“Told you.” Benson said after they had both gone into the maintenance bay. Damien had come to a full stop with his eyes on the ship that, while certainly free of any restraints or props, was just as certainly floating several inches above the floor of the bay.

It didn’t take long for Damien to find his voice. “I guess that solves the mystery of this thing killing us all, sir.” He said, walking to the ship and touching it gingerly.

“Not to disappointed with the outcome myself, if I’m being honest.” Benson said, hopping to the ladder he had set up. “Come on, you’ll want to see this thing for yourself.”

In fact Damien did want to see it, more than almost anything else he had worked on or even heard of in all his time serving in the RAE corps. The inside of the ship was as Benson had described: small and cramped, though he had done his fair amount of dismantling of the inner guts of the thing. They stood around the small crawl schute Benson had made, a small square at their feet where a floorboard had been pried up.

The pentagon shape was there, the black center looking like nothing save a perfectly spherical stone. Lifeless and unmoving, if Damien hadn’t known what he was looking at, it would have seemed remarkably unassuming. He took out a small tablet from his pocket, but Benson shook his head. “No pictures, no notes. As of right now this isn’t documented anywhere but with me, and the Admiral wants it to stay that way.”

Damien was, for a moment, incensed. “Sir, this is likely one of the largest breakthroughs in theoretical science since the ion propulsion engine was perfected.”

“Yes,” Benson said, his tone changing. “And the Admiral would like to make very sure that it stays relatively undiscovered for the time being. I’m sure I don’t need to express the implications if this technology was made widely known before we had either a full understanding or a deterrent for it.”

Sighing, Damien put away his tablet and hunched over it. “Not dangerous emissions at all that you’ve observed?”

“I worked for six hours about a week ago with my balls three inches from it, so I sure as fuck hope not.” Benson said, crossing his arms. “Try to touch it?”

“Sir?”

“Look,” Benson knelt and reached for the core of the antigravity well. Instinct more than anything made Damien’s hand shoot out, grabbing Benson’s wrist and turning it away. Benson scowled.

“Sir, as the one out of two of us that didn’t wash out of RAE corps indoctrination,” Damien said, trying to keep his voice as respectful as possible. “Touching untested and unstudied sources of power is a remarkably stupid thing to do.”

“Oh, just try it. Go on.”

“No.”

Benson rolled his eyes and shook his hand free of Damien’s grip. Then he reached for the core again and this time Damien didn’t try and stop him. “See?” Benson said.

Squinting against the working lights, Damien saw now that the Captain’s hand had stopped maybe a quarter of an inch above the black core of the antigravity well. Reluctantly, Damien tried as well, and found the thin but no less impassable barrier before contact. “Ok,” Damien said. “Strange but also not untheorized. What is it that you exactly wanted me to do, sir?”

“I want you to help me get this thing out of this ship, across that hallway, and into my other prototype that’s being built there.”

Damien stared. “To be clear, sir,” he said. “You want to take this largely unknown piece of equipment out of this alien spacecraft, that we also know very little about, and move it to a ship that is being built using guesswork off of this one. A ship that is not yet fly ready, and also experimental technology?”

“Yep.” Benson said, straightening.

Damien did likewise, and whacked his head on the overhead. “That’s stupid, sir.” He said, rubbing the top of his skull. “That’s a remarkably imbecilic thing to do. We don’t know how this thing is connected to this ship, much less how to connect it to the other one. We don’t know how the technologies in this ship react to this propulsion technology that we, as I reiterate, know almost nothing about, and we most certainly don’t know how the other ship will react.”

“Hold on to something.” Benson said, and crouched again.

“What?”

Benson reached down and took the pentagon by two of its sides, and tugged. Damien gave a cry of protest that quickly turned into one of surprise as the ship they were in lurched, and dropped to the bay floor. Damien caught himself on the surprising impact, seizing a handle on one of the bulkheads. “Are you insane?” Damien roared, as Benson straightened, holding the drive.

“Should have been in here when I did it the first time. I was two feet in the air then, but I had the belly ripped out too. Figure something would happen, but didn’t know it would be that.”

“You didn’t stop to consider the possibility that a spacecraft kept afloat by antigravity would succumb to the discoveries of Einstein and Newton?”

Benson thought about that for a moment. “Sir Issac, wasn’t it?”

“Sir, please be serious.”

“It crossed my mind, but I miscalculated how high up I was.”

“Now you’re telling me that you, a distinguished military pilot, miscalculated your altitude. My reputation of you is dwindling by the moment, Captain.”

“Good thing, that.” Benson nodded. “It’ll be more realistic.”

