Particle fire lanced between two vessels, bright blue light piercing the dark vacuum of space. Wreckage cast dancing shadows in this light, and provided ample cover for the dueling ships.

The bridge of the Speak Softly was a riot of activity, and had been for the past ten minutes, starting from when a mystery Frame had engaged the enemy Frames holding her and her people. Blast covers had fallen over the viewports, leaving them to navigate and fight using the various high gain cameras across the ship.

"Do we have a line on the away team?" Captain Alexandria called to her comms officer. She gripped the arm rests of her seat tightly as particle beams slammed into chunks of armor mere hundreds of meters from them.

Cleopatra answered, a shake in her otherwise calm voice. For all that she was an experienced communications professional, Alexandria thought, she often forgot she had never seen combat before.

"Eletta and her squad are limping away from the combat zone, but they'll need pickup soon! We haven't heard anything from Rain!" At the mention of her newest crew member, she looked over to the view screen showing the dancing lights of the pitched Frame battle.

Her gut said she knew where Rain was, but she didn't voice it yet. "Then let's keep the heat off of them. Noa, I want to use as much cover as we can, but keep our keel presented to the enemy!"

"Yes ma'am!" It was to Noa's credit that he didn't question such a nonstandard decision, she thought while keying in the comm number for Edmund, her chief engineer. Presenting the keel presented a larger target to the enemy ship, which in usual ship combat doctrine is essentially verboten.

But she needed to keep all four of her guns, guns mounted on the port and starboard sides of her ship, aimed and firing at all times. To that end...

"Isobel? Give them hell." She said to her fire control officer.

"Aye aye ma'am!" Isobel said, a cheery note in her voice that was at odds with the lances of blue fire that filled the space between them and their foe.

Her comm line finally came alive, and she tuned out the shouts of Retha and Cleopatra coordinating with Eletta over a low-quality tight beam connection, trying to keep her away from the battle.

"Do we have anything in the missile racks, Edmund?" She asked, with no preamble.

"You know we don't, Captain." came the gruff voice of the older man. In the background she could hear his small engineering team shouting at each other about fusion rates and particle densities, but much of the verbage went over her head.

"I believe we spent the money on more helium-3, rather than refilling our 'racks. Your exact words were 'What dumbass pirates are hundreds of kilometres away from the shipping lanes?'" He continued, sarcasm dripping from his words.

"What about Rain's Peregrin, can we sortie that?" She asked, and ignored his more pointed words. The ship rocked around her, shaken as particle fire from the Confederate vessel detonated a drifting fuel tank among the wreckage. For a moment all of her camera feeds were white, before the explosion faded into the vacuum.

Isobel never stopped firing, she noted.

"God dammit!" She heard Edmund curse over the commlink, before the ship settled. "Captain, that thing is unarmored, unarmed, and we don’t have any fuel for it! It's a deathtrap, not a fighting machine!"

"Got it." She responded. "Then the best I can ask of you is to keep the reactors running smoothly, and keep our particles up."

"Of course ma'am. Good hunting." with that and a sigh the commlink shut down, leaving her to focus on the battle in front of her.

Surrounding space had become chaos, debris turned to hot slag by their weapons fire, and new expanding clouds of debris where particle beams had struck unexploded ordnance or fuel tanks.

They'd been very lucky to avoid both of those things so far. As she thought that, her ship shook around her once again, a particle beam connecting the keel of her ship and the barrel of an enemy particle cannon for a microsecond, before alarms blared and damage displays lit up at her console.

"Dammit, how bad did we get hit!" She growled, as she checked the reports frantically. No atmosphere loss, so they weren't vented to space. Always a good thing, in her line of work. The hit had vaporized a fair chunk of armor, but it hadn’t managed to penetrate her hull.

"Ma'am, you need to see this!" The main view screen lit up as Cleopatra called out to her, a zoomed in view on what appeared to be a simple streak of light. Just as she thought that, it zoomed in even farther. Her eyes widened. The skirmish between the enemy Frames and that...strange machine must have already come to some kind of conclusion.

An armless, heavily battle scarred machine was caught in a death-grip, the mysterious red and white machine holding it tightly from behind. It's thrusters were lit, a massive plume of exhaust behind it, lending it the image of a comet.

"What the hell?" She muttered. The camera zoomed back out, bringing the Confederate ship back into frame.

