Soren checked the seals on his borrowed combat gear for the third time, not because it was faulty, but because it was the only thing keeping his hands busy. The central room of The Ghost of Mandachor was cramped but familiar. It faintly whined and creaked where the newly installed reinforcements adjusted to their first flight through space.

  Across from him, Riza was hunched over her weapon, fine tuning something. She had opted to bring a similar rifle as her allies for this operation, but her preferred cannon was still stowed on her back. Both it and the heavy black plating she wore looked more or less like they had prior to Altina, despite what had occurred there.

  Amalia, Veolo, and Violet were all crammed up in the cockpit with Tamiyo and Elias so they could look out the front viewport. The three of them had technically been in space a couple times already, but not in a spacecraft as small as this one.

  Inelius sat to his right, quiet and focused behind his armored helmet.

  Only Aurania looked at home, standing steady near the starboard hatch. She braced against the wall, helmet tucked beneath her arm. Her massive great-axe was leaning against the wall next to her and she had a large handgun holstered on her left thigh. She hadn’t said a word to him since the briefing. Things were still so tense between them, even after training together as a unit. Soren had found himself struggling with certain thoughts about her that kept creeping into his head, but he forced them down anytime they arose.

  A red light blinked on above the hatch and Tamiyo’s voice came over the ship comms. “Five minutes out.”

  Soren took a breath and looked around again. Amalia was saying something to Veolo as they walked back from the cockpit. Her hands moved in small, energetic gestures, like she couldn’t decide whether to laugh or be terrified. Veolo smiled warmly and nodded back to her, then pulled her helmet on and locked it in place.

  “We’ve got a visual,” Tamiyo said over the comms. “Sending it back to you.”

  A large screen installed on the wall lit up, displaying a jagged industrial lattice half-swallowed by the shadow of the asteroid it clung to. A shattered pirate frigate drifted just off the docking ring, hull blackened and venting gas from a midship rupture. Nearby, the carcass of a scorched Liberty Union scout vessel rotated slowly, its comm dish half-melted and bow sheared clean through. The wrecks floated like ghosts—mute warnings to anyone still listening.

  Violet walked back from the cockpit, her helmet already in place. She moved over to the door by Aurania but didn’t speak.

  He was still trying to wrap his head around what had happened to him, but he could physically feel something about the approaching station that thrummed with tension. The karsanite inside the asteroids was like a weight pressing against his perceptions. It was like a miscalculated charge building inside a circuit.

  "You done pacing with your eyes yet?" Riza rasped through her helmet, not even looking up from her weapon.

  Soren blinked and shook his head. He hadn’t realized he’d been staring.

  Amalia turned and bubbled at him, “Aww, it's OK if you're nervous! I am too, but also excited!” She had a huge smile on her face.

  “I-I'm not…” he wasn't sure what he was feeling. “It's not my first combat mission, I guess I'm just feeling—”

  Aurania interrupted him. “Cut the chatter. Helmets on—we breach in two. This is hardly our first time fighting together but it’s our first time fighting offworld so keep it tight, work together. Violet, you’re on point like we discussed, Veolo you’re right behind her. Mission priorities first but as always take notes and learn as you go, little one.”

  Things had been slightly tense and awkward between Veolo, Aurania, and Soren ever since the battle circle. But now, her demeanor remained stoic and disciplined. She nodded firmly to Aurania’s orders.

  “Amalia, left guard, Riza on the right,” Aurania continued.

  Amalia responded with an exaggerated bounce and salute while Riza said nothing.

  “Inelius, you’re bringing up our six,” Aurania said. Glancing at Soren she said, “You’re with me in the middle, Little Boy. Stay low. Shoot straight if you have a clear target. Don’t fuck it up.”

  Soren nodded. “I can do that.” He felt himself flush a little at the way she spoke to him. He shook his head—he needed to keep a clear mind.

  “I didn’t ask if you could,” she spat back, sliding her helmet into place. “I said do it.” She barely looked at him when she spoke. She addressed the entire team again. “Keep an eye out for survivors, check your fire, but keep each other safe.”

