"Your guys are in cell block D," whispered Zeta. "Just through that door. And it's gonna be difficult. I had to fight my way here and I imagine the D block guards have noticed the radio silence by now."

"Probably."

"Yeah. You any good with a Wingman?"

"I'm alright," replied Bruce. "I'd feel better if I had my proper gear."

"Of course. They'll have your things in a locker somewhere."

"Later. I need to get those guys out first."

"Gotcha." Zeta put an ear to the door. "I don't hear anything."

"Great."

"I know, right?" muttered Zeta. "Okay, I'm opening the door on 10. Nine. Eight, seven, six, five, four, three."

Bruce raised the Wingman to his eye, ready to fire.

"Two. One, Mark!"

She pushed the door open, tumbled through the open space, threw her vortex shield up. Caught the bullets of a dozen guards who'd all lined up for the sole purpose of filling her with lead.

Now'd be a good time, Bruce!

She heard the pop, pop of a Wingman firing, and three of the guards dropped. She flicked her shield up, flung the bullets in the face of one of the guards, sidestepped the fire of another guard. Hit her stim button, felt the cold liquid blast through her blood. Jumped, kicked off a pillar that held the roof up, ricocheted into a wall and ran along it, high on adrenaline and stim. A bullet grazed her thighs, ripping through her pants and hardening the underarmor there. Another guard dropped to the ground, a hole the size of a Wingman's bullet replacing a large section of his brain.

Now behind the line of guards and with a recharged vortex shield, Zeta kicked off the wall, somersaulted off a stone pillar, caught and flicked away half a magazine of carbine bullets before decapitating the unlucky man. Her sword flashed through the air, carved its red path through another guard's chestpiece and he fell with a howl.

Just two remained. One dove in toward her, threw a punch but she was already falling backwards of her own accord. A tap of her toes and she was away, rocket boots flaring, catapulting her backwards a couple of metres and out of punching range. She kicked an R101 on the ground and it flipped upwards into her hands. The guard fired – three times, it seemed, for three patches of her underarmor immediately turned to rock in response – as did she, tearing holes through the man's ribs and shoulder. He dropped with a howl and a spray of crimson, to be finished by a shot to the head. The final guard died as his neck snapped – Bruce, it seemed, had left the door's cover.

"Where did you learn to fight like that?" he asked, impressed. "They didn't teach us anything like that in the IMC's training program."

"Gymnastics. And a few years' of fighting other Pilots in training matches. We used to fight for our dinners in 16-man free-for alls back on Venice 7."

"Ah. You don't look like you've gone hungry."

Abort, abort! Screamed Bruce's brain as he finished the last sentence. "I, uh, well, you must have won some- I mean..."

Did he just – thought Zeta's brain, about the same time.

"Um… well, ah, your guys are just around here," mumbled Zeta, walking around the corner, still not sure that she'd heard Bruce properly.

"Well. Yeah, thanks."

Idiot, he thought.

Four men stood in separate cells, trying to see what was going on just around the corner.

"Hey, everyone," greeted Bruce. "We're busting you all out. Also, Zeta's on our side now."

"Sir, your orders," asked Hilt.

"We're leaving the prison," Bruce replied, shooting the locks off each cell's deadbolt and lifting the bolts off one by one. "Zeta, which way now?"

"Same way I came," she replied grimly. "Where all the reinforcements will be. If there are any, that is."

"Great," muttered Bruce, walking beside her with his four soldiers behind him. "Oh yeah," he said, stooping beside a corpse. "Grab a Carbine. We'll get our R97's back soon enough. I hope."

"If it's safe to do so," added Zeta. "If it's not we're heading straight back to my place; I've got plenty of equipment there. Oh, and a guy called Snake wanted to let you know that he helped me break you out. And, if you need anything to do, he's looking for mercs at the moment."

"We're not mercs," replied Bruce.

"Then I'll tell him that you're not available."

"Good."

They rounded a corner, saw the elevator – the way out – past the security doors and the administration desk.

"It's quiet," murmured Bruce.

"Too quiet?" asked Zeta, eyebrows raised.

