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Hey guys, don't be afraid of that 'female' tag. If I -do- employ sex scenes (which I may.) then you can worry, but so far it's all plot and explosions of the non-genital type.

XXX

Shipborn

Chapter 3

A thick blanket of snow shrouded the city, the red and violet twilight casting long shadows on the layers of frost. Hanging in the Eastern sky, the great green moon Falla hid the smaller of two suns--the greater, Amos, half visible behind her as it sunk below the horizon. Hanging in the western sky, the middle moon Doma and her smaller companion Tama shone brightly.

In places the shadows suffused the streets, while in others light glinted colourfully off of the small flakes of ice. Small gold and purple flurries danced down the avenues with every gust of wind and settled where it may, burying any still thing left in the open in tall and irregular drifts. Every few minutes the wind carried a wall of chilly flakes east to blind a westward travelling soul. The air filled with sad groans as the current blew into the many wounds the buildings had sustained, as though the former metropolis were lamenting the loss of its people.

A kind of serene loneliness had taken the city, but it was not to last. The sudden report of gunfire bounced off of the ruined skyscrapers - when it was not absorbed by the broken facades of other buildings. A young man in thick white thermal gear was dodging through the knee-deep snow, chased by a pair of green craft that kicked up flurries of their own as they hovered along in pursuit. Several volleys of turret plasma fizzled in the snow behind him as the fugitive dove through a shattered window, his long white coat rippling in the air. Moments later his pursuers began to pepper the broken lobby with green-gold bolts of high-energy matter.

The room was a roughly circular atrium dotted with mostly destroyed wooden desks and the broken remains of old computers. The snow had covered more than half of the floor, but was quickly melting away as the heat from the plasma fire burned holes in the carpeting. Small fires started where the weapons hit, but the chill of the air sucked all of the life out of them and they soon guttered out.

Huffing in exhaustion, the runner shuffled quietly into a corridor attached to the main lobby as he tugged his face mask down. "Three Hells!" the Sirian whispered angrily, his icy blue eyes peeking around the corner to watch the superheated ordnance practically spatter over the faded carpeting.

"Evans, what's your status?" chirped his radio, but the silver-furred Domiran smacked the little device to silence it. Checking his sidearm's readout didn't steady him at all, only five more pulses remaining. The sound of his pursuers sending in a ground team had him scrambling to his feet as he ran through the deserted building.

They were big, naturally armoured things. Their bodies were covered in an armour of translucent shells, making them look almost iridescent as they moved into the dim lobby from the relatively blinding dusk-coloured streets.

"Dammit Aegis," he scolded to thin air as he ducked around another corner, the hallways getting darker as he moved further from the windows. Flicking on his light, Evans slowed down and tried a few of the doors. "Locked... locked... oh gods above give me SOMETHING," he whispered plaintively before he found a door that opened. It lead to a stairwell, but undeterred he started up the formerly pitch-black climb.

Moments later, his pursuers made a loud rush through the hall, missing the stairwell entirely, and the young male thanked the gods for their mercy. Plucking up his radio, he turned it on again to the sound of the Aegis calling for him. "I'm here, sir. Had to get clear of that patrol. Lost my rifle."

"Thrice damned. Well where are you?" came the tinny reply.

Continuing his way up, he stopped occasionally to peek through some of the doors. "Ducked into a ruined skyscraper, sign in the lobby said FalCom." He replied, stepping out on the sixth floor into what looked like an office space.

"Fallana Communications. Do you need backup?"

"Negative sir, the area is too hot." He was shaken, but Evans was trying his hardest to keep it from showing. "I might be able to use the terrain to my advantage though. Can you get me a schematic? See if I can find somewhere likely to wait them out?"

After a moment he had a reply. "I've got Auxiliary Reach working on it. Squad 7 is 2 degrees north of you, they managed to secure the arms cache and get to the extraction point with your squad's distraction. I'm afraid you're the only one we've been able to reach from squad 4."