Just as the streak of light slammed into it. She felt for a moment, let down. The ship hadn't even budged from the force of the two machines impacting it.

At least, until a smaller streak sped away from the ship. Moments after, her cameras automatically darkened as an impossibly bright sphere expanded, engulfing the Confederate ship.

"...Holy shit." said Isobel.

Alexandria sighed, a hand going to her temple. She could feel a migraine slowly forming behind her eyes and along her temples already.

---

Darkness. She couldn't see. He felt a sudden jolt, a vibration through the frame around her. Shouting, heard as clearly as if he weren't encased within heavy Frame armor.

A hiss. A cockpit door swung open, just as a light click sounded from against the nape of his neck. Unconsciousness came again.

She remembered fighting, dueling three enemy machines, a gentle voice in her(his?) ear, guiding hands across unfamiliar controls, and teaching the operation of the strange machine.

Light next. Beeping. Hurried, hushed tones to the side. He couldn't understand them, the words seemed to blend together, as if being heard with the ears of someone who had never learned English. She remembers fire, explosions, the rough g-forces of combat

"Captain..I," he tried to speak, but her words wouldn’t form right. A hand took his. The olive skin told her that it was his captain, but she struggled to remember much else. The Captain’s mouth opened and closed, words directed at the medic to her other side, but she couldn’t hear them.

He passed out again, but thankfully this was more restful.

---

Eletta stared at the strange red and white machine that stood in the hangar bay across from where she sat. After the Confederate ship was destroyed, she and her crew had been picked up by the Speak Softly in short order. Just after they got the wrecked, barely functional shuttle situated, this massive Frame had boarded the ship. A full panic had almost set in, before Alexandria ordered it to a berth over the ship comm.

The instant it was berthed, it's cockpit had unfolded and swung open, revealing the unconscious form of Rain. A different kind of panic had set in, then, as he was hurriedly taken away to the med bay.

She sat in the open, stripped bare cockpit of the Peregrin. She could have a much better view of the strange machine, called Freyja by the mutterings of the engineers and techs (something about a console display), but she felt that she needed at least some distance from it.

She was broken from her musing by the rustle of cloth and the clang of metal-on-metal. She looked up, her startle reflex long trained away, to meet dark eyes set in a dark, weathered face. Edmund Graham, the ship's chief engineer, and the oldest person aboard to boot, waved his prosthetic hand, though said prosthetic currently mounted some kind of multi-spanner instead of a hand.

She took a moment to observe him, as he observed her. He wore heavy cargo pants, tucked into thick, protective boots, paired with a simple white tank top, stained with whatever grease or lubricant he had cause to use today. He had darker skin than she did, and his hair was buzzed down the scalp. He hadn’t shaved in at least a day, leaving a short grey stubbed across his chin and cheeks.

Instead of speaking to her, he simply reached into one of his many massive pockets, and pulled out a datapad. By the bloodstain across its back, hastily scrubbed at, but stubbornly clinging to the brushed aluminum, she recognized it as their only find from the wrecked super-carrier.

“Thought I should bring you this, before I get buried in that Frame’s guts.” He said, throwing a thumb over his shoulder at the mentioned machine. She plucked the pad out of space and turned it over in her hands.

“It took a charge well enough, and Antonia over there broke the encryption for you.” Eletta could just barely see the young brunette woman through a riot of cables leading into the cockpit of the Freyja.

She clicked the button on the side, and the screen came to life. It was a fairly common consumer level datapad, albeit little more than a brushed aluminum casing with a couple of physical buttons, and a holographic interface that could project in several different formats.

She left it in default, laying horizontal, just above the pad. Several apps popped up on the homescreen, but one leapt out at her. It was a simple icon, a stylized book with the word ‘Journaler’ underneath. She pressed it.

Out of the corner of her eyes, she could see Edmund narrow his eyes at her. “Now, why’d you need it fixed up so badly, El?” He asked, a deep undercurrent of worry in his voice.

She smiled at him. “It’s the only thing that came out of there with us. I just want...answers.” He nodded along, his expression still introspective.

“A lot happened out there, Edmund, and it happened way too fast.” He sighed, and turned slightly to look at the machine opposite them.

“I know I wasn’t in the thick of things, down in the reactor control room, but even I know we shouldn’t have made it out of that fight. Sure, we had a few hundred meters and several thousand tons on that Connie-bastard, but it was, what, twenty years newer than our old girl?”

