For the first time since their arrival on Sonoitii Prime, Rúna was back in space.

Things were shaping up on the ground, as the Valkyries worked to incorporate their former enemies into the new Alliance. The colonel had decided… wisely, in her opinion… to not integrate the ranks; instead, they remained with their original units, using the preexisting command structures, with one key exception. It made the transition less traumatic for all involved, yet one big question remained.

Could they trust them?

She felt confident about the Ixians, as did most of the others. The Paygan’s charm and hard work were paying dividends, and they were falling into place almost seamlessly. What wrinkles they found were being quickly ironed out, with the other members of the Brigade following their commander’s example. The Legionnaires were a close second, their sheer professionalism and traditional consolidation of multiple races easing the issues involved with such a major upheaval.

That left the joker in the deck, the Zaitai. Once the rank and file learned the old way of doing things was now off the table, they came damn close to rebelling on the spot; in fact, the only thing preventing it was the number of weapons currently pointed in their direction. Bringing them into the fold was proving a far more arduous task, forcing the Valkyries to replace much of their hierarchy with officers and NCOs from the three other organizations. Things were slowly improving, but it had become standard procedure for the reassigned supervisors to travel in pairs and sleep with their weapons within easy reach.

But the ground forces were only part of the equation. There were still several ships in orbit, including Fiddler’s Green. When the Troika came… and no one doubted for a moment that they were coming… by necessity they would become the planet’s first line of defense. Turning armed transports and frigates into a cohesive fighting squadron would be no simple task.

So once again she and Kai were tapped for escort duty, though they’d been forced to leave the rest of the squad behind. Quogat Bouki’s shuttle had only limited space, and after cramming in the colonel, Captain Inaba, the Paygan, plus the heads of the other two outfits, seating was rapidly becoming a genuine issue. Plus, there were optics to consider. Considering how badly they’d bloodied the noses of their former opponents, showing up with a heavily armed boarding party might be seen as… boorish.

“We will dock with Shining Blade soon,” the trader announced. “Are there any protocols we should observe?”

“Standard docking procedures will suffice,” the Paygan informed him with a casual wave. “Navxoda Zaingxu is expecting us.”

Colonel Holme regarded the Ixian. “What’s your read on the fleet situation? Just how fragile is the Alliance’s space wing we’re creating?”

“Ahhh…” He leaned back in his chair thoughtfully. “An intriguing question indeed. At the moment I cannot say, though it would be the height of deception on my part if I told you there was no cause for concern. The equation here is not the same as the one down below.”

“Tell me about it,” Inaba groused. “On the planet, we control the guns. Here in orbit, not so much.”

“We have not forgotten the eight ships spread among us face your one,” the Ixian agreed. “That there has been no blood shed amongst them has been helpful, but whether it will be enough?” He shook his head. “I cannot answer that question.”’

The colonel glanced over at the other two mercenary commanders. “Thoughts, gentlemen?”

The Legion Decurion shrugged. “We will continue to stress to the various ship captains just how vital this Alliance is to all of us. Hopefully, they will listen.”

Bratok Dolth snorted in disgust. “I suggest you watch them closely,” he cautioned. “Eventually they will realize just how profitable piracy can be.”

Quogat Bouki turned in his seat. “We are beginning docking procedures,” the trader reported. “I request you strap in.”

The group hastily complied, and minutes later a muffled thunk announced their arrival at Shining Blade. Colonel Holme rose to his feet and moved towards the airlock, only to have the Paygan gently touch his shoulder.

“May I suggest that I be allowed to board first?” he asked. “They may see it as an insult if you were to enter before I do. The royal connection, you understand,” he sighed theatrically.

The colonel stepped aside. “After you,” he said politely, while the others sorted themselves out behind them.

“Protocol will be the death of us yet,” Inaba muttered, as Kai and Rúna brought up the rear alongside the trader. The pecking order now established, they cycled the airlock hatch and set foot onto the Ixian frigate.

Stepping down a receiving line of warriors dressed in their finest greeted them, drawing their swords and raising them high. “Yuutsah’Zhoz!” they roared, the sound echoing off the metal walls as their heels crashed onto the deck as one. The group rocked back on their heels in surprise except for the Paygan, who instead merely smiled and bowed with a grand flourish in reply. Squaring his shoulders, he led the delegation down the aisle between the rows of fighters, until finally coming to a halt before a welcoming committee. Navxoda Zaingxu stepped forward, offering his fellow Ixian a formal bow.

“Welcome to the Shining Blade,” he murmured, standing back up.

