The Ascendancy pulled away. Martin watched it go from the small shuttle they were seated in on their way to the transportation freighter. “Some of our personnel will rendezvous with us at Detachment Cerberus.” Neerson said. He was seated at Benson’s right while the captain piloted the shuttle.

“Is it holding position sir?”

“It is. Currently assigned to the Research and Experimentation class station Vulcan.”

“Should I guess where that station orbits?”

“Not Io, if that’s where your smart mind was going, Captain.” Neerson said. “Think something colder, more remote, further away.”

“Outside the Cluster?”

“Indeed. Though I suppose you were half right in your assumption. The station was intended to orbit Io, but the energy stations clogged it up too much. The majority of the research stations ended up around Europa, for obvious reasons. This one, however,”

“God damnit.” Benson said, slumping slightly in his seat.

“Yes, Captain.” The Admiral said. “Titan is a riveting place, however. I’m sure you will enjoy yourself.”

“Are you trying to bludgeon me into the navy’s rank through sheer hours outside of atmo?” Benson said darkly.

“I didn’t think there was anything of note out by Titan.” Martin said. “Nothing permanent is set to be out there for another twenty years at least.”

“Most efficacious for us, I would say.” Neerson said. “Everyone wins in this situation.”

“Respectfully sir, I doubt that.” Benson said.

“Everyone appears to win.” Neerson amended. “The Generals think they have removed me from a point from which I can cause no trouble. I, in my turn, am allowed to remain unmolested to put certain things into motion, if I am able.”

“That,” Benson said. “Is the most unsettling thing I have heard in a very long time, sir. I don’t suppose we’ll be bandy to any of these schemes of yours?”

“I dislike the word schemes.” Neerson frowned. “I prefer to think of them as of yet unmaterialized avenues of strategic advantage.”

“Sir.” Benson said. “That’s just schemes, but with more words.”

“It makes me feel less like I am performing underhanded operations that I have manipulated a great many people into being ignorant of, and more like I am furthering the good of the military without their knowledge.”

“I take it back.” Benson said. “That’s worse.”

“Don’t be quick to judgment.” Neerson said. “The RAE Vulcan is not the only structure there that Detachment Cerberus is tasked with minding. There are also two unused factory stations, one of which is an old fighter development station, fit with factory wing and three maintenance bays.”

“I like that.”

“I would like you to inspect it upon our arrival.”

“I like that less.” Benson muttered. “You’re off to a bad start if you want me to stick with you on this plan of yours, sir.”

“I will be patient.” Neerson said.

“Do you have any nuggets of insight for me, sir?” Martin asked without much hope.

“Certainly, Commander. Detachment Cerberus is comprised of three Dreadnaught class ships, and you will be the commander of one of these. The Deterrence, if you are agreeable.”

Pausing for a moment, Martin thought about that. “Sir, do you mean the bridge commander?”

“I do not.”

“Regulation requires the command of a Dreadnaught class to be under the command of a Rear Admiral at least.” Martin said.

“Regulation is pliable in a fleet so small and with a Commander with such a feckless disregard for military protocol as I do, or whatever damned stupid thing Greer said about my character.” Neerson said, folding his hands in his lap. “If it will make you feel more at ease, Commander, the task force we are relieving is commanded by a Commander such as yourself, though much less capable if his current posting and military record are anything to go by. There is no admiral where we are going. Now there will be one, and he will have his own ship to command, as well at the operations of the other two, and the stations to monitor. Does that clear things up for you?”

“It does, sir, thank you.”

“I am in a divulgent mood at the moment, Gentlemen, if you have further questions.”

Martin glanced to Benson, who was at his ease on approach to the freighter. “Sir, what’s Grand Admiral Rookwood’s interest in all of this?”

“I am not feeling quite that divulgent, Commander.” Neerson said. “However I will tell you that it is the collected interest of the nine Grand Admirals to ensure the security and safety of humanity in space by whatever means necessary.”

“Humanity as a whole?”

Neerson glanced aside at Martin. “Indeed. Humanity as a whole.”

“Here’s one for you,” Benson said, the gravel in his voice more pronounced. “How long of a flight is it to Titan?”

“Just under three weeks.” Neerson said. “There will be cryostasis available, if you wish it.”

Benson muttered something darkly, staring straight forward as they came up on the freighter. They docked and began collecting their things. “What kind of crews will we have there sir?” Martin asked.