He evened his breaths and swallowed dryly before he spoke again, keeping his sidearm readied as he checked the cubicles. "I saw Ancillary Black go down, he kept firing into them as they closed in. Lost sight of Warden Harrow a few degrees west of here, but he's probably got his radio off to keep from getting spotted." One of the desks had its top drawer wide open, and in the drawer was what looked like an antique phase pistol. Snatching it up he continued on his way, headed towards the hallway that ran along one wall of the darkened room.

"We've got that layout for you, where are you son?"

"Sixth floor, I'm in some sort of office space. Looks like there's a bank of elevators on the wall in front of me." He sidled up to the hallway and looked down the far side before he peeked his head around the corner. "Corridor running across the building, window to window."

"Looks like you're in tech support. Head down either corridor and follow the windows, you should come to a big conference room. You and Squad 7 might be able to see each other from there."

The Sirian's ears chafed a bit from the helmet as he made his way along the building. A homefleet fighter had crashed through the level above and one of its wings had taken out the windows halfway down the hall. Snow and ice covered the area around the gap, and the icy wind cut through his cheekfur harshly with a harrowing groan. With a running jump, and the whisper of his longcoat through the air, he cleared the hole in the floor but slipped on the ice as he landed. Undeterred by a smarting tail, Evans grunted and pushed himself to his feet to continue on his way, occasionally peeking out the window at the ground below.

Six floors wasn't significant by any means, but it did lend him a better view of the city. Around the base of the building he saw the two transports his pursuers used, dark green blobs in the otherwise pristine white canal. From up here, the drifts along the wide avenue looked almost like a still image of a rushing river, especially suffused in the shadows cast by the buildings. A tall cloud of tiny snowflakes glittered down the avenue towards the building, and as it got closer he started to see colour peeking between the disparate flakes. Suddenly, the green blobs in front of the lobby were much less important.

"Sir, I'm seeing at least four scouts down there. There's another two to the - " his breath hitched in his throat. Had that snowdrift moved? He looked closer and even from this high was able to see the six figures below despite their matching white longcoats. "Sir, I think I can see Harrow down there, about half a degree to the northwest. He's got a few ghosts, hopefully the remains of squad 8, but there's two scouts on the next street over."

"Between 7 and Harrow, son?"

"Yes," the male said hurriedly. "Their heavy guns might be able to knock those scouts out, sir. I'd advise 7 to relocate for an ambush. Looks like the scouts are doing a sweep. Warden is behind them for now, not likely they'll see him."

"Got that, Evans. 7 is on their way. Continue to the conference room and give us eyes on their progress."

The male sprinted the last half of the way as he pulled his helmet off, letting his scruffy silver-grey hair spill out. A white diamond of fur between the husky's eyes spread down his nose and out over his cheeks to disappear into his BDU.

The conference room had a rough-cut stone wall on the east end, the carpeting in the room was musty and old-perhaps once it had been red, he thought. He almost missed the crack in the wall that defined the edge of a door, designed to disappear into the pattern when it was fully closed. Thankfully the door was ajar enough to let a sliver of light through. The table in the middle of the room was sturdy and metal, topped with a much smoother slab the same stone, and when he was sure the halls were silent he hopped up onto it and started to look for squad 7.

"I see them, sir. Can you patch them in?"

Moments later a burst of static accompanied squad 7 switching frequencies. "Warden Lane here," came a female voice. "Going to need you to watch my back, Ancillary."

"Yes, sir. You're a street away but it looks like-" he stood on his toes. "Yeah, they're making a turn, looks like... three cross streets up from you. I think they're going to sweep back towards you."

"Do I have a clear run to Warden Harrow?"

"You do, you also have a perfect ambush opportunity." the husky replied.

"Leave tactics to me, Ancillary."

With a sigh, Fal-Ancillary Evans relaxed his toes and let his mind wander. He was the new guy, the foreigner. He and his mother had managed to escape to Fallana when their refuge fell, almost a full cycle ago. He hadn't seen his father during the run, but knowing the old man he was dead with ten of them at his feet.

