"Hey, Jim," asked a technician aboard the Carlyle refueling station's defense command center, "Remember that sunspot we saw earlier?"

'Jim' kicked his desk, wheeling his desk chair over to his subordinate. "What is it?"

"Well, it's just… I mean, it's probably not a problem."

"Spit it out, mate," said Jim, slapping the technician on the back.

"Well… It's moved, that's all."

"Pfft. Sunspots move all the time!"

"It's also gotten a bit bigger."

"Bah," snorted Jim. "It's fine."

"Still, I'd like to check it out on the auxiliary optical scanners."

"Really? That paranoid?"

"Better safe than sorry, right?"

"Fine, go for it."

The technician stood up and mentally prepared himself for the journey. The auxiliary optical scanner was located on the other side of the damn facility. And Carlyle's refueling station was enormous.

Every journey begins with a single step, right?



He took his first step -

- and sat down on the neighboring desk chair before logging in to the remote control systems for the auxiliary optical scanner, a program installed on the computer next to his.

"Alright, Jim. Here we go. Capturing image of Solcarlyle… completed. Hey, hold on a second. These images are different."

"Well of course they are," said Jim, taking a sip of a coffee. "They're taken from cameras in different positions, right? The primary camera is located on the North side of the station and the auxiliary camera is at the South, right?"

"Yeah… but if this was just a sunspot, we'd expect the sunspot to stay still relative to Solcarlyle's surface between pictures. Whereas the sunspot is in a different position between the images."

"Huh."

"Jim, do ya think that it could… I dunno, be a starship? Like, something not even on Solcarlyle's surface?"

"Impossible. Nobody's tried invading Carlyle refueling station for… well, since I've been here, anyway."

"Do ya think it's worth firing a shot at it, just to be sure?"

"Aw, all right." Jim slurped his coffee once again, grimaced at the cold dregs left in the bottom and threw the cup into a rubbish bin. Glanced over at his own monitor. "Railgun 6 is still in an elliptical orbit from last time; fire a shot from that one. It'll be at apogee over Carlyle's horizon in two minutes, we can use the recoil to stabilize it."

"Gotcha. Bringing railgun 6 online, triangulating position of the 'sunspot'. Calculating firing solution, complete."

"It'll probably be nothing," Jim snorted, walking over to the coffee machine. "Oi!" he roared to the entire control center. "Luke reckons we might be getting invaded by a sunspot! Twenty credits says he's wrong, eh! Anyone else wanna put money on it?"

The technician rolled his eyes as he hit the 'open fire' button.

"One hour to the refueling station!" roared Jenni. "According to the information we retrieved from Venice 3's infonet, that's a new record!"

"For what?" asked a soldier from the lower deck.

"For not being shot at upon approaching Venice 3!" laughed Jenni. "Is everyone ready fo-"

"Movement detected in enemy defense systems," displayed Overwatch's monitor.

Jenni's face fell.

"What?" asked the same soldier.

"Shit."

"Huh?"

"One of Carlyle's railguns just started turning."

"Meaning?"

"We're being shot at. Sophia, Bones. You got any bright ideas?"

"Wehl," mused Bonerhead, "They'll have spotted our thermal signature on their scanners. Chances are they're not sure what we are yet. If we could somehow dump our excess heat and go cold we could trick them into firing at something else."

"Too late," muttered Jenni, blue eyes flashing over Overwatch's monitor. "They've fired. Everybody, hold on to something! Overwatch, take evasive action!"

"Taking evasive action," displayed the monitor.

"Uhh, Jim?"

"What is it now? Sunspots movin' again?"

"Umm… well, yes. It just dodged our Railgun projectile."

"What do you mean, 'dodged'?"

"That's what I mean, Jim. It got brighter for a second, as if it had rockets or thrusters, and accelerated out of the Railgun projectile's path."

"That's impossible."

"Unless we're getting invaded."

"Oookay… Bill, Lucy, you're with Luke over here. I want to know what that sunspot is."

"It appears to be a small shuttle, Sir," said Bill.

"I think so too, Jim," said Lucy.

"Aw, crap. Uhh, where's the management handbook -"

"I believe we are supposed to open fire, Sir."

