Lanis’ head hurts, and her mind is numb with Assault Unit tactical dogmas and ejection protocols by the time the three hours are up. She’s bleakly relieved at the cool slide of the neural shunt as it exits her temple, though anxiety gnaws beneath her composure. That wasn’t nearly enough time. She slowly sits up, her eyes refocusing on the bustling technicians that surround her.

  “Well done,” Admiral Ren says simply, her gaze inscrutable as she watches Lanis slowly turn and crack her back. Lanis had been too absorbed in the integration to notice, but Morris has arrived in the room, flanked by two of his gigantic aug-human guards.

  “Is she ready?” he asks, to everyone and no one in particular.

  “Simulation training on Insertion Units lasts for two years before a pilot ever steps inside a pod,” Admiral Ren replies flatly, looking at Lanis like a jockey watching some temperamental, unproven horse that they were about to race. “But, then again, she is a Navigator. She’s as ready as she can be.”

  Thanks for the vote of confidence, Lanis thinks, returning the admiral’s somewhat doubtful look with a brave stare.

  “And what about the AI?” Morris growls, drifting toward a Murkata terminal.

  Lanis glances behind her at Ether’s cerebral cortex shell. The Murkata techs are wheeling a large, reinforced container toward it, reverently placing the shell inside. Ether is still connected to several mobile terminals by heavy cables—including the Fleet one—and these are folded and placed into the container as well.

  Ash, who’s been monitoring Lanis’ training with the Versk techs, follows her gaze and nods.

  “Her training isn’t done,” she says. “They’ll keep pumping her with modules and upgrades on the trip to the Unit.” A small smile flickers across Ash’s mouth. “I bet she’ll blow through Admin’s Hinton Scale restrictions by the time they’re done. Not that it matters anymore.”

  Lanis hadn’t considered that particular ramification of the war. AIs past level nine on the Hinton Scale have long been prohibited, as their tendency toward ego-spiraling and unpredictability is well-documented. They must be confident in Ether’s stability. Plus, rogue AIs are the least of anyone’s concern right now.

  Morris’ gruff voice snaps her from her thoughts. “Lanis. There’s a transport waiting. Maybe you can get a little rest on the trip, but there’s no time to linger. Let’s move.”

  A pair of Murkata techs come to either side of Lanis; one helps her stand while the other offers her a bottle of water. She notices their treatment of her has shifted: there’s a respect, almost awe, that wasn’t present before the integration. Not just a Fleet cast-off or some lesser corp employee now, am I?

  She drinks gratefully, but before following Morris, she turns back to Ash, who stands silently among the other Versk techs, her face slightly downcast.

  “Aren’t you coming?” Lanis asks. But the look on Ash’s face gives her her answer.

  “No. This is a Fleet and Murkata operation. We’ve shown them how you and Ether work together,” Ash answers. She gives Lanis a rueful smile. “Looks like you’re getting promoted. You’re halfway between a Fleet officer and a Murkata employee now.”

  Before Lanis can protest her abandonment, Ash steps forward and embraces her. From the exchanged glances of the Murkata techs, this breach of decorum is clear—but clearly Ash is just as past caring as Lanis.

  Ensure your favorite authors get the support they deserve. Read this novel on the original website.

  “Good luck,” Ash whispers, holding Lanis tightly. She steps back, face flushed, and extends a hand. Lanis takes it, meeting her gaze with a half smile.

  “See you on the other side?” Lanis murmurs.

  “On the other side,” Ash agrees.

  Then Lanis turns, newly reluctant, and follows Morris and the others.

  “Our Murkata Decimator Suits are already en route,” Morris says as they enter the complex’s cavernous hangar, referencing the four giant Murkata mechs Lanis had seen on her arrival. “They’ll be joined by two others from Hei-Star Two, along with whatever forces we and Planetary Admin can scrape together by then.”

  Admiral Ren and two Fleet techs quickly walk beside Morris, while Ether’s core is wheeled behind them by a cluster of Murkata techs and guards.

  “What about Fleet?” Lanis asks, turning to Admiral Ren. “Have they scraped together any reinforcements in the past three hours?”

  “Unfortunately, not that I’m aware of,” Admiral Ren replies. Her voice is steady, but Lanis catches the hint of a deep resignation beneath the surface.

  The hangar feels like a hive that some deity has kicked, sending its occupants into frantic motion. Announcements thunder overhead, directing pilots to their wings, and technicians scramble to load the last ordnance onto waiting attack craft. Murkata tactical teams in dark green and black armor jog past the group, saluting Morris as they join queues for one of the lumbering transports.

  Lanis catches sight of Mirem, waiting for them beside their transport. She’d gone back to liaise with the rest of the Versk team while Lanis focused on her reintegration with Ether, and Lanis had briefly wondered if she’d see her again before leaving. Mirem still looks haggard, but as Lanis approaches, she realizes it’s concern for her, not lingering grief, that clouds her face.

  “These fellows seem like they’re in a bit of a hurry. I thought I might not catch you,” Lanis says, pulling Mirem into an embrace.

  Mirem offers a rueful smile. “I hope you know I wouldn’t let you leave without saying goodbye,” she says. She glances at the group as the techs move Ether’s protected core up the ramp, then at Morris and the two hulking guards. “Anyway… I’m sorry I got you into this."

  Lanis scoffs, but her voice catches slightly. “Hardly,” she says, swallowing. She lifts a hand to brush Mirem’s curls back from her forehead. “I’m sorry that an interdimensional monstrosity followed me back to Terra.”

  Mirem lets out a sharp, choked laugh, her shoulders trembling.

  For a moment, Lanis feels the temptation to say something more—I love you? The words tremble in her throat, but they feel wrong, ill-timed and unsuited for the heaviness that she feels looking into Mirem’s eyes. Time. I wish we had more time.

  Instead, she leans in and kisses Mirem, the gesture lingering. When they pull apart, Lanis gives her a faint, resigned smile. She squeezes Mirem’s hands, lingering a moment longer, before stiffly turning to follow the assembled techs and Admiral Ren into the belly of the transport.

  Morris and the guards remain outside. Lanis overhears Morris and Mirem exchange a few words, but then she’s inside the red-lit hold, awkwardly finding her seat as the two Fleet techs settle in across from her. She feels as if she’s watching herself from a great distance and realizes, dimly, that tears are streaking her face. Her throat tightens, but she doesn’t cry; the two Fleet techs stare dutifully straight ahead, seemingly eager to pretend that their pilot, on whom so much rests, isn’t on the verge of having some kind of breakdown.

  A hand settles on her shoulder, and Lanis looks up, surprised to see Admiral Ren gazing down at her.

  “I’m sorry,” the admiral says simply, her eyes heavy with unspoken pain in the dull red light.

  Lanis nods back.

  Minutes later, she feels the transport shudder as the thrusters engage, pushing the gleaming shuttle out of the hangar and into the sky. Leaning back in her chair, she mouths a quiet Navigation mantra. Something simple, and peaceful. She lets her thoughts skim the jagged edges of her mind, not trying to smooth them, but simply observing the ephemeral sensations of her body rise and fall away. Then, with the practice of long years, she falls blissfully, immediately, asleep.