It was the sixth winter of this long chill; a twelve cycle period when the planet's largest moon was closer to the suns than the planet itself. The extra distance coupled with the moon's obstruction of incoming light meant the planet fell into something like a long winter; during this time the summers were mild but comfortable, while winters were harsh and treacherous.

During a chill, northern nations like Domira had snows that lasted for all but two moons of the summer. Perhaps a blessing once the Craganii - the Fallan word for 'invaders' - descended on the world, as Domira was left mostly unmolested during the first cycles of the war.

Domira had stayed out of the fighting early on, so he could understand why he was treated like a stranger by his squadmates. A chirp on his radio brought him back to the present and he sprung back up to his feet.

"I can see Warden Harrow, where are those scouts, Evans?"

"Two cross-streets up, but they could change direction at any time. You're clear for now." he replied, his fingers gripping his pistol a little tighter. He perked an ear at a dull thud from the hallway behind him and whispered into his radio. "I have company, muting."

Clutching up his helmet, the Domiran ducked into a room off of the main conference hall, managing to shut the slab of wall just before the conference room door opened. With his back to the disguised doorway, he took stock of his new surroundings. Once plush carpeting had begun to grow mouldy and the ceiling in one corner showed signs of water damage thanks to snowmelt from the floor above. On one wall was a truly ornate seat carved of wood into the shape of exotic birds behind a stone-topped desk of the same dark wood. Decaying curtains concealed the windows; they-like the carpet-might once have been red, but thirty cycles of abandonment left them pink in some places and moulding black in others.

The room appeared to be soundproof, to the soldier's dismay. 'If I could hear the damn things I'd know if I was safe.' He made his way across to the north window to see if he could spot squad 7. Thankfully they had picked up Warden Harrow but this angle gave him a much narrower view and he couldn't see the scouts past a block of buildings.

Looking around the room, his attention came back to getting himself out of this mess. From the eastern window he could see a low patio of sorts, probably an outdoor eating area. A narrow ledge led around the building toward it, and as he stepped to the window he saw it was maybe wide enough for two of his feet end-to-end. "No way to open the window though..." he mumbled to himself. Looking at his helmet gave him an idea though. Taking hold of a cross-brace inside the top, he steeled himself silently for a few more moments and hoped beyond hope that his pursuers didn't hear this. He punched with all of his strength.

A howling cold wind caught in his ears as the sound of breaking glass echoed off of the building itself. Thankfully the sound of it hitting the ground was amply muffled by the thick snow. Checking to make sure there was no glass in his helmet, the husky took a moment to fasten it over his head again before he took one last look around the room. A gust of wind tugged at his coat and blew some of the snow inwards, adding a little more water to the already damaged office. With a gulp he kicked some snow off of the ledge and was glad to encounter only concrete below it. With nothing left to hesitate about he finally stepped out onto the narrow ledge. Pressed flat to the building, he sidled slowly along the outside of the building while kicking the snow ahead of him aside. Before he realized it he was in a crook, though the snow here was very visibly crusted over with ice.

Gripping his pistol a little tighter, he mulled over how to best approach this new dilemma. Something came to him though, and he looked at his pistol's readout again. "Five becomes four..." he complained, as he aimed the weapon across his chest and into the iced over snow. With a sound like a muffled scream the pulse pistol shot a ball of energy at the ice, and quickly the snow melted away. Still slick, but more even, he shook off his reservations and sidled over and past it with little further incident. In less than a line he was standing on the patio area and thanking the gods that he was safe.

Safe being relative, though, as an angry scream ripped across the roof at him. Turning to look gave him only a faction of a second to duck a volley of plasma rounds from the broken window, but his sharp reflexes found him safely around the corner and in cover. "Shit," he huffed, pulling his radio out and killing the mute. "The motherless bugs are chasing me again, but I'm clear for the moment."