"Oh. Um, then, listen up everybody! We are under attack! Open fire on that shuttle!"

"With pleasure," grinned Luke the defense technician, tapping the 'paint target(s)' button on his monitor.

"Is anyone not okay?!" roared Jenni. "No? I'm taking your silence to mean you're all doing just fine! Or unconscious!"

"Movement detected in enemy defense systems," displayed Overwatch's monitor.

"Overwatch, I want you to display a counter of how many of Carlyle's railguns are pointed at us," ordered Jenni. "And I want a warning every time they fire."

"Ten projectiles inbound," displayed Overwatch's monitor.

"Merde," muttered Jenni. "Well that's just fucking wonderful. Okay, everyone. Remember how I told you to hold on? Well, keep on holding on. Overwatch, get us under the refueling station as quickly and safely as possible. And keep me updated with your Estimated Chance of Success for that order, okay?"

"ECoS: 87%."

"That low, huh?" muttered Jenni. "I'd prefer 99%."

"11 projectiles inbound. ECoS: 85%."

"Damn. Keep going, Overwatch. I'll think of something."

"10 projectiles inbound. ECoS: 86%."

"Fantastic," muttered Jenni. "Oh, and another thing. I want acceleration warnings, too."

"Brace for acceleration in two," read the monitor. "One."

"BRACE!" roared Jenni.

"Mark," read the monitor.

The shuttle began to turn to the side.

"Three, two, one," read the monitor.

"BRACE!"

"Mark."

The rear engines kicked in, shunting the shuttle out of the path of two railgun projectiles.

"8 projectiles inbound. 9 projectiles inbound. ECoS: 84%. 83%. Brace for acceleration in three."

"Aw fuck it, just hold on tight all the time."

"Mark."

The thrusters had rotated 180 degrees to face the other direction and now stopped the shuttle in its vertical tracks – and thus, a railgun projectile that had been aimed to hit had the shuttle continued on its path missed.

"Narrow miss. Re-evaluating ECoS parameters. ECoS at 76%. Brace for acceleration in three, two, one, mark. 14 projectiles inbound. Warning. Two enemy railguns have come over the horizon and are now in range. 15 projectiles inb- 17 projectiles inbound. Brace for acceleration in one. Mark. ECoS: 64%."

"That's too low," growled Jenni, having wedged herself between two cryopods and currently holding onto the ship with her legs. "Anyone got any bright ideas?"

"Yeah," said Sophia through gritted teeth. "Adjust our destination."

"To where?"

"Make a beeline for Carlyle and put us into orbit under the gas giant's surface as soon as possible."

There was a brief pause, the shuttle's rockets fired again, and then Jenni said, "it's crazy, but it might just work. Overwatch, did you hear that?"

"Affirmative," displayed the monitor.

"Think you can do that? Put us into orbit below the surface of the gas?"

"ECoS of new orders: 87%."

"That's better," muttered Jenni. Put us into orbit below the surface of the gas giant in the safest route possible."

"Brace for acceleration in three, two, one, mark," displayed the monitor.

The shuttle rotated and the thrusters kicked in a second later, violently shoving the shuttle along a new trajectory – straight for the planet's surface.

"Jim? The invading shuttle doesn't seem to be invading any more."

"Because it's exploded, right?"

"Uhh… no. It's now diving for Carlyle's surface."

Zeta dropped from the sky, landed on the guard's back and he dropped with a grunt, neck snapping under her carefully-placed weight. His companion noticed a second too late. A swipe of her blade and his head cleanly detached itself from his shoulders and the two halves of what was once a man slumped to the grass.

Zeta sheathed her sword and activated her armor's cloaking device. Now near-invisible, she slipped into the open courtyard beyond.

"Plus, Enemy report," she whispered.

"Six more guards," said Plus. "Nine, twelve and three o'clock."

Out came her R-97 compact SMG. Out came twelve bullets. Down came the guards; two shots was all it took.

Hell, it would only take one shot. But better safe than dead.

The SMG went to her back again and she advanced over their corpses.

And then she saw him. There was Bruce, arms bound with ropes, carried by the four men in black cloaks that she'd tailed before. They were carrying him away, into a starship!