  The red light turned yellow and the cabin shifted as the ship rotated, aligning with one of the station’s external cargo ports. Clicking and thunking could be heard outside the door as the airlocks lined up and locked into each other.

  The lacravida dressed completely different for missions like this. Gone were the flowy robes and half-plates that still showed plenty of skin. They wore vacuum-rated armor: heavy plating atop black underlays. Their chest armor was built large to accommodate their proportions but it looked natural on them, like they were titans made of metal, not curves. Their helmets completely covered their faces, hiding all expressions and leaving them with dim, intimidating red lights in place of their eyes. He felt like he’d been pulled out of the group of beautiful women he’d just barely started getting used to and dropped into a strike team of armored demons.

  Violet took point at the door, her rifle slung across her back. She reached for a dense shield locked beside the hatch. It was nearly six and a half feet tall, just enough to cover her height, but not quite his or Aurania’s. The slab was over three feet wide and five inches thick, made from Karsanite-infused plating designed to absorb ballistic impact and withstand breaching charges. It shimmered a dull graphite gray in the drop bay lights. She raised it in front of her and braced for whatever awaited within.

  The rest of them formed up behind her.

  The light turned green and Aurania barked, “Go.”

  The hatch hissed open with a slow hydraulic whine. A retractable docking tunnel extended from their ship into the station. Interior lights flickered to life overhead, dim and pale yellow, casting long shadows across the reinforced tube. Small particles of dust hung weightless in front of them, indicating the atmosphere in the station was still pressurized.

  Violet stepped forward first, shield braced in front of her like a portable bulkhead. Veolo walked in sync with her, left hand on Violet’s shoulder, right hand holding her rifle with barrel to the ceiling. Aurania followed Veolo, her greataxe held behind her in one hand. Amalia and Riza flanked tight to the left and right sides, rifles raised just beyond the shield’s perimeter. The spacing was tight, but practiced. Soren moved in behind them, keeping to the center. Inelius brought up the rear, scanning backward through their exit as the rest advanced.

  The tunnel was just barely tall enough for Aurania to walk upright, though she crouched down slightly to stay behind the shield. Inside the heavy plating she wore, she was an inch shy of being eight feet tall.

  The tunnel gave way to the station’s outer access corridor with a hiss and a clunk. Emergency lights strobed weakly along the ceiling, red and amber pulses that cast the hall in a rhythmic wash of rusted color. The place looked long-abandoned, but it wasn’t. Scorched panels lined the walls where wiring had been hastily rerouted. Tools lay scattered across the grated floor. A crate had exploded near the junction ahead, its contents melted and fused into the wall plating. Scratches scarred the bulkheads in broad arcs, some mechanical, others too chaotic.

  “Clear forward,” Violet reported, stepping through the threshold.

  “Air’s holding,” Riza added, “I’m not hearing any immediate threats.”

  “We don’t assume it’s clean,” Aurania said. “We assume they’re letting us in.”

  She angled her head to peer down the hallway ahead. “Hall splits at the junction. Left leads toward the elevator shaft. That’s our route.” She tapped Riza on the shoulder, a clear non-verbal command.

  This book was originally published on Royal Road. Check it out there for the real experience.

  Riza responded, “Copy,” and peeled off from the group, dropping into a crouch behind a dented cargo bin near the corridor’s mouth. She pulled her sniper cannon off her back and set it atop the bin, which was about three feet tall, just enough to steady her weapon and put something solid between her and the killzone. It was a natural choke point, she would have a clear view of anyone coming at her and she would be able to provide cover fire if they got pushed back. If anyone wanted to steal their shuttle, they’d have to go through her.

  Veolo moved into Riza’s former position on the right flank and asked “Think they made it down?”

  “No comms in two days,” Inelius muttered from the rear. “If they’re alive, they’re pinned.”

  “Hope we’re not too late,” Violet said flatly.

  No one responded to that.

  The squad advanced in tight formation, Violet leading the way with her shield up, armored hooves clanking against the floor grating. The further they moved into the station, the thicker the air felt, heavy with the scent of scorched metal, old smoke, and something just starting to rot.