"Gods damn it son, we thought we'd lost you."

"Sorry, sir. I'm on what looks like a patio on the east side of the building, is there any quick way down from here?"

"Reach says she's got something a little crazy for you. Go on Auxiliary."

A female voice broke over the radio as the angry shouts of his pursuers grew a little louder to his left. "Evans, if you make your way south from there, the schematic shows the windows are angled downward. Probably not enough to stand on, but you might be able to slide your way down. They go all the way down to the first floor before they drop straight, so the fall from that height might be a little rough."

Looking to his right, the male made his way towards the southern railing. "Given the amount of snow in the area, I'm going to say I'll have something to land on." he guessed as he pulled himself to his feet to look over the edge.

"That's the idea," the woman replied as he surveyed the descent. It was steeper than he'd have liked, and the glass had given way in places. 'A support beam would be best,' he surmised, and within moments he spotted the one he'd be using.

Another volley of plasma made his decision a little easier, and with an expletive he jumped the railing. As his ass hit the slope, he suddenly realized how crazy this idea was. His feet scrabbled for purchase as he slid quickly down the side of the building. The fifth floor passed him by, then the fourth. Somehow he managed to get enough of a grip to kick himself to his feet just as he passed the third and with a rising bellow he jumped from the edge of the building, hoping to soften the fall with a bit of upward momentum.

The snow came up to meet him quickly, and he landed hard on his back in a deep drift. Thankfully the wind being knocked out of him was the worst of his injuries, and he fought through the pain; struggling to breathe as he staggered towards the east corner of the building.

"Ev-Evans here." he gasped, ducking into an alleyway. His pursuers were probably looking over the railing, ordering a retrieval team to collect a dead soldier. "I'm in one piece, but remind me to never trust another of Reach's ideas."

"Glad to hear you're alright, Ancillary." The Aegis sounded relieved. "Squad 7 is making their way back to their former hiding place, they'll be holding station for fifteen lines. It's going to be dark soon, so if you're not there by then they'll start making their way back to base. See that you're not followed."

"Got it, sir." he replied as he grit his teeth and started to sprint away from the building.

--

Kicking the snow off of his legs one half-round later, Ancillary Evans was glad to be back in the warmth and relative sanctuary of the resistance field HQ. Weighed down as he was with his armour and weapons, the added weight of a large cloth bag full of additional munitions was another thing he was glad to be rid of through the door.

Handing the load off to a recruit, Evans rolled his shoulders back and heard them pop after being pushed so far out of place. "Ohhh!" he complained loudly.

"Eat your pain, Evans. At least you're still here." grunted Warden Harrow, his amber eyes accusing. The rest of the team shouldered past them as Evans stood staring Harrow in the eyes.

"Sir," the lad argued as he pulled his helmet off. "There wasn't anything anyone could do for Black. If I didn't bolt like I did, they'd have come back to discover 7 raiding their field armoury."

Looking him over long and hard, the Warden sighed and relented the point. "While you're right, you could have put a round through him, saved him their savagery."

"Sir, he took a plasma round through the stomach!" shouted Evans defiantly, his icy eyes taking on an angry heat from the accusation. "There's no way he's still alive, he probably died in minutes."

Arching his back, the Warden made himself look huge. The ruddy fur of the coyote seemed to bristle with energy as he rounded on the headstrong young Ancillary. "Regardless, it is expected of you!" he stalked closer, and the smaller male backed himself against a wall as people began to take notice of the argument. "If you were about to be swarmed, with no chance for escape, you can be damn certain I would put a round in you, son. Waste of a shot or no, it's the only decent thing to do!"

The Crag's brutal treatment of prisoners was no secret, and the young Domiran had been scolded every step of the way back to base. "There wasn't any time, sir. If I'd have waited a moment longer -"

"The enemy would have surrounded you too, is that it?" bellowed his superior. "How do you know that?"

"But they did flank me, I only managed to escape by going through that building."