"An ambush isn't impossible, that's all."

"When we get out of the elevator, yes," said Zeta, rolling her eyes. Strode up to the elevator, pressed the button to call it before ducking to the side.

A second later the doors opened. Nobody inside.

"We can't just, y'know, get in and hope nobody's ambushing us," frowned Bruce. "What are you gonna-"

Zeta pulled a frag grenade from her pocket, pulled the pin as the doors began to close, and tossed it inside. A display above the elevator doors – now closed – changed from a B to a 1. She waited, heard a dull Thud! before pressing the button to call the elevator a second time.

"Well, I guess that works," muttered Bruce.

"I'm going to put up my vortex shield the moment these doors open again," said Zeta. "You're going to shoot any ambushers. We'll only have a few seconds to do it, though."

"That's okay," nodded Bruce. "We can pull it off."

Behind him, his soldiers nodded.

"Okay," said Zeta as the elevator doors opened. "Then-"

"GET DOWN!" roared Bruce, diving at her.

RATATATATA-

The entire section of underarmor covering her back hardened all at once and she fell forward under a barrage of gunfire and a heavy weight landed on her back and then a sharp pain splintered through her back and then the gunfire stopped and the weight was saying, are you okay and she was moaning in pain and someone was pulling off her sweatshirt.

"Zeta," said Bruce carefully, "can you hear me?"

"Yeeessss..."

"Who am I?"

"Bruce," she hissed through teeth clenched in pain.

"Zeta, you've been shot. Four times, in the right side of your back. Your armor stopped most of it."

"Ahhhhghghghh..."

"We're going to hit you with a double shot of stim. Are you ready for that?"

"Yeaaahahh," she groaned. "Wait, waaah?"

"Three, two, one," said Bruce, and then the stim hit her, first in the arm and then everywhere else and someone was screaming and the pain hit like a wave of cold and then a wave of burning hot and then the cold hit again.

"ETA to pipeline: 10 seconds," displayed Overwatch's monitor. "Warning. Brace for acceleration in 5."

"10 seconds," relayed Jenni through the radio. "You three ready?"

"Mark," displayed Overwatch, and the shuttle began to slow.

"No," replied Sophia. "But to hell with it. Oxygen's coming through, radio's good… Let's do this."

She hauled herself out of the airlock, tapped her toes upon the switches in her magnetic boots and felt her feet snap to the shuttle's hull. Saw the two soldiers follow her out, boots hitting the hull a second after hers, dull thuds echoing through the hydrogen and ammonia.

"We're out, Jenni. It's kinda hard to see, though."

A crystal of ammonia drifted past her visor.

Directly in front of the shuttle loomed the pipeline, disappearing into the clouds above and below. Above floated the station. And the orbital defenses. Below lurked the Dawntreader.

She hoped.

Sophia began to move towards the end of the shuttle closest to the pipeline. Reached out a hand and touched it.

Carbon nanotubes, huh? Unreactive. Strong. Lightweight. Perfect for holding the station and the Dawntreader together.

And for sliding down.

There were smaller cables beside the main gas pipeline; cables that Sophia now wrapped her arms around.

"We're dropping, Jenni. Take Carlyle for us, okay?"

And with that, she jumped. Disengaged her boots, started hauling herself down the cable. The two soldiers followed her.

"Once we get low enough," she said to the other two over the radio, "Gravity will start pulling us down towards the Dawntreader. It's being held up by the cable. We're not. So get ready to slide."

"Overwatch: ETA to Venice 7's surface: 5 minutes," displayed Aisling's visor. "Warning. Brace for atmospheric entry. Warning. Brace for atmospheric entry."

"Pilots, to your Titans," ordered Jaggerjack. "We're going in hot."

"Coming," replied Rimjob. The shuttle's airlock opened and he clambered out, made his way to his Titan. The metal behemoth, floating just behind the shuttle.

"Won't we burn up in the atmosphere?" asked a worried soldier.

"That only happens when you've got orbital velocity, which we don't. We're just falling, not traveling sideways at a few kilometres per second," explained Aisling. "We'll be fine.

But we might make a few sonic booms," she added as an afterthought."