  The emergency lights strobed overhead in irregular pulses, alternating red and amber. Each flash seemed to stretch shadows across the corridor’s walls. They passed an open maintenance panel where cables spilled out like entrails. A broken terminal sputtered sparks on the far wall. Soren caught a glimpse of old blood on the floor just ahead—thick, dried, pooled near the threshold of the left corridor.

  “Stop,” Aurania said, lifting one hand. Violet froze mid-step. Amalia and Veolo adjusted stance without a word. Soren leaned left, peeking past the edge of the shield and spying a body laying face down just beyond the hall’s bend. Bulky frame. Four arms.

  “Lazarco,” Aurania said quietly. “Union gear.” She moved just enough to get a clean look without breaking formation. “Shot clean through the side. Probably bled out in under a minute.”

  Veolo whispered, “Why leave him behind?”

  “Couldn’t recover him,” Aurania replied. “Or didn’t have the time.”

  Soren scanned the floor around the body. Boot scuffs, dried blood, and drag marks that stopped halfway before turning chaotic. Someone had tried. Maybe more than once. Behind him, Inelius was silent and focused, but Soren felt like the air around him was tighter, like a wire pulled to its limit.

  The squad moved on, navigating the curve in the corridor and moving into deeper shadows with less strobing lights. Spent shell casings littered the floor near a corner bulkhead. Aurania held up a fist and motioned for Veolo to check the angle. The young soldier moved swiftly, sweeping the hallway with the barrel of her rifle.

  “Looks like a fallback position,” she whispered. “Cover fire sprayed inward from this angle. They were trying to hold a line.”

  Soren looked to the walls. Black scoring along the corners, shrapnel embedded in the ceiling. Blood trails curved to a half-open pressure door just ahead. The controls beside it had been shot out.

  “That’s the access to the freight elevator,” Aurania confirmed. “Stairwell to the left of it drops down too, but narrow, tight angles, no shield coverage.”

  “Can’t call the lift from here,” Amalia said, crouching beside the controls. “Shot up on purpose.”

  “They didn’t want it used,” Inelius said.

  “They didn’t want it used by someone else,” Aurania corrected.

  Violet moved up and dropped her shield beside the blast panel, then pulled her rifle off of her back. “Orders?”

  Aurania motioned to the stairs. “We breach down. Amalia, you take point this time. Short hall, then the landing opens up. Be ready.”

  “We sure this isn’t mined?” Veolo asked.

  “Nope!” Amalia chirped, already stepping toward the stairs.

  Soren followed mid-pack again, heart pounding harder now. The sharp industrial angles of the stairwell felt like a trap waiting to happen. Blind corners, no light, and the promise of open ground below.

  Halfway down the steps, Amalia held up a fist. Everyone froze. A low tick echoed off the wall. Then another. Something moving. Small. “We’ve got motion,” she whispered. “Tight corridor. Left side.”

  “Confirm visual?” Aurania asked.

  “No.”

  Another tick. A footstep.

  Then the hallway below lit up with rapid strobe and the sound of gunfire. Not at them, but ahead, down the lower corridor.

  Someone was still fighting. The gunfire echoed for three full seconds, short bursts with intentional spacing.

  “Not pirates,” Aurania muttered. “Someone’s fighting like they want to stay alive.”

  “Could still be a trap,” Violet said.

  “Then we spring it smart. Violet, Amalia—down the corridor.”

  “On it!” Amalia bubbled quietly, already moving. Violet followed, steps light, weapon raised.

  Aurania moved next, her handgun aiming everywhere she looked. Soren followed behind her, keeping close but not crowding. She hadn’t said anything else to him, but her body language was clear enough: she wouldn’t trust him with their lives if there were other options. He was still too new to them, too unknown.

  He didn’t blame her for that. This whole situation was one of the most familiar feelings he’d had since waking up on Tamiyo’s ship. He’d led missions just like this, back… before. When he had just been human. And in Aurania’s position, he would treat someone like him with the same exact suspicion.