"But you didn't _know_they were flanking you until you saw the second group. Until then, it was just Black being swarmed by the motherless bugs." The Warden relaxed his stance, a low growl tainting every word. "But then, that's not how they do things in Domira, is it?"

The grey and white-furred Sirian swallowed dryly as he admitted, "N-no... sir."

"Get out of my sight!" the shouting was back, but thankfully he didn't have to endure it for long. With his tail tucked down and his ears folded to the sides of his head, Evans sprinted from the entryway - barrelling over a pair of watchers from the crowd.

As he entered the locker room he saw Warden Lane and squad 7 removing their heavy, wet battlegear. The thick armour the 7s used was, supposedly, a series of prototypes from before the war. According to rumour, the gear gave the squad the strength to heft the pulse and plasma cannons they fielded. Squad 7 fought like light artillery more than they fought like soldiers, but in the thick of the fighting they were a lethal presence.

Lane fixed him with a calculating look, a look that made him feel like a slab of meat more than a soldier in the Resistance Aegis. Her white fur was speckled with black along her heavily muscled arms and enough up her back that it looked almost solid black. Shuffling quickly past the squad he made his way to his own squad's alcove.

"Shit; the Warden wants to end you, Mat." that was Kincaid's voice. He turned his head towards the girl and rubbed the back of his head. She was without uniform, thick brown fur covering her from head to toe - dark spots on light. Her pert black ears were nestled in short clumps of mocha fur, sticking together with the grime of the day.

Lean muscle and an active life meant that the bosom that she had was less visible than it could have been, but there was enough there to draw his eyes for a moment. With his ears flushing suddenly, the Domiran continued to stalk towards his locker. To the right of his unit was Black's. Even closed, Evans could recall the photos taped to the inside of the door. Black's 'conquests' were as numerous as stars, it seemed. On the bench to the left of his locker sat Ancillary Holden. The big wolf was easily two heads taller than him, and had muscle enough to field a Phase Cannon of his own, underslung of course.

"Evans," he said, nodding without looking up as he unclasped his gloves. The big cannon leaned against the wall, its lights without power. "I don't blame you for Black's death. I also realize your options were limited. As little as it means, I am not upset."

"Didn't figure _you_were upset, Holden." Evans replied, unlocking his own locker with its bare and boring walls. He set his helmet on the top shelf and began to remove his BDU.

"Mathieu, you can't blame yourself either." Kincaid said, leaning against Black's locker now.

Mathieu, or Mati, couldn't help but glare at her for that. "The Warden seems to blame me. Why shouldn't I? I should have stopped to make sure, what if he's still out there?" His voice was rising in timbre, but a meaty hand on his shoulder silenced him suddenly.

"Any one of us would have taken the shot, for Black or for you. You're right to think you should have, but if you had stopped you would not be standing here. It isn't right, but at least we only lost one of our own today." the big wolf soothed in that deep bass of his.

"Holden's right." Kincaid laid her hand on his chest now, trying to smile for him. "We get that you're not from around here. Domira was last to get invaded, mostly because your military wasn't helping in the fighting." The tone was accidental, but it still felt accusatory. "You can't blame the Warden for being bitter about that, but your people aren't as used to the Crag's brand of cruelty."

Mati sighed softly, his ears flicking to the sides as he shut his eyes, as though he were trying to shut out the world. "Can I just... get my wet clothes off and go to sleep?" Both of his squadmates pulled their hands away suddenly, so he relaxed his shoulders and breathed a heavy breath. When he opened his eyes he wished he hadn't. Kincaid's were full of pity, and that was the last thing he wanted. "Don't look at me like that." he complained, as he unbuckled the big white coat.

Underneath the armoured coat was a simple gray shirt, with no sleeves but a high, fluffy collar. He pulled this over his head and hung them both on pegs in the locker. Downy white fur covered his chest, which was much leaner than Holden's--though that wasn't saying much. He didn't even measure up to Kincaid's physique. The woman watched him quietly, her head leaning on Black's locker as she paid him special attention.