The two men stared at each other for a time before Damien put his hands over his face, looking like he was about to scream. Then he sighed and seemed to collect himself. “Sir, you obviously have some sort of a grasp of this thing, even if your application of it is… wildly mishandled, at best. Why did you need me here?”

“Because you know this thing better than I do, and once we’re across that hallway,” Benson jerked his head towards the other maintenance bay. “I promise I’ll listen to you a little closer, providing you’re giving me advice on how to set the thing up. Also because I thought you would want to be part of the first spacecraft made by humans to be powered by antigravity.”

Damien paused at that. “Based on alien technology.”

“Damnit, Drake, I’m sure I could trial and error this thing into submission myself, if you don’t want to be involved.” Bensons’s words were clipped with irritation for the first time, and Damien shook his head.

“No, no, I apologize, sir. This just isn’t the way that the RAE corps does things.”

“This isn’t the RAE corps, Journeyman.” Benson said, his voice getting a different edge to it. “You’re hanging with the fighting branches now, and we don’t always have the time to do things the conventional way. Especially me. Why do you think I went to the Unconventional Warfare Task Forces?”

Still eyeing the antigravity well in Benson’s hands apprehensively, Damien looked the captain in the eyes. “Can I carry it?”

Benson grinned wide and held out the device. It was surprisingly light, and even though it was cold and seemed little more than metal of some kind, Damien couldn’t help but feel like there was some quiet power humming from it. That was probably just his imagination, but as he let Benson help him down the later the magnitude of the situation got to him. Emotion welled in his heart as they crossed the hall and into the other bay. Valentine and Rivers were there in a corner, though they looked up as the two men came in.

“Want to come?” Benson called. “That way if this thing kills us all we’ll at least go together.”

The sergeants came, though not for the reasons Benson had indicated, and the four of them entered the ship. Though still skeletal, it was already more suited for human passengers, with enough room in the boarding hold for a squad to be seated in. In the corridor to the cockpit there had been a hatch set, and it now lay open. “Magnetic plate.” Benson explained as Damien lowered the antigravity well into place. He felt the tug and let it fall, seating itself into place.

“Journeyman?” Benson said, crossing his arms. “If you have anything to add, now would be the time.”

Damien stared down at the pentagon, emotion still swirling inside of him. Even if the ship blew up, he knew it had worked. He had borne witness to extraordinary technology that some of the greatest minds had spent their life’s work chasing after, and he had been the one to set it into place. He looked at Benson. “Take it slow, sir.”

“I was afraid you were going to say something like that.” Benson sighed, and got down into the prone to connect the wires. Damien watched him. “I thought there were only two on the other ship.”

“This is my ship.” Benson grunted, connecting the first three. “This one has five.”

“What are the other two for?”

“Grounding. I’m hoping that if this things surges with… whatever it is, the other two will ground it out and disperse the power long enough for me to kill the ship. All I can do is hope I never need it. There we go.” The last of the wires were attached, unceremoniously twisted around the pentagon’s outer edge. Benson got up and went into the cockpit. There was no pilot’s seat yet, but there was an oddly shaped lever that was completely dropped to its lowest level. He turned to look at the other three standing there. “If you want to get off, I won’t hold it against you publicly.” He said.

No one moved.

With the smallest motion, Benson inched the lever up no more than a fraction. The ship moved, trembling for a moment, and then settled. Damien thought he could feel movement under his feet, but again concluded it might just be him feeling what he wanted to feel. Benson nodded to himself, and inched the lever up further than he had the first time, and the ship moved again. This time there was an unmistakable sway, but the ship was off the floor of the bay unmistakeable. With a grin, Benson toggled the lever up even more.

The ship rose more suddenly, swayed again, and then began a slow movement towards one of the walls.

“Fuck.” Benson said, and lowered the lever more quickly than he probably meant to. The ship lowered, banging to the floor of the bay with the sound of keening and scraping that was only ever produced by metal on metal. Damien and Valentine picked themselves up, the ship now sitting at a very slight angle. Outside they served the damage. There was none to the ship, only to the maintenance props that had been doing their job up until that time.

“I would recommend a stabilizer, sir.” Damien said dryly. “And perhaps some maneuvering controls.”

“Noted.” Benson said. “Gotta be something across the hall. Thanks for your help.”

“I didn’t do much.”

“You let me know I was on the right track.” Benson said. “Any time a journeyman gets that nervous about something, there’s going to be something fun that happens.”

--

Neerson ended the hologram call a few seconds after the pinging alert had come from his door. “Enter.” He called.