"Hadn't thought of that," muttered Jaggerjack. "Shit, that could attract enemy attention."

"Too late to worry about it now," replied Nathan. "Ooh, can you guys feel that?"

Aisling could. The feeling was faint, yes – but it was definitely there. Air pushed upwards upon her chest. Slowing her down. Heating her up.

"I'm in my Titan," reported Rimjob. "Feels good to be back."

"Same here," said Danniek. "Keep her in low-power mode?"

"Affirmative. Low power it is," answered Jaggerjack, the entry door to his Titan closing and sealing. "We're turning these things on when we're one minute away from the ground and firing the rockets at 20 seconds. Okay, everyone out of the shuttle."

"Overwatch: depressurizing shuttle," said the words at the bottom of Aisling's visor. A few seconds later, the shuttle's doors opened and ten soldiers floated out.

A second later three dormant titans drifted out of the shuttle, followed by five soldiers.

"Overwatch," said Jaggerjack again, "Take the second shuttle – the one closest to me – and put it into orbit in one minute's time. I want to be able to evac if everything goes wrong."

"Overwatch: Command set. Entering orbital trajectory in 54 seconds."

"Good. Okay, everyone. Your overarmour has rockets built into it, they'll slow you down when we get close to the surface. You know the drill. Feet first, three burns, bend your legs. ETA to surface?"

"Overwatch: 3 minutes."

"Good. Shikinami, do you copy?"

"Loud and clear, Jaggerjkack. Our hacker's ready to go."

"Alright," muttered Jaggerjack. "We're all set."

The atmosphere pushed back upon Aisling much harder now. She fell, arms and legs outstretched in a star, wind rushing past her helmet.

She could hear again. Hear things outside the helmet. The silence of space was no more.

"Overwatch: the first shuttle has arrived at Kodai's landing pad. Warning. Hostiles on approach. Warning. Connection to first shuttle lost. Presumed destroyed."

"So they saw through the ruse, huh?" growled Jaggerjack. "Alright. Titans, online!"

Aisling turned in mid air, looked above her. Saw the Titans come alive.

Their reactor vents began to glow. The blue lights in their 'eyes' flickered on. And their joints began to move.

Six gentle giants of destruction, each armed to the metaphorical teeth. Four Atlas-class Titans and two Ogres. Two plasma railguns. Two X0-16 chainguns. And two 40-millimetre cannons.

"Safeties off, gentlemen," called Jaggerkack. "Weapons code green."

"X0-16's online," grinned Rimjob. "Can I do a magazine check?"

"That would be unwise," muttered Jaggerjack. "Railgun's good. Danniek?"

"40mm's online and connected to my Atlas. She's ready."

"Good. ETA to surface?"

"Overwatch: Eta to venice 7: 60 seconds. All personnel, please note. Initial armor rocket burns in 20 seconds."

"Shikinami, this is Jaggerjack. We're touching down in 60 seconds. Make sure your hacker is ready. Over."

Below her, Aisling could make out the shape of a shipyard. There was a flat concrete plane, open to the sky and filled with starships. There were at least three cruisers, long rectangular things lined up side by side, with smaller ships filling the shapes in between. Each had a bulge in the middle of them, maximizing the size of each cruiser's fusion reactor. Four triangular-shaped protrusions jutted out from the sides, each serving as a housing for the cruisers' rockets.

The bow of each cruiser widened out into a large borium shield before narrowing back into a point, like the head of an arrow. The three were painted black against the gray ground. Almost a kilometre long and bristling with heavy railguns, designed for obliterating enemy battleships. Their rears each housed three small fusion rockets; their curved bows served to stop incoming enemy fire in its tracks.

Between the cruisers lay frigates and corvettes, black and grey balls and dots in between the larger starships. The shipyard itself was walled off by four concrete calls; in the center sat a single two-story building with a radio dish on top.

"Overwatch: ETA to venice 7: 30 seconds. Titan rockets burning in three, two, one, mark."

Aisling heard a rumble. The fact that she could hear it over the sound of the wind scared her, and she was glad the Titans were on her side.