“You honor us, old friend,” the Paygan smiled. “Allow me to introduce my companions: Colonel Holme of the Terran Valkyries, and his second, Captain Inaba, Decurion Yaannissi of the Legion, Bratok Dolth of the Zaitai, and of course Trader Quogat Bouki, who has come to observe us.” Each nodded as he motioned to the remaining pair. “And finally, Sergeant Kai and Corporal Aukes, our guard of honor.”

The Navxoda greeted each of them politely, as befitting their station, until his eyes fell on the sheathed sword at Rúna’s waist. “So, this is the one,” he said at last, giving her an appraising look. The corporal fidgeted under his gaze, while the Paygan chuckled at her discomfort.

“Indeed, it is,” he confirmed, “so best warn your subordinates they cross her at their peril.”

“I shall pass along your words of counsel,” he agreed, before gesturing to the others lined up beside him. “May I introduce my fellow ship commanders?”

“Please,” the Paygan acknowledged, as the Navxoda began introductions.

“My counterpart, Navxoda Ghix of the Crescent Moons,” he began, gesturing to a female Ixian, who graced him with a formal bow of her own. “Trierarch’s Jeiloung and Nothoq, of the Legion vessels Celestial Messenger and Cosmos, respectively, and their commanding officer Navarch Vexqoonq of the cruiser Yīqún’s Scourge.” The trio slammed clenched fists against their chests as the introductions continued. “Lyraak’s Sovelleck, Mequir, and Zobak, of the Zaitai vessels Harpy, Mischief, and Vandal.” The three captains managed terse nods that went along well with barely disguised scowls they wore. “And finally, Captain Vang, of the Terran ship Fiddlers’ Green.”

The gray-haired human female snapped a salute she’d obviously practiced, as the Paygan bowed once more. “Captain, that maneuver you executed to prevent our ships from intervening was quite extraordinary,” he complimented her.

“Thank you, Paygan,” she answered, before glancing over at Colonel Holme. “Good to see you in one piece, sir.”

“You as well,” he responded. “Let’s see if we can keep it that way.”

“You’ll get no arguments from me,” she said earnestly.

With protocol now fulfilled, the commander spoke up once more. “May I suggest we continue this discussion in the briefing room?” Navxoda Zaingxu proposed, gesturing to a doorway to their left.

“By all means,” the Paygan concurred, as the group made their way across the compartment and into the adjoining one, sorting themselves out as they found their seats. Kai and Rúna found an empty spot against the wall behind the Terran contingent where they could stand watch, assuming the parade rest position.

Once they were settled, Colonel Holme rose to his feet. “I wish to thank you all for joining us here,” he addressed the officers in attendance. “I realize we’re in uncharted territory, and that facing the Troika is not something to be taken lightly. Some of you are here by choice,” he said pointedly to the Ixians, “while others had few options left to them,” he continued, carefully avoiding addressing his remarks towards the Zaitai. “Yet here we all are, gathered in this place, working for a common goal; the eradication of the Troika, and the freedom to chart our own course.”

A smattering of polite applause (or its alien equivalent) greeted his remarks as he sat back down. Almost immediately, Lyraak Sovelleck of the Zaitai frigate Harpy jumped to his feet.

“Such noble words,” he sneered, the rancor obvious on his face. “You speak of collaboration and freedom, and yet it is your knife in our backs that drives us to this moment!” he thundered. “You survived our forces only by trickery and chance, and yet you wish to take on the Troika?” He shook his head, stunned at this development. “No one has defeated them, not in thousands of years. And yet you upstart Terrans believe you can succeed where all others have failed,” the Zaitai captain spat out. “How ever did we manage before without you?” he asked sarcastically, before sitting back down and crossing his arms.

“Typical Zaitai cowardice,” Navxoda Ghix of the Ixian armed transport Crescent Moons hissed. “You are good only for terrorizing children.”

The Zaitai contingent leapt to their feet, shouting threats while the Ixian guards bristled. Kai and Rúna managed a nervous glance between them as they unsnapped their holsters and rested their hands on their own sidearms.

“ENOUGH!” roared the Legionnaire Navarch Vexqoonq, the highest-ranking officer in attendance and commanding the most powerful ship. “This endless bickering serves no one!” He glared at the others, silently commanding them to sit down by his sheer presence. “You wish to leave? Then do so! No one will stop you. Take your warriors and go!” he thundered, daring them to try.