The door slid open, and he rose to greet the men. “Commander Ziggenbor. First Sergeant.” He said with a nod. “Thank you for meeting with me.”

The brothers nodded, both understanding that a request from a Fleet Admiral was no request in the traditional sense of the word. Even though Neerson had meant it as exactly that. There were no chairs laid out in front of his desk, rather Neerson had brought up a small table and placed three chairs around it. It was to these that he gestured, and the brothers seated themselves. Drawing a box from one of the drawers in his desk, Neerson followed their suit.

He placed the box on the table and folded his hands in his lap. “I’ve just received a call from Journeyman Sanderson, First Sergeant.” Neerson said. “She requests you report to her at your earliest convenience for diagnostics on your prosthetics.”

Neil nodded.

“Commander at the conclusion of this meeting I would like your ship made ready to go underway at standard planetary traversing speed.”

“Yes sir.” Martin said, betraying none of the confusion that had flickered across Neil’s face.

“I say again, Gentlemen, thank you for coming today. I would like to discuss a few matters with the both of you, starting with your orders, Commander.” Neerson opened the box and drew out a well worn deck of cards. Absently, he began shuffling them. “It is my intention to send the Deterrence on a mission, Commander, the nature of which will be both remarkably dangerous and highly important to our mission.”

“Yes sir.”

Neerson raised his eyebrows. “That itself, was not an order Commander. I am here to discuss the nature of this mission, and ask both of your opinions on it. First Sergeant, you are familiar with the game the Blind Man’s Gambit?”

Neil’s head rocked as though he had been slapped, but he recovered his posture. Not the haunted look in his eyes, however. “I know it under a different name, sir, but yes.”

“Ah.” Neerson said with a small smile, dealing the blinds, and the seven cards to each player. “I see.”

Neil watched as the Admiral shuffled the cards. Martin looked like he would have been at his ease, were it not for outlying factors. “The mission is twofold, though inextricably linked.” Neerson said, placing the deck on the table. “The first portion is far more simple than the second, but you have my full confidence, Commander.”

“Thank you sir.” Martin said. “And this mission is?”

“To locate and secure the RDC Olympus.” Both the Ziggenbor looked up sharply, but Neerson continued without acknowledging it. “In doing this you would then provide surveillance and security for an abandoned outpost in the Tharsis Mons.”

Neil stood.

Neerson dealt the cards. He placed his shows, and then his hand on the table, at last turning his gaze on Neil. The youngest Ziggenbor’s left hand was trembling.”

“First Sergeant.” Neerson said. “I take it you have the first insight into this mission.”

“You’re going back to Mars.” Neil snarled. “Yeah, I’ve got some fucking insight on that. Sir.”

“Neil,” Martin said, but Neerson raised a hand.

Neerson turned back to Martin. “You would do this under complete secrecy, reporting to no one save Lieutenant Commander Jericho, who would then relay your reports to myself. Should we go forward with this mission, she will fit the Deterrence with capable long range transmission devices adequate to the task.”

Martin looked from the Admiral to his brother, and back. “If we go forward with the mission, sir? What could keep it from proceeding?”

Neerson nodded once to Neil. “First Sergeant Ziggenbor’s disapproval, naturally.”

The three men were quiet for a time. Martin had been around Neerson long enough to see where he was going often enough when it came to controlling the collective direction of engagements, but he had to admit, on this one he was a little lost. “Sir,” He said tentatively. “You understand that this has the prospect of being a rather short conversation?”

Now Neerson turned back to Neil. “I do. My one request, First Sergeant, would be that you hear the situation out, from my perspective and from the position where you will have the fullest scope of information I can readily provide you.”

Neil waited another heartbeat. “And at the end. If I just… don’t want this mission to happen you’ll, what, scrap it entirely?”

“Certainly not.” Neerson said. “I would reassess and reallocate my resources and expectations on the mission’s success, and make preparations accordingly. In point of fact, should you be unwilling to express your approval of this mission, I have two other as of yet unmaterialized avenues of strategic advantage that I might pursue. Neither of them have the likelihood of success as it does with Commander Ziggenbor in command of the mission, and the collateral damage in equipment, lives, and strategic advantage would be exponentially higher in the event that the mission does fail.”

“Why?” Neil demanded.

“Because,” Neerson said. “I trust the Ziggenbor brothers.”

That hung in the air for a time. Neil looked at Martin, but Martin was studying his hand with distinct displeasure.

“Please, First Sergeant.” Neerson gestured to the empty chair. “Sit.” Neil did, playing his shows. “Does anyone have a three?” The Admiral asked pleasantly.