Plumes of flame erupted from each of the six Titans' backs and they kicked backwards into the air, beginning to slow towards a safer landing speed.

"Overwatch: ETA to venice 7: 23 seconds. Personnel rockets burning in ten seconds. Feet first."

Aisling pointed her feet together, aimed her legs towards the fast-approaching ground. From this distance she could make out people on the small planet below.

They're about to have a bad da- augh!

She gasped as rockets in the sides of her chestplate erupted, knocking the wind out of her lungs.

She began to slow.

One of the people on the ground looked up.

"Overwatch: ETA to venice 7: 10 seconds."

Her rockets began to burn harder; brighter, slowing her down even further. Still too fast for landing safely.

Beside her, thirty soldiers' flicked the safeties off their assault rifles.

And then she hit the ground, legs bent, and the people who had been on the ground before dropped in a hail of gunfire.

"Hardpoint to your left, Aisling!"

"On it!"

The Titans landed with earth-shaking impacts, kicking plumes of dust into the air. A second later, weapons came off their backs and into their metallic hands. Three titans, three auto-titans, 30 soldiers and three civilian mechanics. Here to steal a fleet.

"Shikinami, we're on the ground! Hotdrop successful, repeat, hotdrop successful!" yelled Jaggerjack.

An icon appeared on Aisling's visor, marking a hardpoint inside the two-story building. A computer linked to both Kodai's network and a radio dish capable of connecting to the Shikinami. She sprinted towards it, Smart Pistol in her right hand, data knife in her left. A man stumbled out of the building, saw the six Titans, and exploded into a cloud of blood and flesh as Danniek hit him with a 40mm shell.

I know what to do! We did this kind of thing in training!

She tossed a frag grenade through the door of the building, ducked to the side of the door, heard the explosion and whirled into the building.

Her visor drew an orange line around a man lying on the floor, legs minced by the shrapnel that had torn through them. With a howl, the man threw his hands above his head and Aisling realized that she'd pointed her Smart Pistol at him on reflex.

I did this? Just then?

An IMC soldier shouldered her aside, slammed the butt of his carbine into the injured man's face with a crunch – and her helmet stopped drawing an outline around the man.

"Get your data knife into the terminal, Ma'am!"

Wha- this- I?

"Snap out of it, Ma'am!" The soldier pushed his visor up, grabbed her shoulders. "Hey, are you okay?"

She stared dumbly into the soldier's eyes. Her helmet visor painted a blue outline around them.

A friendly, huh?

She pulled her mouthpiece away from her face, vomited the contents of her stomach onto the ground beside the dead man. Tried to suck air into her lungs, choked and coughed, spluttered. Pushed her mouthpiece back over her mouth, breathed deep. Her mouth tasted like acid and the meal she'd eaten aboard the shuttle. She struggled to her feet.

"Ma'am, try not to think about it," said the soldier. "Everyone's first is their worst."

That man was alive a minute ago, she thought dumbly. And then I showed up.

She plunged her data knife into an appropriately-sized port on the hardpoint computer and a second later the screen flickered on.

"Hardpoint online," she mumbled over the radio.

"Hardpoint online!" called Jaggerjack. "Shikinami, get your man on it!"

"Alright," said Ireton to Bish suddenly. "Computer's all yours."

Bish sat up straight in his chair, cracked his knuckles, pulled the keyboard towards him. Grinned as the screen lit up, then,

"Only one access point? That's no fair."

"We might give you access to more if you seem to be doing alright," said Ireton mysteriously. "But for now, make do with what you've got."

"Oooo-kay. Synchronizing feed with- oh, is this a virtual hardpoint or something?"

"That's correct."

"Huh. So I'm seeing everything you guys saw when you cracked into Kodai."

"That's correct."

Bish shrugged, fingers flying over the keyboard as he reached deep into space, the hand of a god come to play with the network of mortals.

"ETA to Carlyle, Overwatch?" asked Jenni, thumbing the safety of her G2A4. Feeling its shape, preparing to flick it off in a moment.

"Overwatch: 66 seconds," displayed the words at the bottom of her view in her Visor.