming information.

"Today's civilians are tomorrow's Militia. Sir. What do you want me to do? Wait?" Elsa listened, mute, as Blisk rattled off some kind of justification for their actions. Elsa unloaded her gun and safetied all her weapons. But even as she did so another thought was forming in the back of her head. I'm fighting for the wrong side.

"Start a search. I want that fleet found. Graves out." So Graves had just been looking for confirmation. Elsa closed her eyes, and hit the manual activation system on her Ripcord.

She was lying in her cabin aboard the IMC Sentinel. She was on top of the covers, the pillow only half under her head. She swung her legs over the edge of her bed and sat up straight. This was the real her. Elizabeth Stroud's cosmetic body—a much more accurate clone of her original physique. She wore a loose, white t-shirt, and black boy-leg briefs. Comfortable. She looked at herself in the mirror. Finely structured face, strong cheekbones and jawline. Platinum hair—a trait neither of her parents had shared—strung up in a loose braid hanging over her left shoulder. But most of all it was her eyes. A piercing shade of icy blue. She sighed, patting herself down, trying to find triggers for old and new phantom aches. Thankfully nothing presented itself. But now she had a bigger problem—if she was going to defect, how the hell would she escape?

And if she did, what about the Ripcord system. She would have to disable it. She would have to risk actual, eternal, death, in order to make a clean break. Then… then she might even wind up literally fighting herself, if the IMC decided to restore her consciousness from a previous Pull. The whole situation was fucked up on more levels than she even cared to count. She had no idea if the Militia would even accept her either. They might just decide to shoot her on the spot, not knowing her Ripcord would be deactivated. And wouldn't that be a wonderful kind of irony? she thought bitterly.

Elsa dressed in her normal off-duty clothes, pulling on a faded pair of old jeans, and a fur trimmed mini-jacket in IMC blue. There wasn't a whole lot to do—she knew she would have to attend a debrief on the battle later, and she would also personally review her own performance from the battleROM data. Right now, however, she needed a drink, something to bring her down from the rush of combat. She could always lose herself in the moment, on the battlefield. It was the way of many Pilots. Past and future ceased to exist. On the battlefield there was only now, and motion. A moving, eternal, present. It was a rush like no other, and she knew several Pilots who treated it like a drug, testing their immortality to its limit.

She looked at the tumbler in front of her. Fuck. Only soda, because she was still on duty until Graves gave the order to stand down from combat status. Well, at least that means the debrief'll be postponed too. Small mercies. Elsa chugged the drink anyway, giving a slight hiccough when some of it went down the wrong way. She swallowed hard, thumping her chest, eyes watering. Even her drink was trying to kill her today. She didn't want to wake up in yet another clone. Especially not a cosmetic clone—they were expensive, and rare, needing to be gene-tailored to each individual over a period of months or even years. The Sentinel's clone bay still managed to keep at least one spare cosmetic clone for every Pilot onboard. War clones numbered in the dozens, and Grunts numbered in the hundreds, kept floating in nutrient tanks until they were needed.

"Rough day?" Duke asked, sitting next to her. He still wore a vaguely ridiculous looking moustache. He also appeared almost comically short next to Elsa's lithe frame.

"Some of those ships were civilian, Duke."

"We signed on for this tour to get a job done. The Militia has been terrorizing colonies all over the Frontier in the past few months. Don't lose focus here, Elsa. We have a real enemy, and they pose a real threat."

Elsa just frowned at him.

"It's not our fault they use those colonists as human shields. But hey, we nearly got the Redeye, that's the First Fleet's flagship. They're going to be smarting after that one. Orbital cameras show just how fucked up it really got. I'm surprised it still managed to jump at all—but it managed to drag a number of tenders with it, and you can bet they were filled with stolen fuel."

"Then why didn't Blisk just target the tenders, wouldn't it have made more sense on a strategic level?"

"Yes and no, from what I've heard going around. Those ships are mostly empty space, designed to hold bulk stores and fuel. If they'd been damaged enough they might have used them like fire ships. You remember the Outpost 84 incident?"

"How could I forget?"

"Oh, shit. Sorry. I forgot your father was on that Outpost when it got hit."

"Old news, Duke, but thanks."

"Anyway, imagine what half a dozen heavily damaged tenders like that could do if they managed to break in next to the Sentinel or the Colossus."

Elsa mulled that over for a long moment. It would have been catastrophic all right, but that still didn't give Blisk good reason to target the civilian ships trailing the Militia fleet. Planting her hands against the bar, Elsa stood stiffly, turning to leave. Duke didn't try to stop her. He knew better. She just got like this sometimes. It was hard having strong morals in what was essentially mercenary corporation under the jurisdiction of Hammond Robotics. Corporate interests everywhere. Duke didn't mind at all—the money was too good.

Elsa spent the next two hours wandering through the Sentinel, taking a conditioning run, and doing several sim exercises focused on agility in combat. Her mind still hadn't cleared, and Graves still had yet to stand the fleet down from combat status. Stripping off her slightly sweaty clothes, Elsa folded them into a neat pile, preparing her uniform. She had finally been called for a debrief despite the fleet still being on alert—apparently all the Pilots were going to be thoroughly debriefed after the Militia raid had proved so successful.

Freeing her hair from its confining braid, Elsa ran her fingers through her platinum locks, turning on the shower, adjusting it to the right temperature. As the water washed over her and she scrubbed herself clean, a single, desperate thought overwhelmed her. What am I going to do?