“At the start, little more than skeleton. But as time goes on I hope to be able to add depth to out personnel and flesh out the roles a bit, though for some of the operations we may not need them.”

“One more question before we get off.” Benson said. “We’ve been going on about what’s happening beyond Mars.”

“Yes.” Neerson turned.

“Why are we going in the opposite direction?”

At this, Neerson smiled as broadly as Martin had ever seen him do so, and he actually clapped Benson on the shoulder. “You have been paying attention.” The Admiral said. “You have been learning how to look at what is in front of you and project it forward, instead of right in front of your feet.”

“I have no fucking idea what you’re talking about, sir.”

“You do.” Neerson said. “But you’re standing. This is the first stage of walking. You’re learning to look at your hand and apply the trick of nines.” Then he turned and strode off the shuttle to meet the captain.

“Every,” Benson gritted through his teeth. “Goddamn time that man opens his mouth something brilliant comes out, I’m sure of it,”

“But?” Martin said, swinging his pack over his shoulder.

“But I’m too fucking stupid to get it half the time!” Benson all but shouted, following the Commander off the ship. He carried on various tangents about being resigned to civilian transport, to Neerson’s assissination of his assignment with TFB, and just when Martin thought he was losing his steam, they came to their quarters.

“Bunk beds.” Benson said flatly, refusing to follow Martin past the room’s threshold.

“I’ll take the top.”

“Too fucking right you’ll take the goddamn top, sir.” Benson swore as he spiked his pack at the wall and threw himself onto the bed.

“Benson, when was the last time you ate?”

“The fuck does that have to do with anything?”

“Because I’m starving.” Martin said. “And because you soldier types always get extra bitchy when you’re hungry.”

“Ho ho.” Benson grumbled. “I could eat. But another part of me just wants to climb into one of those cryotubes and sleep till we arrive at Saturn.”

The thought of their destination sent another jolt through Martin, thinking about the Dreadnaught waiting for him there. More than he had bargained for, but it was what he was going to be stuck with. “Those cryostasis chambers are meant for livestock and cargo.” Martin said absently. “If you want to trust them, go ahead, but they are the baseline.”

This did not improve Benson’s mood. “Why are we on a civilian ship anyway?”

“You should have asked the boss when he was feeling divulgent. If I had to guess, it’s the only chartered passage that we could get.”

Swinging his legs over the side of the bed, Benson looked at Martin with a severely unamused expression. “You think that this bucket of bolts is the only ship that a fleet admiral of the republic navy could get to take us to a military outpost?”

“I think,” Martin said, pulling out a packaged meal and tossing it to Benson. “That Admiral Neerson is maintaining the image of tucking his tail and running.”

“Red Savior was a success, it wasn’t just the 3-95th that we were trying to get out.”

“It was the part of the mission that failed, in their eyes.” Martin said. “I’m getting the feeling that the commands either truly despise the man.”

Benson munched. “I don’t think that’s it. Not fully. I mean,” he said in answer to Martin’s raised eyebrows. “Ok, they don’t like him, but sometimes I can see their point. But he said it himself, he’s not going anywhere he doesn't want to go.”

“True enough, but that goes back to him needing to maintain what other people see. You’re a pilot, Benson.”

“That’s relevant here?”

“Sure. You’re not fighting with anyone for command positions. I know getting into TFB takes enough competition, but when you’re just an officer without a particular speciality,” Martin gestured at himself. “You need to control your own narrative. The way that people see you is everything. What they say about you behind your back. Even if it’s not the best stuff, it’s best if you set it up for them to see it that way.”

“Weapons.” Benson said, without looking up.

“What?”

“I read your file. Your heavy weapons application aptitude is one of the highest in the navy. I wouldn’t say you don’t have a speciality.”

“Jesus… just… yeah, I know where to point big guns—“

“Point?”

“Mount, the places to mount them, how to apply them in close combat and aerial assault— look, all that stuff is dirt simple, it’s just something I was good at, but I’m still just an officer trying to get ahead of the other officers.”

“You’re about to be put in command of Dreadnaught class warship as a commander.” Benson said with a shrug of his shoulder. “I’d say you’re already there.”

Martin sighed and shook his head. “When did we start talking about me?”