She was memorizing him; he was new and she wanted to make sure she wouldn't forget him when the fighting stopped. If the fighting stopped. When he asked her the first time she told him 'I remember everyone I've ever served with. A face, a name, and a death.' He certainly wasn't going to have a death for her to remember.

Mati just endured her looks as he unfastened his belt. The material was stitched over dense plates of armour, so when they hit the floor of the locker room they made a heavy thud. Stretching the aches out of his tail, the husky picked these up as well and hung them from a hook in the locker. His fingers automatically scratched the top of his head, matted clumps of hair making him itch.

"You're so small, Evans." remarked the girl, her eyes fixed on his own. "Barely even an adult."

"Yeah, it's so unfair." the husky replied sarcastically as he turned and made for the showers. Kincaid was hot on his heels, but Holden seemed more intent with cleaning his gun. "I've been an adult for two cycles, now. I've been fighting since I was nine, in some way or another. So keep your pity and - and your apologies... just keep it all to yourself, I've heard it already." he complained, loudly, as he walked past the 7s lockers again. Lane was alone this time, but she still had that calculating look.

"Mat, that's not what I meant." she argued from behind, and as her hand found his shoulder he turned and shoved it away.

"What did you mean, then?" he asked, getting right up in her face. They stood nose-to-nose for several moments before Kincaid broke the silence.

"I just meant, you've got some muscle on you for your size." she said, her eyes dismissive now. "I was going to say they might even consider you for heavy weapons once you're a little older, but with that attitude I'm starting to doubt that." She shoved past him into the showers.

Mati followed her with his eyes, dumbstruck by the statement until a cough broke his thoughts. The source of the cough was Lane, standing in the corridor behind him. "She's right, you know. Attitude like that makes command think twice. A loose cannon is one thing," she chided as she started to walk up to him. "A loose plasma cannon is another entirely." finished the Warden, as she slapped his back and walked past him into the showers herself.

The force of the smack set him to coughing briefly, she had an arm on her. Though she also had a fist, two legs, another arm, and a clear head if reports were accurate. Mati smacked his chest to try and stop the coughing before he made for the closest empty stall, washed the grit and musk and grime out of his fur with the icy water, and dried off as well as he could without a reliable dryer. After dressing in a much simpler white and grey uniform he made his way to the barracks.

It took him nearly three rounds to get to sleep, but when he did it was mercifully dreamless. At first light the next morning he dropped himself from the cargo net he called a bed and began to organize his remaining equipment. Warden Harrow arrived less than a line after first call and ordered the squad to PT. Mati, however, he held back.

"Sir?"

"Fal-Ancillary Mathieu Evans. Neglect of one's expected duties carries a punishment of discharge. You have been given instructions in the etiquette regarding a squadmate's capture by the enemy and you neglected to carry them out. If I had my way you'd be a cold corpse in the snow." began the Warden.

Mathieu gulped quietly as he listened.

"The Aegis, however, has ordered you be put on maintenance every minute you're not sleeping, eating, shitting, or in PT until further notice. You will report to requisitions every chance you've got, and if I catch you anywhere else in the base you had better have a good explanation. Do I make myself clear?"

"Clear as glass, sir." Mati saluted.

"Get to PT, Ancillary." boomed the Warden.

--

Much of the 'base' was a subterranean parking garage. Designed to protect the vehicles from the elements, the doors were broad steel shutters that they had reinforced on the inside. From without the garage looked abandoned, which was part of the allure, but once they had managed to set up the lighting on the inside it provided a perfect complex to hide from the Crag.

The briefing room was little more than a walled off section of the middle level, the walls made of sheet metal pulled from the vehicles that had been in the garage. Concrete floors, concrete ceilings, concrete pillars. The space was soul-crushing in its grayness. The only colour was from a number of portable computers set up along one wall, showing tactical information from the primary database on the lower level. A sturdy vehicle barrier topped with more sheet metal served as a long table, covered with paper maps, reports, and a relatively high-tech pre-war data slate - currently unpowered.