“Not to mention it had a full complement of Frames; All we had is this old piece of crap.” She slapped the side of the cockpit to emphasize her point, as she paged through the journal app. What stood out to her was the icon in the upper corner that read ‘Page 1/275’

275 pages? The page had twenty entries filling it, each its own little icon…that had to be, what, at least ten years worth of entries? 365 days in a year, 20 entries a page...

Her mental math was interrupted by Edmund. “It’s a miracle Rain found a working Frame in that place, and even more incredible that it was fueled and ready to go when he DID find it.” He said. She couldn’t place his tone, but it sounded very close to suspicion. He’d turned back to face her while she had been fiddling with the datapad.

“What are you trying to say, old man?” She asked, putting on a faux-casual tone, teasing almost. In reality, she worried. Rain was reclusive and quiet at the best of times, and she knew a lot of the crew questioned the Captain about bringing him aboard. Edmund hadn’t been one of them, but, well.

“I’m not accusing anyone of anything, hun, it’s just suspicious is all. In all that carnage, one machine made it out unscathed and battle ready?” He said, in a mollifying tone.

She sighed. The aftershock of her adrenaline high was making her jump at shadows. “It’s suspicious as hell, but that thing saved both of our asses.” She lightly kicked his shin. “So maybe get back to figuring the damn thing out, looks like your little apprentice is getting in over her head."

True to her words, Antonia was now surrounded by discarded cables, each one a different serial bus or connector, and the muffled swearing from inside the cockpit put to tell her lack of ability to get anything done.

“Ah dammit, I was worried about that.” Edmund said, his organic hand going to his chin. “Listen, good luck with that. I’m gonna give that girl a hand.” With a wave, he departed, a simple kick sending sailing back towards his erstwhile apprentice.

“Don’t just shout at the damn thing, girl, figure out what we need so we can go to the fabricator!” He yelled as he went.

Eletta smiled to herself, and got back to reading. Maybe there were clues hidden here.

Best to start from the beginning, she thought as she clicked to the last page of entries.

Idly, she wondered if the machine she was ensconced in had a simulator function. Something to ask Edmund about when things had slowed down, she supposed.

----

The Speak Softly was an old ship, but it’s captain’s quarters were at least comfortable, if not exactly spacious. Privacy was lacking, as it shared the same deck with the rest of the state rooms, but with the small crew that ran the ship, the deck was rarely fully occupied.

Alexandria rested, hovering in a reclined position in the middle of her darkened room as if it were the most natural thing in the world. Microgravity had several benefits, she mused, not the least of which that you could relax just about anywhere.

It had at least one downside, she thought, as she took a drink from the plastic bag-with-a-straw. Her whiskey had to come in a bag, with no ice to speak of. Still, a nice stiff drink in the dark would do wonders for the migraine she’d been nursing ever since Rain spilled out of that strange machine.

The intercom in her room cracked to life, a familiar voice carried over it. “We’re away ma’am, course set for Widow Station. Is there anything else?”

“No, Noa, not for now.” She said, keeping a wince out of her voice as the static stabbed into her brain. “You have the bridge for the next four hours. If all goes smoothly, you’ll see me then to relieve you.”

“Yes ma’am. Rest well. Bridge out.” the com clicked as he cut the line from his end. She sighed then, and brought her free hand to her head to massage her temple, while drinking from her whiskey. It had been a hell of a day, and they had come out of it with little to show for it, aside from battle damage and a machine that they couldn’t hope to sell without bringing down every kind of heat in the system.

“We have our lives,” she muttered to herself, forcefully, as if to remind herself. She winced, suddenly. Light spilled into her dark sanctum as her door slid open, silent in its motion. For a moment she was blind as her eyes adjusted, but she didn’t need to see to know who it was.

Only one person on the ship had her door codes afterall. “I thought you’d still be in the medbay, Love.” She said, as her door slipped shut again. Alexandria opened her eyes, regarding the richly tanned woman before her. Somehow everything about her, from the bounce in her hair, her green/brown gaze, and her plump lips came together to make the singularly unimpressed look she sported the cutest thing Alexandria had ever seen.

“Rain will be fine. I’m here to check on you, dear.” Love reached out and took her hand, lacing their fingers together, and pulled her close to her. Alexandria couldn’t help but smile, despite her insistent migraine. She took Love in her arms, and the other woman rested her head against Alexandria’s shoulder.