“When you started saying dumb shit like ‘I’m just an officer’ and ‘heavy weapons are simple to understand’ even though toting around a high explosives battery in space is one of the most complex and dangerous aspects of naval warfare and space travel in general.” Benson swallowed another half chewed bite. “Something goes wrong and the wrong thing goes boom, there goes the ship.”

“Yeah, well, that’s why you need to make sure things don’t go wrong.”

“See, stuff like that is why we’re talking about you.” Benson jabbed a finger at Martin. “And you need to strap a lid on it, sir.”

“What the hell are you talking about?”

“God… look, you do it more than you realize.” Benson stood. “You stand there, watching everything and making every person with a brain feel uncomfortable because they think that you’ve got the whole thing under control and when you open your mouth you’re either short selling yourself or making it damn clear that you’ve only got half the picture.”

Benson’s voice was slightly raised with frustration. “Don’t talk about the half of the picture you don’t have, Zig, focus on what you do know, that’s what tactical flying is, most of the time. But hell, if you’re good at something too, be fucking good at it. If you specialize in heavy weapons, supply numbers, pond scum or goddamn asshole, make sure that even if you’re not the smartest one in the room you can damn well be the best at something in the room.”

He sat again. “You’re gonna get to the Deterrence and there’s gonna be some people there who know you. There’s going to be a lot more that they don’t, and if they see an officer that obviously only knows half the picture, they’re going to try and fill in the other half with whatever suits their own interests.”

“And when I need to know the other half?”

“Well, ask me first.” Benson said, in a tone that communicated that the answer to the question was brain-dead obvious. “Then go up the chain, but don’t let the people under you see you miss a step.”

“I’ve commanded before.” Martin said, somewhat defensively. “During the Crisis.”

“Yeah, I read that too.” Benson said patiently. “I don’t know if you remember, or if the heat of battle was too much, sir, but that CCC was all broadside warfare and outer atmospheric bombardment involving heavily fortified, shielded, or hidden bases. Some of which were in tight spots that needed to be fucked up without catastrophic collateral damage.”

“Sure, it was all— fuck you.”

“All heavy weapons application.” Benson spread his hands. “Bingo. But now you’re going to be floating around a moon that’s floating around Saturn, and there’s not going to be a lot of wartime instances where that kind of expertise is needed. So use it. Take what you know about heavy weapons and apply it to command.”

“How?”

“The absolute fuck should I know?” Benson said. “I don’t know a fucking thing about heavy weapons, I don’t know the first thing about how to apply all that shit to command. But I guarantee that you do. But I don’t want to talk about it anymore.” Benson said. “Not right now.”

“You’ve eaten and now you’re going to sleep, aren’t you.”

“Yep.”

Martin nodded, and walked over to the light, and by the time he had clicked it off and gotten into his own bed, Benson was snoring gently.

Across the hall in Neerson’s own quarters, where he had heard every word of the exchange between the two, lifted his comlink as it pinged. Scanning the message, he smiled, and typed back:

Anyone who will listen. He sent it, frowned, and sent another. Then he put the comlink aside, pulled a leather bound journal from his pack, and began to write. When he was finished, there was a second, different ping that he answered. Drawing the holo-projector from his pocket, he placed it on a small table in front of him. It pulsed hypnotically for five minutes before it flashed red, and went out.

He touched it again, and the pulsing resumed.

A few more moments passed before the bust of a young woman with surprised eyes shimmered into existence. Neerson smiled. “I do believe congratulations are in order.” He said.

—

“There is one other option open to you.” Colonel Vance said, very slowly as he tapped away on the screen in front of him. “I will warn you, it’s a highly experimental science that, as I am told, we don’t know much about. But there’s been some unexpected advancements made in the last ten years that seem promising. That being said, this would be one of the more high risk paths you could go with.”

Valentine nodded once. “What’s the procedure?”

“Redacted.” Vance said. “I’ve been briefed on it, and don’t know where I stand, but it’s need to know at this point.”

“I kind of feel like I need to know, sir.” Valentine tried to keep the sarcasm out of his voice. “Since I’m the one who, best I can hear, is going to be playing lab rat to some mad scientists.”

Vance sighed. “I understand your position, but it’s classified at the highest level. From what I can tell, two of the nine signed off on it only because they agreed to keep the procedure isolated, given the public outpost when it was made public what this station was going to be working on.”

“Well that’s off putting.” Valentine said. “Where’s this station located?”

“Titan.”