She tore after them, stim surging through her veins, and with a yell she pounced, invisible becoming a visible force of destruction. She drew her left arm up, vortex shield on maximum power. There was a ratatatatat! of an SMG, and six bullets appeared within the plasma in front of her. She impaled the first of the four men with her electric katana, whisked the R-97 out of the dying man's hands and shot his comrade with it.

Ew. Silencer. I mean, really?

Her blade continued, dicing the third man into small chunks. Her vortex shield had done its job keeping her safe from the fourth man but by now it was out of charge and she fired the stored bullets and plasma at the fourth man before whirling to engage the first man, who had somehow stood back up, and the second man, who was now dragging the bound Bruce towards the starship.

A jab to the neck; a sword to the heart, and the first man was down for good. She remembered her training from her years as a Pilot and jump-kicked the second man before unclipping her R-97 to launch three bullets through the head of the third man, who had now taken over from the second man in dragging Bruce. The fourth man stood up again, despite excruciating stomach burns from the plasma that had been fired at him, and raised his SMG at Zeta. She took a shot to the shoulder and grimaced before firing off a right hook that caught him in the side of his head – her left arm flicking behind her to re-engage its freshly-recharged vortex shield, catching the bullets the second and first man had just fired at her.

She fought like a demon; she really did. But against the onslaught of these men who refused to die…

She woke up. Saw the roof of her apartment.

It's blurry…

She brought an arm upwards, rubbed the liquid out of her eyes.

Much clearer now.

Have I been crying?

She sat up, felt the clothes she'd slept in, same as yesterday but now drenched in sweat. She pulled her under-armor over her head and off her legs, put a hand to her chest. Felt her heart beat for a few seconds. She gritted her teeth, hauled herself off the bed and collapsed into the sheets and dirty clothes lying beside it.

I must have kicked the sheets off last night.

She got to her feet again, stumbled into the shower. Threw off her old bra and panties and stood, head downcast, under the torrent of water. Somehow found the effort to tip some shampoo into her hand and rubbed it through her hair.

It's gotten longer. Maybe I need a haircut.

Stumbled out of the shower, threw a towel over her shoulders and stood naked before her mirror. Laughed sadly.

It was stupid of me to think that it could work, huh?

She pulled on a fresh pair of panties and clipped on a new bra.

Fuck the under-armor.

She walked back into her bedroom, pulled on a pair of loose pants and a male sweatshirt before flopping back onto her bed.

Today I don't feel like doing anything.

There was a beep from her communicator and she lifted it lazily above her head, scanned the message with her eyes.

"From: Styx Menelaus," read the message.

"Body: Zeta, Thank you for your services. The communicator messages you intercepted are very useful to me. I am no longer in need of your services. I have deposited your payment in your bank account."

"Wait…" she muttered. "Plus, read me my mission description again."

"Menelaus commissioned you to investigate 'the man who purchased the carbine'," said Plus helpfully. "So that he could work out what the TKY Shikinami was doing here on Venice 3."

"But I'm not even done with investigating Bruce and his friends yet… wait, what does he mean, the communicator messages? Plus, did you forward the messages we intercepted to Menelaus?"

"Yes, early this morning. Menelaus requested an update on our progress and as you were asleep I took action."

"Oh."

I wonder what he was even using those comms probe for?

"Okay," said Zeta, thinking aloud, "Plus, read me the messages Bruce sent with the comms probe."

"Comms probe one sent a news article from the day we were informed Demeter had been destroyed. No custom programming. Probe destination: core worlds."

The core worlds?

"Comms probe two: quoting message: 'Is anybody there? The TKY Shikinami is orbiting Venice 3, and is here to help.' Custom programming exists on this probe. Probe is set to scan for artificial activity in the area, and return to Venice 3 with the results of the scan. Probe destination: Demeter."

What the hell? But Demeter's been destroyed for ages.

"Comms probe three: quoting message: 'Is anybody there? The TKY Shikinami is orbiting Venice 3, and will arrive with help.' No custom programming. Probe destination: Outpost 207."

The fuck? Zeta mumbled internally, her mind a jumble of thoughts regarding the probes, her mission, the four men in black she'd been ordered to follow and Bruce.

