Mars Time: 21:03, March 2, 2295

  Lounge Chippewa, ISV Polaris, In Transit

  The lounge was Alliance through and through.

  Marcus noted the clean white surfaces, the deep blue cushions, the corporate sheen the Covenant taught him to disdain. But there was a long table at the center that seated everyone together, and that he could appreciate. Communal meals mattered. Shared bread built shared purpose.

  The smell hit him first—paprika and slow-cooked beef, rich and warm. His stomach rumbled before he'd taken three steps through the door.

  The room was already crowded when they arrived. Jabari Adomako sat near one end, chatting easily with Iron Roach. The older man's crimson sunglasses caught the light as he gestured, telling some story that had Jabari grinning. Near them, Haylen Shih had clustered with her Constables, their postures stiff and watchful in black composite armor trimmed with gold. On the opposite side, Thomas Mendoza's Vanguards occupied their own territory, white-blue armor gleaming under the lights.

  Territorial clustering. Marcus recognized it from a dozen different deployments. This was a room waiting to fracture.

  Prefect Dilinur Altai sat at the head of the table, her black silk robe pristine, her expression unreadable. Doctor Nikki Chakraborty was beside her, reviewing something on a datapad, wire-rimmed glasses perched on her nose.

  Near the galley entrance, a man in an Alliance Orca pilot's uniform—deep navy suit, gold trim—leaned against the wall with a coffee cup. Diego Rodriguez, according to the mission briefing. The man who'd keep them flying.

  Jabari caught Marcus's eye and gestured to the empty seat beside him.

  Marcus took it, nodding. The Griot had an easy manner that Marcus envied. Words came naturally to some people.

  "Been thinking too hard?" Jabari asked.

  "Still adjusting to the ship."

  "Eat while you can. Think later." Iron Roach lifted his chin toward the galley. "Food's about to come out."

  As if on cue, service drones emerged with steaming dishes. Hungarian Beef Goulash with Rice, according to the holographic menu that flickered above each place setting. Simple fare, but plentiful.

  "Menu was pre-compiled," Diego called from his corner. "All stocked before launch. Diverse diet, three weeks' worth. Bueno, tonight's goulash, tomorrow's something else."

  Marcus filled his plate at once. The goulash was hot and filling, rich with paprika and tender beef that fell apart at the touch of his fork. He ate quickly, barely pausing between bites. His body demanded fuel. High Power and Resilience meant high metabolism, as the Covenant physicians in London had explained during his intake evaluation.

  Both Jabari and Iron Roach watched him with amusement but didn't comment.

  "Alliance knows how to stock a kitchen, I'll give them that." Iron Roach tore a piece of bread, soaking it in the sauce. "Even if they can't stock a conscience."

  Jabari took a more measured bite. "Not bad. Better than the ration packs I lived on during my last contract."

  Across the table, Xin and Sigrun found seats together. H?kon wanted to explore immediately, leaping off Xin's shoulder, straining toward the holographic displays. "Pappa. Glow-glow paper!"

  Xin kept him close, reaching one hand to gently keep H?kon next to his plate. "Dinner first, buddy."

  "Dinner here many-many people." The little Diabolisk's scales shifted between curious azure and confused beige as he took in all the unfamiliar faces.

  Sigrun spooned goulash onto her plate, eating similarly fast. Xin picked at his portion more slowly, but H?kon had already discovered the rice and was chirping with delight as he pecked at the grains.

  "This yummy! White-white bits!"

  The room settled into an uneasy equilibrium. Conversations stayed low. Eyes stayed watchful.

  Then Dilinur stood.

  "If I may have your attention."

  The room quieted. She activated a holo-projector at the table's center, and Venus materialized in the air between them. Amber clouds swirling over volcanic ridges, the settlement of Jin Syue glowing like a ruby against rust-colored terrain.

  "Our intelligence confirms significant Fenris Horde presence on Venus," Dilinur said. "Hive clusters in at least three locations outside Jin Syue. Imperium forces control the city itself. Official cooperation between them remains unconfirmed, but our sources suggest it's extensive."