The Zaitai stared angrily at the Navarch but said nothing. He waited, giving them every opportunity, but in the end, he merely gave them a thin smile. “I thought not. No one breathing has any love for the Troika, and all of us would like nothing more than to see them fall. They are strong and standing against them is no small thing. Could they destroy us? Yes, easily. The three races have many ships, powerful ships, and even a single fleet could wipe all of us from existence.”

Much more sober expressions appeared on the faces of those in attendance, as the Legion commander nodded sagely. “Yes, they are formidable,” he continued, in more reasonable tones, “but their capabilities are not the question before us.”

“Then what is?” Lyraak Zobak of the Vandal demanded.

“The question is not can they defeat us, but whether they have the willingness to try,” the Navarch said evenly. “Our fight is out there,” he said expansively, spreading his arms wide, “and it is there that we must make our voices heard.”

“You speak gibberish, old man,” Zobak growled. “Ships and guns matter, not words.”

“Are they?” Colonel Holme interjected, rising back to his feet. “Terran history is filled with examples of how a few well-chosen words can turn despair into hope, disillusionment to conviction, even snatching victory itself from the very jaws of defeat. Are your histories any different?” he asked them.

Thoughtful visages began appearing around the table as they considered his remarks, reflecting on their own stories of ancient deeds and mighty warriors. He took the change of mood in, before facing the Zaitai. “You are correct when you remind us we have neither the ships nor the guns to stand off the entire Troika armada.” The Lyraak eyed him with suspicious regard as he conceded his point.

“But the Navarch is also correct,” he continued, “when he suggests we will not win this crusade on the battlefield, but in the hearts and minds of every sapient being within the Perseus Arm. The Oivu are spreading the word as we speak, and already we have seen the fruits of that labor,” he suggested, pointing to the trader Quogat Bouki. “They sent him here to observe us, to see if there was even the slightest chance of victory. For if there is, then those he represents will flock to our banner. And when they join our efforts, others will follow.”

“You seek to sell us dreams,” Bratok Dolth scoffed, “fanciful visions of mansions among the stars, where the wine always flows… and no one goes hungry.” He glared at the others around the table. “You all look down at the Zaitai, call us nothing but bandits and vermin. Did you ever once ask yourself who it is that swells our ranks? Have you?”

Blank and awkward stares greeted his accusation. “No, I thought not,” he continued. “When the Troika crush those that stand in their way, where do you suppose the survivors go? When their greed dooms entire civilizations, to whom do the refugees turn in their desperation? They turn to us,” he snarled, “and if we charge them every credit the market will bear, it is only because we know only too well that nothing is given for free. We have clawed and scraped, and yes, butchered our way out of the sewage, and we apologize to no one for it. You talk of the threat the Troika poses. Trust me, no one knows that threat better than us. But to risk losing everything, every scrap we’ve scavenged and plundered?” He shook his head. “No. We have lost far too much already.”

“... Have you lost your homeworlds?” Colonel Holme asked softly. The Bratok’s head swiveled in surprise as the Terran spoke once more. “The Zaitai have what… two worlds you claim for your own? Three?” The mercenary looked away, suddenly finding it difficult to meet his gaze. “If you want to talk about loss, you need look no further than us Terrans. The Yīqún destroyed us, murdering our worlds, leaving them forever uninhabitable. We can never go back. Never.”

A quiet hush came over the audience as he pressed on. “Only a handful of us survived, seeking refuge wherever we could, only to be turned away time and again. ‘Move along, you filthy Terran, move along’, as our song reminds us. None of you had even a crumb to spare, and every year our ships deteriorate just a little more. For two hundred years we’ve struggled to hold on, and now?” He closed his eyes and said somberly, “This is it. This is the end of the line for us. Either we make our stand here, trying to carve out a better future for our people, for our children, or else we might as well open the airlocks and step outside. At least that death would be quick.”

Colonel Holme opened his eyes and gazed at them once more. “So the rest of you can decide for yourselves. Stay, go, it makes no difference to us because we’re staying. We’re staying because we have to. Because we’re out of options.” he sighed wearily, aging a decade in the blink of an eye. “Because there’s nothing else left for us.”

Silence filled the chamber as they looked to one another, searching for something, anything, to point them where to go.

Finally, someone stood up.

“We stand with you, colonel,” Paygan Xeing said quietly. “Now, and always.”

Slowly, one by one, others rose to their feet, joining the silent accord, until finally only the Zaitai remained seated. With great effort, the Bratok forced himself to look up at the Terran commander.

“Far be it for me to be the sole holdout,” he said at last.

“We’re in.”