  Inelius brought up the rear as the formation flexed around the hallway’s sharp edges like it was muscle memory. Amalia slowed at the next bend and raised a clenched fist. A new burst of gunfire rang out from ahead, short, sharp pops. Different caliber than before.

  “Not at us,” Amalia said, eyes scanning. “They’re trading shots with someone else.”

  “Which side is friendly?” Veolo asked.

  “Sounds like a standoff,” Aurania said. “Move up, quiet.”

  They reached the bottom of the stairs, stacking against the wall. Soren caught a flicker of muzzle flash around the corner, bright, sharp, angled downward. The shots weren’t directed toward the stairwell, but deeper into the mining corridor. Aurania pointed. Amalia and Violet peeled off left. Soren stayed just behind Aurania, crouching low as they advanced. Another burst of gunfire, then a lull. In the dim pulse of an emergency light, two figures came into view behind a collapsed ore cart.

  Amalia signaled: visual contact, two armed, no Union colors.

  Violet whispered into comms, “Patchwork armor. No insignia. Pirate kit.”

  “Weapons?” Aurania asked.

  “Scattergun and slug rifle—barrels look modded. Definitely not Union.”

  “Engage.”

  Two sharp cracks, synchronized and clean. The pirates crumpled where they stood, never seeing what hit them.

  Silence hung in the air for a moment. Then came the sound of armor scraping against metal, someone shifting position behind the barricade further down the corridor.

  “What the hell—?” a voice called out, startled. “You see that? Who hit ‘em?”

  Another voice, raspier: “That was coordinated, wasn’t us.”

  “Hold your position,” Aurania called out, voice booming through the corridor like thunder. “You the Vanguard team Union sent in two days ago?”

  A beat passed. Then the sound of boots crunching lightly over debris.

  “Identify yourself!” the first voice shouted. They sounded tired.

  “War-Chieftess Aurania Enderchild,” she replied. “Independent support squad dispatched from The Resolute Wind. We’re here for extraction.”

  More movement now, careful, cautious. A helmet rose slowly over the edge of the barricade. Human face beneath, streaked with dirt and blood, one eye swollen nearly shut. “No Union colors,” she said nervously.

  “We’re allies,” Aurania said. “You want to argue, or survive?”

  The soldier gave a strained laugh, more relief than amusement, and lowered her weapon. “Lieutenant Maren Jao,” she said. “Squad leader for V-5 Recon. There’s five of us left. Two critical. The rest...” She trailed off.

  Aurania nodded once. “Drop the barricade. We’ve got med supplies, guns, and an exit plan.”

  There was no mechanism to drop the barricade, but within seconds, one of the slabs of welded scrap was shoved aside, scraping across the floor to reveal the inner holdout.

  A small team lay within, just like Jao had said. Two lying flat and groaning softly. One lazarco hunched over a half-smashed turret, reloading a belt by hand. A d’moria crouched in a corner, panting hard, holding a handgun that still faintly smoked from the barrel. None of them looked like they had more than a few hours left in them.

  “We thought we were done,” Jao said. “No long-range comms. Food’s out. We’ve been fighting in shifts just to keep the pirates from getting brave.”

  Soren stepped into the room behind Aurania, gauging the damage. “We passed one of your fallen comrades on the way in. Where are the others?”

  Maren turned to look at him fully, then froze. Her expression shifted from weariness to confusion. “Holy hell,” she breathed. “By the size of you, I thought you were lacravida. You’re human? The fuck your momma feed you?”

  Soren smiled under his full-face helmet. “Oh ya know, just a lot of…” he trailed off for a second and his eyes accidentally flicked toward Aurania. The thoughts popped into his head again and he tried not to think about what was hidden beneath the heavy armor plating and golden scrollwork. Don’t say milk. Don’t say milk. “...caaalcium.” What the fuck that was not better.

  Maren blinked twice and wheezed, “Huh. Okay.” She seemed too tired to inquire further.

  He couldn’t see Aurania’s face, but he could physically feel her glaring at him.

  A loud thundering boom slammed through the station from off in the distance, back in the direction they had come from.

  "Uh-oh," Amalia giggled. "Someone made Riza mad."