  Marcus studied the projection. The hive clusters were marked in angry red, pulsing like infected wounds on the golden planet's surface.

  Three points of corruption. Three nests that needed burning.

  "We'll land in Sulfur Valley," Dilinur continued. "Establish camp, then approach Jin Syue under diplomatic pretense. Our primary objective is to locate and extract a person of interest. Secondary: assess Imperium-Fenris cooperation for Xing Hong's strategic planning."

  "Landing's going to be rough." Diego set down his coffee cup. "Mira, over a century ago, the Nucleus Event made Venus habitable, pero the atmosphere still runs about two-and-a-half times Earth pressure. The Polaris can handle it, but everyone should strap in when we start descent."

  "No day-night cycle down there. Always in dark yellow twilight. Fucks with your head if you're not ready." Iron Roach added from the side.

  Marcus filed that away. "Perpetual twilight. No rhythm to anchor yourself by."

  "Should set up alarm clocks, then?" Xin chimed in, looking around.

  "The Covenant trains soldiers to have discipline—prayer at dawn, meditation at dusk. Suspect you lot got your own routine, as well." Marcus found himself smirking as his eyes scanned the room. "Venus would try to strip that away. Don't let it."

  "We should discuss tactical formations," Dilinur said. "Mister Mendoza?"

  Thomas Mendoza rose from his seat, his bionic arms catching the light. The machinery hummed faintly as he moved.

  "Upon landing, we'll need defensive protocols." His voice was steady. "I propose Constables form the front line. Your melee training makes you ideal for holding ground. Our Vanguards provide suppression fire from elevated positions. Overlapping fields of fire, standard doctrine."

  "Efficient division of labor. Alliance through and through, hey?" Jabari leaned back in his chair, though his expression suggested unease.

  "Tactics and optimization, everything measured and weighed." Thomas responded with pride.

  Silence held for half a breath.

  Then Haylen Shih stood.

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  "With respect, Prefect." Her voice was clipped, her accent sharp as a blade, dark eyes fixed on Thomas like he'd just insulted her ancestors. "You're asking my men to tank while the Alliance's stay safe at range. Our armor isn't rated for sustained Radi-Mon acid and claws. Theirs is."

  She had a point. Marcus could see it plain as day. The Constables' black composite couldn't match Alliance Vanguard plating. Equipment disparity were obvious to anyone with eyes.

  Thomas held up his hands—the prosthetic fingers spreading in a gesture of peace. "Sergeant Shih, the Alliance can provide supplementary armor plating. We've got spares in cargo. And our Doctor Nikki would prioritize any Constable casualties. We're not asking you to fight alone."

  "So we take your hand-me-downs and rely on your medics when things go wrong?" Haylen's voice sharpened. "Very generous."

  Around the table, forks and spoons had stopped moving. A Constable pushed rice around his plate without eating. One of Thomas's Vanguards set down her spoon.

  "That's not what I—"

  "Oh, I've seen Alliance 'support' before!" Iron Roach leaned back, his crimson sunglasses catching the light. His voice was low, but it carried. "Taiwan, February 28, 2247. The War of Annexation, deaths in the millions. Imperium troops came to the island, slaughtering our people while you retreated in full to 'avoid unnecessary casualty and promote regional peace'. The old United States would've never done that!"

  "That situation was…" Thomas started.

  "Accident? History?" Iron Roach's lips curled. "Tell that to the families!"

  "Nobody's suggesting anything of the sort," Nikki cut in, setting down her datapad. Her tone was measured. "If you'd like to discuss medical triage protocols first, we could establish trust before diving into tactical—"

  "Trust!" Haylen laughed, short and sharp. "You're already dividing us into cannon fodder and elevated gunners. That tells me everything I need to know about Alliance trust."

  "Hey, that's not fair!" Thomas said, frustration bleeding into his baritone voice now. "We're trying to work together here. If you'd just—"

  "If we'd just what? Accept our place?"