"The implication being that Bruce, and the starship he traveled upon, are affiliated with the IMC."

She leaped up from her bed, began to pace. "So Menelaus thinks that Bruce and the Shikinami are from the IMC, huh?"

"Affirmative. He has them on trial for 'being IMC agents conspiring against the peace' as we speak."

"WHAT?!" screamed Zeta, spinning on the spot. "Where?!"

"The Venice 3 senate. "I can arrange transportation, or you can walk."

"Get me my hoverbuggy," she snarled, grabbing her electric katana from her bedside cabinet and pulling her EDF generator onto her arm. Her pulse rocket boots went into one hand; she pushed her apartment door open with the other and vaulted the railing of the stairs, landed beside her hoverbuggy and dove through the door. Tossed her electric katana and boots on the passenger seat and stood on the pedals.

"Plus, call Snake."

"Calling 'Snake'."

"Hey Snake," she grinned, teeth bared, eyes flashing dangerously. "I need one last favor from you."

"Ugh, what is it now?"

"You've still got that missile that you use as a coffee table, right?"

"Yes..."

"Does it still work?"

"Two narrow misses. Re-evaluating ECoS parameters. ECoS at 82%. Brace for acceleration in three, two, one, mark. 24 projectiles inbound. Warning. Enemy railguns are now firing orbital rounds from behind the horizon. 25 projectiles inbound. 22 projectiles inbound. One narrow miss. Re-evaluating ECoS parameters. ECoS at 80%. Brace for acceleration in one. Mark. ECoS: 81%. 24 projectiles inbound."

"Fantastic," growled Jenni. "ETA to Carlyle's surface?"

"ETA to destination: Fifteen minutes and twenty-four seconds," displayed the monitor. "Brace for acceleration in two. One. Mark."

One of the soldiers lost his hold on a handrail and hit his head on the shuttle's hull, groaned with pain.

"Someone hold on to him!" commanded Jenni. "Overwatch, is there anything we can do to get there faster?"

"Such measures would sacrifice our chances of survival," displayed the monitor.

"Forget it," muttered Jenni. "Keep doing what you've been doing."

"WE'VE GOT THIRTY TWO RAILGUNS!" screamed Jim from Carlyle's defense command center. "HOW HAVE WE NOT HIT THAT BLOODY SHUTTLE YET?!"

"It's too small, Sir! It can can easily accelerate out of the path of our projectiles!"

Jim took a deep breath. "Stop firing and allow all the railguns to reload. Then fire every railgun in such a way that the projectiles all simultaneously strike an area in the shuttle's vicinity at once. I want one railgun hitting the shuttle's expected path, one taking the shuttle's path if it were to accelerate at maximum speed the moment it sees us firing, and one hitting the shuttle if it were to turn and decelerate the moment it sees us firing. All the other railguns should fire in a random scatter pattern between those ranges."

"Yes, Sir," grinned Luke, keying in the necessary commands. "Putting Railguns into standby… now. Correcting orbits… complete. Sir, we are ready to fire."

"Nail the bastard."

"Nailing it, Sir."

"Zero projectiles incoming," displayed Overwatch's monitor.

"They've stopped firing..." said Jenni through gritted teeth. "Why the hell have they stopped firing?"

"Three proje- ten projec- twenty-four pro- thirty-two projectiles incoming."

"Aw, hell."

Sophia tapped Jenni on the arm.

"Yeah, what is it?"

"Umm… can you tell Overwatch to cut the jump drives?"

"Huh?"

"The projectiles are accounting for our speed, right? So if we cut the jump drives..."

"Holy shit that's genius. Overwatch, you heard her!"

"Jump drives offline."

"Bullshit," Jim swore, staring at the display. "Bull-sheeeit."

"The enemy shuttle is now 10 hours away, Sir."

"And they can hit their jump drives any time they like to make that 15 minutes. Honestly; what kind of shuttle has an X40 jump drive?! You could stick that on a cruiser!"

"All projectiles have missed," displayed the monitor. "Adding maneuver to avoidance tactics archive. ECoS: 87%."

"That's more like it," grinned Jenni, licking her lips. "FORWARD, ONTO CARLYLE!"