“I appreciate you handing off command to Noa for a few hours instead of trying to work through the pain, again.” Love said into her shoulder. Alexandria smiled, despite herself. The pain was still there, throbbing against her head, but the darkness and the closeness helped.

“I only did that once, didn’t I?”

“You were barricaded in here for two days afterward. Isobel was half-convinced you’d curled up and died.”

“It did feel like I had, to be fair.”

Love turned her head to look at her, the frown on her face at odds with how her cheek was smooshed against Alexandria’s shoulder. “And I can’t even tell you to take your medication either, Alex.” She gestured at the bag of whiskey with the hand that wasn’t occupied. Alex winced slightly.

Love continued, “Have you had any water at all tonight?” Alex found that she couldn’t meet her partner’s eyes at this question.

“Well, with everything happening so fast, it just...fell to the wayside?” Alex cringed, ready for another lecture about how she needed to take better care of herself to help mitigate her migraine’s intensity, duration, and-

Love silenced her mind’s death spiral of worry with a kiss, and for a few precious moments Alex felt her anxieties and worries slip away, banished by soft lips and the slight scent of lavender that always clung to Love, an artifact of the particular antibacterial scrub she preferred.

The kiss broke, and Love spoke, “I’m not angry, I’m just worried. Besides, I didn’t come here to lecture you about your migraine disorder again, I came here because I know you need to talk where the rest of the crew can’t hear you.”

“You’re right,” said Alexandria. She let her whiskey sit in midair, using that hand to grab a handle set into the wall near them. Using that fulcrum, she rotated into a standing position. For a moment she was sad to break the embrace, but she knew she could make up for it later.

She kicked off the floor, sailing over to her room’s one real luxury. A minifridge. She winced at the light that spilled out as she opened it, retrieving a new single-serve bag of whiskey. She sighed slightly at the relief that came from shutting the fridge, and kicked back to where Love now stood, leaning against the wall where she had left her own whiskey.

Love took the proffered beverage wordlessly, simply waiting for Alex to be ready. She took a drink of her own whiskey, safely secure in her grasp once again. She took a deep drink, and sighed as she swallowed, the familiar burn distracting her some. Her free hand came up to massage her temple as she formulated her words.

“Everything changes today, Love. We’ve been able to fly under the radar for a while now. During the war, the government had other things to worry about. For the past two years since, they’ve been focused on reconstruction, on rebuilding what they lost. One crew of salvagers wasn’t worth them coming after.” Her partner nodded along with her, but didn’t speak yet. She would know this part, she was there with her after all.

“But today? What could we do but fight back? We let them board us to search, they kill us anyway. You heard the same stories I did about Confederate black-ops during the war, they don’t fuck around. Without Rain and that machine, that...Freyja, we would be dead anyway, I’m not dumb.”

Love listened close, but Alex was on a roll. She was talking more to herself now, her hand still rubbing circles against her temple.

“So we go to Widow Station. The Ganymede sphere of influence sees the fewest Confederate patrols, compared to the rest of the inner moons. The station just doesn’t offer them much anymore. So we go there, restock, and see what our contacts can dig up. Best case, that ship went down before it could send out an emergency message probe. Worst case, we have to get this ship scrubbed and lay low for a while. But that ship was looking for something, so...what if...” She sighed, and came to a stop, her thoughts whirling too fast to vocalize.

Love nodded, and took a deep drink herself. “What if what they were looking for is that machine down in our hold?” Alex nodded as she said that.

“If that’s the case, everything changes. They’ll find us, if it is, whether we get rid of it or not. And something tells me that when they do find us, having that machine on our side is the only way we’ll make it out.”

Alex looked up as Love took her hand away from her temple gently, rubbing circles into the back of her hand with her thumb. “I trust you, darling, and I know the rest of the crew does too. But for now…” she pulled Alex towards the microgravity bed, really just a sling and a cover to keep her in place and warm, “You need to rest before you have to go relieve Noa. I’ll stay with you, okay?”

Alex protested, “But what about your duties? What if there's-” she yawned suddenly, “What if something happens with Rain?” Still, she dutifully tucked herself into bed, holding the cover up for Love to snuggle into the harness with her.

“Eletta is keeping an eye on him. Just rest, dear.”

Alex smiled, to herself. “Okay, sweetie. I will.”

They left their whiskeys to twist in space where they had left them. Just one more thing to worry about when they woke up next.