  Voices started overlapping. A Constable muttered. "Of course. We Imperials serve as cannon fodder for the Valorans. Just like pre-fusion times!"

  Another Constable joined. "My pa was in the Taiwan Armed Forces. He died believing Alliance reinforcement would come as promised."

  "Enough!" Dilinur's voice cut through, but the damage was done. The room had fractured exactly as Marcus had feared.

  "Hey, hey—" Jabari stood, hands raised, that easy grin plastered across his face. "Let's all remember we're on the same ship here. Which is currently flying through space. Only one pilot. Walking out to catch some fresh air is not really an option."

  Diego, from his corner: "Gracias for remembering."

  The tension didn't break. Haylen was still standing, jaw set like granite. Thomas looked frustrated, his prosthetic fingers drumming against the table. The Constables and Vanguards glared at each other across the divide.

  Marcus pushed his plate aside.

  He stood. The chair scraped loud against the deck.

  The room went quiet. People sure noticed when a large man in silver armor moved with purpose.

  Without hurrying, he walked to the center of the room. Past the holographic Venus. Between the Constable and Vanguard clusters. His posture shifted without thinking, weight settling into his stance like setting a shield wall. Not aggressive, but firmly planted.

  He looked at Haylen first. Held her gaze. Words didn't come easy to him. Never had. But he spoke anyway. "You're right."

  A beat. Haylen's jaw worked.

  "Holding the line while someone else shoots over your head—it's shite work. I've done it! Felt like bait every time. Standing there wondering if today's the day your mates decide you're expendable."

  Then to Thomas: "And you're not wrong neither. Rifles don't mean nothing if there's no one keeping the enemy in place long enough to use 'em. That's just tactics."

  Silence. Marcus was uncomfortable with this many eyes on him. His hands hung at his sides, uncertain what to do with themselves.

  "Right! So—" He cleared his throat. "Put me at the front instead. Whatever the formation is. I'll take point."

  More silence.

  "I've got Resilience to spare and a shield that's stopped worse. Pulse laser, Skuggr acid, plasma fire, the likes. If someone's taking the worst of it, I'd rather it be me than sit here arguing about who it should be."

  He turned and walked back to his seat.

  Haylen stared at him, her jaw open, but no word came.

  Thomas straightened. Something shifted in his expression. Respect, maybe.

  Dilinur's dark eyes followed Marcus back to his chair. Filing this away. Revising estimates.

  The tension didn't vanish, but it deflated. Hard to keep fighting when someone just offered to stand in the worst spot.

  Jabari leaned over as Marcus settled back into his seat. His voice was low. "Well. That's one way to end an argument."

  Marcus reached for his water. "Didn't know there were another."

  From across the table, H?kon's voice piped up. "Silver Man stand in middle-middle." The little Diabolisk's scales were thoughtful silver-blue. "Silver Man not talk lots-lots. Just stand!"

  All eyes turned to look at the baby Radi-Mon.

  H?kon tilted his head, considering. "HAW-koon like!"

  A few people actually laughed. Even Haylen's lips twitched. The room returned its attention to Marcus.

  Slowly, people returned to their meals. The goulash was cooling now, but the tension had cooled faster. Jabari reached for a second helping. Even Haylen picked up her fork again.

  Marcus didn't understand why they were looking at him like that. He'd just done what made sense. "You see a gap in the line, you fill it. That's just how it works. No need to complicate it."

  He reached for his plate to finish his goulash.

  "When we arrive on Venus, my Constables will stand at the front, gladly with Mister Marcus." Haylen gestured and bowed carefully at him.

  "And our Vanguards will provide suppression fire, as promised." Thomas nodded with professional respect as he sat down in his seat.

  The deck shuddered beneath their feet.

  Not just turbulence. Impact. Something massive finding purchase against the hull.

  Plates slid across the table. Glasses tipped and shattered. People grabbed for handholds as the ship lurched sideways.

  H?kon's scales flashed to anxious brown, and he pressed tight against Xin with a frightened chirp.