At attention before the Aegis, squad 4 stood in a line. The Warden to the left, followed by Holden, Kincaid, and then Mathieu himself. Their palms held to their chests, three fingers together with their thumbs pointed up the middle in a Fallan salute, the squad listened as their commanding officer issued his orders.

"Yesterday's work was excellent, aside from the loss of Ancillary Black and a breach of protocol," he began, fixing his eyes on Mathieu. "The weapons you helped to recover are being put to good use. Our armoury was looking very empty yesterday, and today it's full to bursting. We'll be able to field another five squads at this rate. Which brings me to our meeting today, Harrow?"

The Warden stepped out of the line and laid out a tactical map on the table between them. On it the city was detailed with red marks where buildings had collapsed. The Aegis stepped up to the table and pointed to one of the larger marks. "This used to be the Domiran embassy in Fallana. When the Crag bombed the city they completely flattened the buildings and later landed a great green eyesore right on top of it."

Mati had seen it only once, it was on the far south of the city. He probably could have spotted the massive structure from the building he had escaped through though. "The ship they landed on it is being used like a spaceport for their prisoner and mining transports. Scouts say the defences are... formidable, but not without their flaws. Recent attempts by the Alight forces have ended in capture or complete destruction but our allies have shared with us a great tactical weakness in the defence."

"Their repeated attempts to break the perimeter have revealed that most of the turrets are automated. There are very few external guards and still fewer points of entry. This means that the Crag suffer a bottleneck when they try to counterattack. Acting quickly, we should be able to take out the external guards and rush the otherwise unfortified base."

"But what about their transports?" asked Kincaid. "They've got to have fighters in there too."

"They do, but our field teams in the north are reporting a heavy storm headed right for us. Undoubtedly the Crag have better reports about the weather, they'll be offloading everything they can and locking the bays down to wait out the storm. We already know that air engagements during icy weather are weighted in our favour, they're almost helpless against us in a storm. Their turrets, unfortunately, are very functional and even iced over can pose a significant risk. That's where you come in."

The squad was given their orders over the next few rounds, outlining the surgical precision that would need to be exercised to succeed. Once dismissed, the Warden stood attentive as the squad filed out; no doubt hanging back to go over the finer details of their assignment. They would have to wait for the storm to hit, but weather reports were unreliable without any actual meteorology and it could take several days before they were given an operating window.

"Disappear in a snowstorm..." Mati said aloud. Ahead of him, Kincaid turned her head to look at him.

"Hm?"

"Oh-uh... This base, we're going to come in and take it out... it'll look like it was buried in a snowstorm. It might even take them several days to figure out that it was an attack." Mati lied. What he said was true, if the storm hit hard enough it would knock out the Crag comms for several days even without their help. Laser-based comms would have trouble piercing the cloud cover and the actual antennae would be iced over, possibly even detached by the high winds.

He just didn't think she needed to know that his greatfather had disappeared during a snowstorm in the years before the war. It was a story his mother had shared to keep him from wandering far during the winter months; though the Crag were a more likely reason for Mati himself to disappear, even then.

"Hey, I hadn't thought of it like that. They'll be confused for a bit trying to figure out what happened," she started somewhat excited. "If this goes well, it might give us a chance to break a few more ships."

Mati laughed as they walked, shaking his head. "And if it goes perfectly, it'll give us the edge we need to win the war. They'll clearly disrupt all of their operations and come here to figure out how one lax-defended outpost got destroyed. You're one hell of an optimist." They had ended up in the mess, it was mealtime after all.

"You don't have to be sarcastic." she scowled, but her grin told him she'd found the humour in it. "Still, we might be able to buy ourselves a bit of calm."

"Unless we make a big enough target out of ourselves," Warden Lane spoke up from a table all her own, turning her head to look at the two. "Then we'll be buying ourselves a bit of orbital bombardment."