“So.” Neil said, as the game commenced. “You want to send my brother to protect an abandoned outpost on a dead world after securing a wreck of a ship, is that right?”

“No.” Neerson said. “I want to send your brother to a world that is about to have a rather large hole ripped in its atmosphere to oversee the evacuation of possible military assets from an outpost that has been occupied for some time by a small cell of resistance to the organization known as St Angel that has the potential to provide information critical to their downfall. After, of course, he secures a ship that was falsely scuttled and condemned as lost under false pretenses for just such a circumstance as this. It is your move, First Sergeant.”

Neil played, mulling the information over. “This small resistance cell. Who are they?”

“They are the ones who saved your life, First Sergeant.” Neerson said. “Had it not been for their interference in the events of Operation Red Savior the Scarab Lord would have been destroyed, along with you and Sergeant Valentine. Though I have full confidence in Captain Benson’s abilities, I am sure that he would have been dead before arrangements could have been made for his extraction as well.”

Neil’s hazy memories of his last days on Mars stirred. “They’re the ones who were trying to make it look like they were chasing us off the planet?”

“They were, in point of fact, trying to ensure that you left the planet safely. Their intention was to maintain the appearance that they were offering no overt aid. They failed, and tipped their hand. Now it is only a matter of time before either St Angel finds them and kills them, or they are killed by the deteriorating conditions on the planet.”

“Why don’t they just leave, sir?”

Neerson gave Neil a patient look. “Because St Angel will find them. And kill them.”

“What do you know about St Angel?” Neil felt his pulse quickening, old rage at the faceless threat rearing its head in him.”

“Little enough that I would be unwilling to engage them in open conflict of any kind, at the moment. I am optimistic that should this mission succeed that will no longer be the case.”

Neil thought about Red Savior. He thought about Vane and Flint and Morgon and the promise he had made to all of them to get them out safely. It was a promise that would remain forever broken, and weight for him to carry with him alongside the shame that Major Darrow had left him with.

“But you’re willing to send him in,” Neil jabbed a finger at his brother. “You’re not willing to engage with them in open combat, but you’re willing to send someone who follows you in?”

Neerson’s eyes flashed for the briefest moment, and then the moment was gone. “Subterfuge and misdirection are powerful allies, First Sergeant. One thing I have noted about the sparse details I have been able to glean from St Angel is that they are almost as cautious as I am when confronted with an unlikely or unexpected situation. The cell in question is small, unwarranted of anything other than a moderate ground assault. A Republic Dreadnaught Class ship would be more than up to the task of confronting what is likely to pass as force. Furthermore,” Neerson said, playing another card. “Your brother is rivaled by no one in the application of heavy weapons in both orbital bombardment and stationary defensive tactics. Should there be more than the assumed forces, there will also be contingency in place for a retreat maneuver to the cluster.”

Martin raised his eyebrows. “How would you explain that one, sir?”

“Commander Ziggenbor.” Neerson shook his head. “Direct questions do not become you.”

“How would you explain that one?” Neil said, his tone deadpan. “Sir?”

Neerson smiled slightly. “I have contingencies in place, First Sergeant.”

“And these contingencies you’ve got wouldn’t be available to the other two as of yet unmaterialized avenues of strategic advantage, I guess?”

At this, Neerson paused. “I trust your brother.” He said in a quiet voice. “He is afforded things I could not afford to others because of this.”

The game commenced in silence with the Ziggenbor brothers mulling that over individually.

“How much did you know about this?” Neil shot at Martin, who seemed a bit taken aback.

“Found out about it at the same time as you.” Martin said, playing a card from his sizable hand.

“You’ve kept your mouth shut.”

“He’s been talking to you, kid,” Martin. “I don’t like interrupting rank.”

“Okay,” Neil turned back to Neerson. “Why haven’t you clued him in on anything?”

“Commander Ziggenbor will go through with the mission regardless of any blind indoctrination regarding the asinine idolization of rank and the supposed hierarchy therein that the Trident imposes.”

“Why then?”

“I wouldn’t presume to answer questions regarding the Commander for him. Especially not when he’s sitting right here.” Neerson said.

Neil turned to his brother. “This mission is fucking insane, you know that? You’ll just go out through half the system at traversing speed to come up on a derelict ship and then cover the evacuation of suspected terrorists without question?”

“Yes.” His brother said.

“Why?”

“Because.” Martin looked at Neil, and nodded at Neerson. “I trust him too.”

Neil blinked. “Oh.” He said. “You should have led with that.”