  Diego was already moving, coffee cup forgotten. His hand went to his ear, listening to something. "Madre de Dios—"

  The deck lurched again. Marcus felt it through the soles of his boots: a grinding vibration, something dragging across the outer hull. Metal didn't scream in vacuum, but the stress conducted through the ship's bones like a moan of pain.

  "We've got contact," Diego said, his easy manner gone. "Something latched onto us. Mira, something big."

  Sigrun pulled back the lounge's privacy screen, revealing the observation window.

  Marcus looked.

  And for a long moment, his mind simply refused to process what he was seeing.

  It had been a squid, once. That was the only framework he could find—the basic shape of a deep-sea creature, tentacles and mantle and eyes. But whatever it had been, the Fenris Horde had twisted it into something else entirely. Something that moved through vacuum where nothing organic should survive.

  The thing was enormous. Dark brown flesh stretched over a body the size of a small station, mottled with patches of bioluminescent cyan that pulsed in slow, rhythmic patterns against the absolute black of space. Its tentacles—eight, ten, Marcus couldn't count them—wrapped around the Polaris's hull.

  He'd seen Radi-Mons before. Bone Fiends and Skuggrs, the cannon fodder of a dozen different hordes. He'd even faced down a Jotunn during the Xing Hong siege.

  This was different. This was a warship made of meat.

  "The actual fuck!?" someone said. A Vanguard, maybe. "That can't possibly be a real Radi-Mon."

  But it was. The bioluminescent patterns pulsed like a heartbeat. The tentacles adjusted their grip with a precision that spoke of intelligence, or at least something directing it from afar.

  Then Marcus saw the figures.

  Humanoid shapes moving across the creature's hide, as comfortable on the thing's back as sailors on a deck. Their movements were coordinated, like they knew exactly where they were going.

  "Not a beast hunting prey," he found himself speaking. "It's a boarding action!"

  Marcus's eyes tracked across the figures—counting, looking for the commander. There were perhaps a dozen of them. Some moved on two legs with the jerking gait of Draugs. Others crawled on all fours like the lesser Radi-Mons he'd slain before.

  And then one of them caught his attention.

  She was floating.

  Not walking, not crawling—floating. Someone pale like winter snow drifted above the creature's hide, moving parallel to the hull with an eerie grace. Marcus couldn't make out details through the distortion of the window and the faint shimmer of the ship's shields. Just a silhouette. Just an impression of something trailing behind the feminine figure like a gown, or—

  Something else. Something that moved independently of the figure itself.

  He stared at it a beat too long. Couldn't say why. There was something about the way she moved that his mind kept circling back to, like a word on the tip of his tongue that refused to come.

  "Some drunkard at the Mantis talked about converted deep-sea creatures for Fenris boarding assaults," Iron Roach said. His voice was certain. The older man's crimson sunglasses reflected the bioluminescent glow from outside. "I thought the fucker was insane."

  "Have any ideas how we'd fight that?" Xin asked besides them.

  "We don't fight the carrier," Haylen said, her earlier hostility forgotten. Her hand was already on her shock katana. "We fight what comes off it."

  As if in answer, a new vibration shuddered through the hull. Puncture. Claws or cutting tools finding seams in the Polaris's armor. The scratching came from everywhere and nowhere, transmitted through the metal.

  Something was finding its way in.

  "Being boarded, are we?" Dilinur's voice cut through the chaos, sharp and commanding: "All personnel—arm yourselves!"

  Marcus was already running. "I'll meet you lot back here!"

  His quarters were two decks down. Justice, Bulwark, Thunder—his sword, his shield, his rifle. He'd cleaned and blessed them before the evening meal. They'd be ready.

  The floating feminine figure flickered through his mind as he ran. That silhouette. That impossible grace.

  He didn't know what waited on that creature's back. Didn't know that some corruptions wore beautiful faces, or that the line between monster and woman could blur until you couldn't see it anymore.

  He only knew that something needed killing.

  And he was very, very good at that.