Mati met her eyes. He hadn't thought of that, but he realized that was a very real threat. The only reason the resistance even still existed was because the Crag seemed more interested in the resources of the planet. When it came down to it, they preferred to capture Sirians alive. That sent a shudder down to the tip of his tail; Black could be one such captive because of him.

"But you're right," Lane added after she had let her warning sink in. "If we take the base out they'll have to set another one up if they want to continue to cheaply operate in the area. They'll be more careful with subsequent ones, but it'll give us an opening to storm the other outposts in the area, maybe free some people from mines and the like." She stood up from her table and walked across to them with her bowl of what passed for food, her squad was across the room chatting amiably but Mati noted she was alone. "With the base out of commission they'll have to launch from one of the ships or else one of the other cities."

She looked at Mati and tilted her head at one of the benches; was she asking him if she could sit down? He nodded and she sat. Kincaid was silent, she seemed freaked out that someone so far above their rank would be sitting with them. "That would give us more time to work with, means we wouldn't get flanked." Mati voiced the unspoken half of what she was saying. "Right?"

Lane smiled a bit; like a mother hearing her son explain the story that they'd both just heard. "What was your rank in Domira?" she asked, bluntly. Mati's throat felt like it was closing.

Mouth dry, he just looked at her with a scoopful of the mushy brown stew that the kitchen was serving halfway to his mouth. Kincaid noticed his hesitation and must have realized she didn't know either. "Mati?" she seemed worried.

His ears drooped as Mati turned his nose down, letting the scoop settle back into the bowl. He cleared his throat as he tried to figure out what to say. "My father led the cell I was in. I... wasn't formally part of the military back then but he held me to the same standard. By nine I was shooting the bastards, at eleven he started going over tactical stuff with me. I think he wanted me to be able to take over when he-" the words caught in his throat.

"Died." Lane said bluntly.

"Yeah." Mati felt better not having to say it, but it still gnawed at him. "At any rate, the cell was more militia than military. There were some ex-soldiers, Aegis and Alight among them. Used to say everyone's a brother in a war. Hell, I think some of them were native to Tamira."

"That's not important, though." he continued with a sigh. "You could say I was being trained to be the cell leader, but that's over now."

"Not so easy breaking those habits, though." she chided, she was almost done her 'food'. Mati hadn't even touched his. Kincaid was sitting, staring at him with that 'remember' look she got, like she was making a mental recording of the entire conversation. She might have been doing just that, actually.

"No, I... I didn't mean to try and tell you how to do your job," he apologized, "I just saw a tactical possibility and wanted to share it."

"I know. I didn't at the time, but you don't get to be a Warden without learning about the people around you. I did a bit of digging after your little fight with Harrow, not a lot to go on considering the state of things; but even during the end of the world, people keep records. Before you joined up you were questioned extensively and they wrote down your responses seemingly word-for-word. I knew all of that before I sat down..."

"You wanted to make sure my story checked out?" he asked.

"Call it fact-checking. You follow orders well, but that doesn't mean you can't think for yourself."

"That's a good thing, right?" he asked, his ears quirked to the side. He was starting to think she had some ulterior motive here.

"In the right circumstances. It can also get you - and everyone you care about - killed, or worse." her expression was hard to read, but Mati guessed she had some experience there. "As a Warden I'm technically obligated to reinforce the need for you to follow orders, but there are times when flexibility is needed. When there's lives on the line, though, you do as you're told without hesitation."

"What if they're wrong?" the words were out of his mouth before he could think about them.

She fixed him with a cool stare; she had seemed almost alive moments earlier but that calculating look came to her suddenly. "They won't be -" she began as she stood, her empty bowl in her hands. "- we won't be." she corrected, as she stalked away.

Mati watched her leave, trying to piece out what the Warden was actually saying. He turned to Kincaid who seemed equally dumbstruck. Something about the conversation was nagging at him, gnawing in the pit of his stomach.